It is to an exploration of this something that I turn. I am interested in what Pop describes here as “trashy old noise.” More, in how it sounds to “you” like that, implying that it does not sound like that to others, others who presumably recognize it for “the brilliant music of a genius.” Further, I am interested in the self-annihilating feeling of “when you just, you couldn’t feel anything, and you didn’t want to either.” Something about this noise and something about this feeling is not only murderous of feeling and thought, but also queer. You know, like that? Do you understand what I’m saying, sir?Īfter all, you know that noise murders thought.
Do you understand what I’m talking about? Have you ever, have you ever felt like that? When you just, when you just, you couldn’t feel anything, and you didn’t want to either. And, ah… when I’m in the grips of it, I don’t feel pleasure and I don’t feel pain, either physically or emotionally. And that music is so powerful, that it’s quite beyond my control. You see, what, what sounds to you like a big load of trashy old noise… is in fact… the brilliant music of a genius… myself.
