331: Isolated Vocals of David Lee Roth, Michael Jackson
June 17, 2014 Leave a comment
Uncle Funk’s Most Commandments
or
The Worst Vice Is Advice
Uncle Funk is most real when his eyes are locked with those of another terrestrial carbon unit in an unspoken reverence for the awesomeness of the universe into which all units have been vomited.
Uncle Funk is most alive when he is lost in an activity that engages his full being, when he ceases to exist as a self-aware entity, and escapes to the form of a pure force maneuvering with geometric precision.
Uncle Funk is most certain when he is dancing.
Uncle Funk is most significant when he is helping others, creating a richer world by his presence.
Uncle Funk is most lightly tethered when he ponders what it means to be living inside a mystery, wrapped inside a create-your-own-adventure story.
Uncle Funk is most satisfied when he is eating his mom’s home cooking.
Uncle Funk is most fulfilled after he works at length on a complex problem requiring the disciplined and rigorous application of skills crafted over days or years to accomplish a predetermined goal.
Uncle Funk is most humbled when he considers his species’ climb out of the swamp, past cataclysms and alternate histories, to shiver and cower in the brush, before swinging through the forest, to walk boldly upright, and finally, to march forward as the self he is today, a clump of sentient cells, an infinite sum in a lilliputian package, contemplating its own snapshot journey along the edge of the universe that nursed it.
~
Michael Jackson and David Lee Roth are all over space right now. Their voices are literally being carried, as you read and comprehend these words, on radio waves spanning and spreading across billions and billions of light years, planting the musical seeds of humanity across space and time.
Here are isolated vocals from Van Halen’s “Running With The Devil” and Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough.”
Enjoy them the most.
There is a pond, under a sliver of moon, with croaking frogs in numbers verging on the fantastic lining its edges. The sound is profoundly noisy. But the pond (inwardly) smiles. For the pond sits in delightful anticipation of a disturbance in the night, perhaps a swooping owl or ambling possum, to shut off the cacophony in an instant and send all the frogs jumping into itself. The pond relishes this experience each and every time.
Uncle Funk's Catalogue 