ROCKET SCIENCE: My Repertoire is Repetition

I said, “Release the Kraken, sure, but what about releasing the Snappen and Poppen as well?”

A friend said, “How many times are you going to tell that joke?”

“As many times as it takes,” I said.

Repetition is the highest form of flattery. My repertoire is repetition. I wrote: My repertoire is repetition.

Frustrated that I did not hear him the first time, my father would say, “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

I heard him the first time, the second, ad nauseam, distinctly, exactly and initially. He wanted it to get through at first exposure. No, he demanded it. But no one in life, regardless of his or her station or culture, is allowed such a blessing. You have to have a repertoire and you have to replay it often and to everyone and anyone—even those who don’t care and especially to those who have heard it before.

There is no standard for a repetitive repertoire, nor does it have to have any particular purpose. A most important message can get you crucified as easily as any other. Jesus and other saviors who were not fortunate enough to live in a world that can communicate at digital speed, needed plenty of others through the eons to repeat their messages, spread their messages and even die to be sure their messages were repeated.

Granted, any repertoire is susceptible to being distorted (which, in essence, negates the heart of any repertoire at all) but it can’t even go through such a metamorphosis unless it is repeated—ad nauseam.

I would love to have back all of the time in my life I wasted searching for fresh material to my repertoire so that I could live longer to repeat the repertoire that eventually originated from the voice it took me more time in my life to discover was mine.

My father consistently called me a “bonehead” because he thought it defined me in so many situations. It was a part of his repertoire and he found many ways to present it to me. I was a bonehead in so many areas of life that I began to adore being a bonehead and took boneheadism [sic] to a religious level. Into adulthood I carried my boned head, nurtured it and eventually the voice of my repertoire was born and it never stopped repeating the repertoire. The bonehead repertoire is my gift to mankind. It is my soul. Love it or hate it, I will repeat it.

“Release the Kraken, sure, but what about releasing the Snappen and Poppen as well?”

That’s for you, reader. I said it again.

Robert James Byrd wrote and sang the following lyrics in his 1958 pop hit: “I said over and over and over again, this dance is gonna be a drag.” The song is about a guy who goes to a party that he finds to be a waste of his time. Then he sees a girl and is attracted to her, so he approaches her and asks her for a date. The girl says she is waiting for her boyfriend to arrive. Whether that was true or not, the guy refuses to stop asking her out. He says he will ask over and over and over again.

Do you get it? His repertoire’s repetition is what matters even if the girl is telling the truth, even if her boyfriend arrives and threatens to stop the repertoire’s repetition with fatal blows, even if the apocalypse is going to happen in seconds or eons, even if people deny the Holocaust, even if Nat King Cole would have died of cancer without ever smoking a cigarette, even if Eve dropped an f-bomb when Adam warned her about the devil’s apple trick, even if clowns never scared as many people as they made laugh, even if a person has to have two legs to compete in a one-legged potato sack race, even if Dewey beat Truman, even if Moon River was not wider than a mile, even if we cannot “make some special instant special blest,” even if ever becomes never and nothing ever had a chance to survive . . .

“Release the Kraken, sure, but what about releasing the Snappen and Poppen as well?”

Time for breakfast.

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