The father said to the son:
“What do you make of this one: asphyxiated aficionados of ‘Serious-Music’ will vehemently denounce the popularization of one part of a symphony, and fans of, haute literature, selected quotes from a major opus, and eventually will have the composer or author agreeing with the view. But what, (in real life), is actually going on with some men’s insistence that you must sit through an hour’s worth of music/reading/other-activity that does not interest you, before you are allowed to enjoy brief moments of it that does?
What sort of big city voodoo is being worked on an artist that will cause him to support such a position to his own disadvantage. In that, by so doing he is trying to suppress the possibility that at least some portion of his creative output will become popular. A posture that is totally foreign to the creative process, in that popular appreciation of a second reality creation is its sole purpose?
Under sane circumstances: when a man-plays-artist, (that is), he produces something that came solely from within him, popularity, (having an audience there), is the sole measure of success. So what on earth be-eth going-eth on-eth, my boy? And don’t forget to work this whole question into the apparent creative processes going on in your own head.”
(One man says he is particularly peeved, and jealous of – a duck’s ability to put one hemisphere of its brain to sleep, while the other one stays awake and watches through the eye on its side of the fowl’s head. “Peeved,” he says, “But mostly jealous.”)
J.