The Uniformity of Nature

None of us expects two giant hands to press down through the blue sky as if ripping two pieces of sky-cotton apart while we watch from the ground, mouths agape. Neither do we expect then a fair skinned, incredible haired, white robed jesus to hold the sky-cotton open and tell us, in English of course, that “nature isn’t actually uniform,” and then let the sky-cotton pieces come back together but then just before the seam is about to merge, he breaks it apart again and says “oh, and stop misusing the word literally -it should only be used to contrast metaphor!” The sky seals back up and we go about our business and probably continue to misuse the word literally at every turn.
But the sky did open up one day and jesus did say those things and I know because I was there.

You of course have your doubts and I of course cannot blame you for having your doubts. But it happened all the same. Do you even remember what it was that jesus said? He said nature isn’t actually uniform. We, the royal we, like to think that nature is uniform and that, with perverse hubris, we know everything there is to know about nature. From the mouths of babes! Why on earth would we think that we know everything about nature when we are but a blip of geologic time in a nature so old we can’t get our mind around it? But you want to incredulously tell me that the sky can’t open up like a shirt being ripped apart – that’s not how the sky works. Sky schmy. We’re talking about one sky existing at this time but there have been a virtual infinity of skies over a virtual infinity of past and yet you want to tell me what can and cannot happen with a sky. And it isn’t just the sky; there are all kinds of things that can happen in nature that you didn’t think could because you operate under the guise of the uniformity of nature. But I just told you jesus told us it isn’t actually uniform. I mean how else do you even explain jesus himself if nature is uniform? See the corner you’ve painted yourself in?

Anywhoo, it was crazy that day. I was walking my dog, Sparky, at a shoreside park in Connecticut and just as we were coming to the sand, I heard this ferocious ripping sound from above like it was coming from rock concert speakers and I shielded my eyes to look up and I saw these hands, they must have been the size of battleships, bust through the sky like they were pressing through a balloon, only the balloon didn’t pop, it just kinda ripped apart like the cotton I mentioned. And then these huge hands held the seams apart when it seemed like they were pressing to be together, like magnets that are close. But then jesus appeared and he was just a sight behind the sky, I guess, curtains you could call them. He looked so handsome and young and clean shaven and you can imagine how big he was if his hands were the size of battleships. Behind him it was just like, you know, a halo of white. The sky curtains were held down to the horizon line and it must have spanned 40 miles. It was crazy. And then he said those words. And I believed him. I’ve thought about it a lot since then and it makes perfect sense to me. You may say it is an argument from ignorance, that just because we don’t know everything about nature, we can’t be sure how the sky works but I’d say that you are saying jesus is wrong. And I don’t know if you know anything about jesus but saying jesus is wrong ain’t exactly the right move.

So when I tell you that the sky was literally torn open by jesus you can rest assured that I am using the word literally to contrast with metaphor. Cause jesus told me to.

If You Gotta Ask..

Remember when I wrote about art here and asked what is the process that is necessary and sufficient for someone to be called an artist? 

Then I read this (and these lines... 

When you’re truly creating you don’t have time to think about what to call it.

Who thinks of what they’ll name the baby while they’re fucking?

&

Too many musicians and not enough artists.

&

You can’t practice art.

In order for it to be true, one must live it.)

On Why Jazz Isn’t Cool Anymore . . . .

Posted on November 27, 2011 

Jazz died in 1959.

There maybe cool individuals who say they play Jazz, but ain’t shit cool about Jazz as a whole.

Jazz died when cool stopped being hip.

Jazz was a limited idea to begin with.

Jazz is a label that was forced upon the musicians.

The musicians should’ve never accepted that idea.

Jazz ain’t shit.

Jazz is incestuous.

Jazz separated itself from American popular music.

Big mistake.

The music never recovered.

Ornette tried to save Jazz from itself by taking the music back to its New Orleanian roots, but his efforts were too esoteric.

Jazz died in 1959, that’s why Ornette tried to “Free Jazz” in 1960.

Jazz is only cool if you don’t actually play it for a living.

Jazz musicians have accepted the idea that it’s OK to be poor.

John Coltrane is a bad cat, but Jazz stopped being cool in 1959.

The very fact that so many people are holding on to this idea of what Jazz is supposed to be is exactly what makes it not cool.

People are holding on to an idea that died long ago.

Jazz, like the Buddha, is dead.

Let it go, people, let it go.

Paul Whiteman was the King of Jazz and someday all kings must fall.

Jazz ain’t cool, it’s cold, like necrophilia.

Stop fucking the dead and embrace the living.

Jazz worries way too much about itself for it to be cool.

Jazz died in 1959.

The number one Jazz record is Miles Davis’ Kind Of Blue.

Dave Brubeck’s Time Out was released in 1959.

1959 was the coolest year in Jazz.

Jazz is haunted by its own hungry ghosts.

Let it die.

You can be martyrs for an idea that died over a half a century if y’all want.

Jazz has proven itself to be limited, and therefore, not cool.

Lot’s wife turned to a pillar of salt from looking back.

Jazz is dead.

Miles ahead.

Some may say that I’m no longer the same dude who recorded the album with Doc Cheatham.

Correct: I’m not the same dude I was 14 years ago.

Isn’t that the point?

Our whole purpose on this planet is to evolve.

The Golden Age of Jazz is gone.

Let it go.

Too many necrophiliacs in Jazz.

You’re making my case for me.

Some people may say we are defined by our limitations.

I don’t believe in limitations, but yes, if you believe you are limited that will define you.

Definitions are retrospective.

And if you find yourself getting mad, it’s probably because you know Jazz is dead.

Why get upset if what I’m saying doesn’t ring true?

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I don’t play Jazz.

I play Postmodern New Orleans music.

Louis Armstrong and Danny Barker play Traditional New Orleans Music.

Ellis Marsalis and James Black play Modern New Orleans music.

Kidd Jordan and Clyde Kerr play Avant-garde New Orleans music.

Donald Harrison plays Neoclassical New Orleans music.

I play Postmodern New Orleans music.

I am a part of a lineage.

I am a part of a blood line.

My ancestors didn’t play Jazz, they played Traditional, Modern and Avant-garde New Orleans Music.

I don’t play Jazz.

I don’t let others define who I am.

I am a Postmodern New Orleans musician.

I create music for the heart and the head, for the beauty and the booty.

The man who lets others define him is a dead man.

With all due respect to the masters, they were victims of a colonialist mentality.

Blacks have been conditioned for centuries to be grateful for whatever crumbs thrown to them.

As a postmodern musician, it’s my duty to do better than my predecessors.

To question, reexamine and redefine what it is that we do.

They accepted it because they had to.

Because my ancestors opened the door for me, I don’t have to accept it.

Louis bowed and scraped so Miles could turn his back.

It’s called evolution.

It’s the colonialist mentality that glorifies being treated like a slave.

There is nothing romantic about poor, scuffling Jazz musicians.

Fuck that idea.

It’s not cool.

Jazz is a lie.

America is a lie.

Playing Jazz is like running on a treadmill: you may break a sweat, but ultimately you ain’t going nowhere.

Some people may say we are limited.

I say, we are as limited as we think.

I am not limited.

Jazz is a marketing ploy that serves an elite few.

The elite make all the money while they tell the true artists it’s cool to be broke.

Occupy Jazz!

I am not speaking of so-called Jazz’s improvisational aspects.

Improvisation by its very nature can never be passé, but mindsets are invariably deadly.

Not knowing is the most you can ever know.

It’s only when you don’t know that “everything” is possible.

Jazz has nothing to do with music or being cool.

It’s a marketing idea.

A glaring example of what’s wrong with Jazz is how people fight over it.

People are too afraid to let go of a name that is killing the spirit of the music.

Life is bigger than music, unless you love and/or play Jazz.

The art, or lack thereof, is just a reflection.

Miles Davis personified cool and he hated Jazz.

What is Jazz anyway?

Life isn’t linear, it’s concentric.

When you’re truly creating you don’t have time to think about what to call it.

Who thinks of what they’ll name the baby while they’re fucking?

Playing Jazz is like using the rear-view mirror to drive your car on the freeway.

If you think Jazz is a style of music, you’ll never begin to understand.

It’s ultimately on the musicians.

People are fickle and follow the pack.

Not enough artists willing to soldier for their shit.

People follow trends and brands.

So do musicians, sadly.

Jazz is a brand.

Jazz ain’t music, it’s marketing, and bad marketing at that.

It has never been, nor will it ever be, music.

Here lies Jazz (1916 – 1959).

Too many musicians and not enough artists.

I believe music to be more of a medium than a brand.

Silence is music, too.

You can’t practice art.

In order for it to be true, one must live it.

Existence is not contingent upon thought.

It’s where you choose to put silence that makes sound music.

Sound and silence equals music.

Sometimes when I’m soloing, I don’t play shit.

I just move blocks of silence around.

The notes are an afterthought.

Silence is what makes music sexy.

Silence is cool.

- Nicholas Payton

Ultimate vs. Proximate Causation In Regards To Antisemitism

Your Honor,

I present, exhibit A in this case.

Antisemitism

Proximate Cause: https://www.npr.org/2018/10/31/662436272/trump-and-anti-semitism

Jeffrey Herf, a historian at the University of Maryland who has written widely on the anatomy of anti-Semitism, argues that particular arguments and habits of thinking underlie its power. Most important, he says, is a willingness to buy into conspiratorial thinking.

I object your honor!

Where does this thinking, this conspiratorial thinking, come from? Counselor???!!!

Ultimate Causation: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constantine%27s_Sword

The primary source of anti-Jewish violence is the perennial obsession with converting the Jews to Christianity; an event which some theologians believed would usher in the Second Coming. 

We will not be rid of anitsemitism until we accept the real cause, not the pseudo-cause. Accepting this requires looking into a mirror.