the ramble dump

It began, on a popular social networking utility, thus:



Responded Ella '(Je)Snails' Turngroove, rising to the challenge:

'such a work of awesomeness requires a comeback in picture form. and this will be delivered tomorrow, because we were supposed to be elsewhere at 7pm, and it's now 7.34pm and I'm still in a dressing gown. I was supposed to be banking, but I blame [bank name]. If they made their online banking service as fun as [social networking utility], MAYBE less people would be late!

consider it, [bank name]!

picture: tomorrow. unless too hungover to control mouse.'

Two days later, Ella's comeback appeared:



And she elaborated thus:

'yes, funk has no body. it's just a funky head, unimpeded by the unfunkiness of having to lug around a body. there's nothing unfunky about funk! ears and sunglasses are all you need! and a knowledge of funky head-dancing.'

I was moved, touched, emotionally violated in a variety of subtle ways, and prompted to express such feelings that I had:

'If you will: a critique.

Yes, there is a certain clinch of the groovy awesome, undeniable, vivid, apocalyptical. To walk and talk like a treble cleft; indeed, to suffer back problems in name of a curvey spine groove. Superfly, but somehow cautious; self-assured, but not so sure, perhaps, in step. Wobbly. It resonates: TAP. Each echo propounded in the speed-lines of two equals symbols. Equality? No, indeed not. Superiority.

Less fortunate, it would seem, the fatty. Or so an outsider would perceive, but the fatty clearly does not care. Fat beats have taken over. The shaka clap is all that matters, and the fatty is engrossed. Rounded hair or spiky, or both? The medallion, the chain, symbolising scissors. Like dough, but sharp. Sensical? A paradox. A secret. Only the fatty truly knows.

But, bada, and boom, there is triumph above all in the third. BLARING RHYTHMS EMIT, it claims, on the face of it so simple, yet in reality so deep - so profound a statement. A mouth, a snout, a strange birth-mark? Planted are two speakers in what can barely be called the style of an afro, yet what else could it be? Simply nothing. Wanted by all, achieved by none. The next stage of evolution for the disco messiah.'

In her reponse, Turngroove touched aptly upon the very essence of all our endeavour, artistically, as artists, amidst a gushing affirmation:

'how astute of you to notice the wit inherent in fat beats' self-deprecatory pink stylings. I did wonder whether it was too obscure a reference for the average art aficionado, but I tip my hat to you - art clearly flows in the veins! and to question the step of the Groove, while the same appears so assured; to see the wobble behind the paint is to see into the eye of inspiration itself.'

And finally, in conclusive summation, Turngroove ended by invoking a well-known and very relevant mantra:

'Je suis pope lol, indeed! oh yes, indeed.'

Labels: i am the ramblemaster, jesnails

# posted by Chris @ 1:23 PM 0 comments