Monday, April 21, 2014

Mr. Cope’s Cave: Stop and Smell the Flower Duet

Posted By on Mon, Apr 21, 2014 at 11:00 AM

I need to calm down. Really. I feel like I could pop a gasket any second. It’s those f***ing apes down in Nevada. You know the ones I mean—and I want to apologize once again to the apes of the world, but it’s not my fault that every time a mob of grungy yahoos go hootin’ and howlin’ and beating their chests about what great patriots they are, all I can think of are those film clips of chimpanzees and baboons and puffed-up gibbons getting all tea party on one another other.

I don‘t want to give away too much of what I really think of those ignorant dopes and their new hero, Cliven Bundy, because I just finished a column for the paper on the subject. And as I’ve maintained all along, the column takes precedence over this blog.

However, finishing that column didn’t purge my system of the disgust, the revulsion, the loathing, the outrage I have in my heart at the moment for Bundy and his retinue of gun-toting dingleberries. Far from it. In fact. if I don’t get my mind off of them soon, I may have to put something between my teeth so I don’t chew off my own tongue. God, they are assholes! 

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to find the most gorgeous piece of music I can borrow from the YouTube bank and listen to it a couple of dozen times. I need to reinforce my faith that some human beings are capable of great beauty, great inspiration, great talent, great intelligence, great grace, great sublimity and transcendence and accomplishment and tenderness, great depth and great heights and great breadth...

...all qualities I’m confident won’t be found in that mob of grungy yahoos in southern Nevada.

I won’t claim what I’ve chosen is the most beautiful bunch of notes ever put to manuscript, but they have to be in the running. You’ve heard it before—a fragment of it has been used recently in a television ad of some sort—but it is worth hearing in toto again. And again.

And again.

And for those others like me who watch the squalorous spectacle down in Nevada befoul our nation like a sewer line breaching in an art museum, take comfort in knowing this music will be around long after any and everything those f***ing apes stand for has dried up and blown away.

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