Well, it’s August again. Which means I’m starting on another album.
Truth is, I have what seems to me a great wealth of creative inspirations, and a corresponding dearth of financial resources.
It is, as with most things, a chicken and egg problem. And I think it was Chris Chandler who finally cracked the case: it was the rooster that came first.
Incidentally: I think we have a new term for the sex acts slang lexicon: a Bannon. Gotta love the Mooch: comes in, provides the world with a much-needed term, and departs the stage. Greatest Cameo Ever.
Anyway, the cock that Socrates asks Critio to sacrifice for him is an emblem of the Sun. Asclepius, to whom the cock is to be sacrificed, is the son of Apollo, the Sun. The cock is also an image of Socrates himself, as Asclepius is the image of his Father. In sacrificing the cock, Socrates – led to his mission by the command of Apollo himself, speaking through the priestess of Delphi – means to express his identification with the cock sacrificed. It is his bid to be recognized in death as a faithful servant of the God, and the priestess/Goddess. He played his part unto death.
I’m just saying: sucking your own cock can have an esoteric meaning. God bless the child that’s got his own, as Billie put it.
But seriously, folks, as Bob Dylan put it: I got a head full of ideas that are driving me insane. They say sing while you slave, and I just get bored.
No, sorry, kidding again. I have a cushy fragment of a job working freelance. But, the wealth of ideas/poverty of resource dichotomy is real. And I find it to be an interesting juxtaposition.
After all, an album is a self-imposed financial burden. No one’s forcing me to make recordings. And we all have to ask ourselves at some point whether our inner compulsion is a real one or not. Does feeling like life wouldn’t be worth living otherwise amount to a real compulsion? Or is that just evidence of
a will most incorrect to heaven,
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
An understanding simple and unschooled