The Phenomenology of Aesthetic Angst
Fragmentation, acceleration
Peter Brotzmann
blasting, howling,
the world's sorrows and beauties
in my car.
Then...inside the store
Kenny G mangles an already
treacly Christmas song.
I fantasize:
The Highest Aesthetic Authorities apprehend G.--should have been done long ago...
They shear him of all hair above his neck.
They tie him to a wooden chair
in a room
with
Peter Brotzmann,
who proceeds to play every reed instrument
for two hours
with his trio.
What's left of G is
better for our world.
And I am vindicated.
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