Fwd: IVIV (11) 176

[alice wellintown]

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: alice wellintown <alicewellintown at gmail.com>
Date: Wed, Oct 28, 2009 at 6:48 AM
Subject: Re: IVIV (11) 176
To: Clément Lévy <clemlevy at gmail.com>


This spirals back to discussion of the Beatles; it's another comment
on the end of the working class culture. Go work in your cube, dude.
The workers are cut off from their games, dances, music. Major theme
in AtD.  Also, that the boyz here can not connect with the dudes in
the boxes or even with the person driving the car, because all are cut
off, isolated, seems important. That Larry and D/Penis can sense what
is happening there in the boxes but not in the car,  is ironic.


ISOLATOES!

Herein it is the same with the American whale fishery as with the
American army and military and merchant navies, and the engineering
forces employed in the construction of the American Canals and
Railroads. The same, I say, because in all these cases the native
American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as
generously supplying the muscles. No small number of these whaling
seamen belong to the Azores, where the outward bound Nantucket whalers
frequently touch to augment their crews from the hardy peasants of
those rocky shores. In like manner, the Greenland whalers sailing out
of Hull or London, put in at the Shetland Islands, to receive the full
complement of their crew. Upon the passage homewards, they drop them
there again. How it is, there is no telling, but Islanders seem to
make the best whalemen. They were nearly all Islanders in the Pequod,
Isolatoes too, I call such, not acknowledging the common continent of
men, but each Isolato living on a separate continent of his own. Yet
now, federated along one keel, what a set these Isolatoes were! An
Anacharsis Clootz deputation from all the isles of the sea, and all
the ends of the earth, accompanying Old Ahab in the pequod to lay the
world's grievances before that bar from which not very many of them
ever come back. Black Little Pip --he never did --oh, no! he went
before. Poor Alabama boy! On the grim Pequod's forecastle, ye shall
ere long see him, beating his tambourine; prelusive of the eternal
time, when sent for, to the great quarter-deck on high, he was bid
strike in with angels, and beat his tambourine in glory; called a
coward here, hailed a hero there!


> - more important here is the fact that rock 'n' roll is not going to be free
> anymore. It is as if Doc only knew music through open-air free concerts. The
> "glimpse at the other side" shows how Doc realizes that "everybody" is going
> to prefer private ownership of records bought in stores after a cautious
> listening via headphones.