😭😭😭😭

Most of them have the same opinion and act like jerks. Wait a minute...

Camera angles make a big difference

I love feet

I get that king sometimes takes weird request but this is ridiculous, this fucking splashing water from thames with bacteria and viruses will get king infected, yall need to stop with that stuff

Hans Boil

I think some people said Rake's Progress or Dumbarton Oaks a while back, so I'll say those too lol.

Next square: sounds like Mozart/is actually Chopin

It kinda feels like I'm destroying the sanctity of whatever it is I'm doing but idk

This is a /uj moment, I have only ever performed, listened to, and heard of his music for choirs. So would you imagine my shock when I found out that one of the pieces I'm playing for my town's concert band (which I'm playing 1st horn in despite being anywhere from half to a quarter of the age of everyone else there) (everyone in the band is old af except me) (also I don't know why I'm playing 1st horn, I auditioned for 4th horn as well as the 1st horn slot being taken already by my old band director, oh well) (wait I need to get back to the point sorry) was composed by none other than Eric Whitacre. I had no idea he made wind ensemble music, this feels wrong?? But then I look at the music and yeah, that's Eric Whitacre alright.

Am I the only one who didn't know this??? Am I stupid? I mean, of course he makes wind ensemble music, I shouldn't be surprised, but it just feels. Wrong? Idk.

After this there'll just be one more square in Chopin's row. Gettin a little misty-eyed rn honestly!

Next square: sounds like Mendelssohn/is actually Beethoven

An essay.

It is an inconvenient truth actively suppressed by the gatekeepers of musicology, that the historical record concerning Mr. Frédéric Chopin’s feet is a deliberate panicked erasure. While contemporary accounts wet themselves over his hands, the feet are treated with the same horrified discretion usually reserved for a duke’s syphilitic lesion or the American president’s obvious dementia.

We must begin with the physiological absurdity of the official narrative. Mr. Chopin weighed approximately as much as my one year old. He also coughed blood and spent the majority of his adult life reclining with his lower limbs elevated or, more tellingly, resting in the laps of people who later refused to discuss the experience without changing the subject.

George Sand’s surviving letters offer us proof. One letter violently suppressed by later editors and surviving only in a single stained copy in a private collection contains the following line:

“You were NOT allowed to touch his feet.”

(The capitalization is original btw.)

Now consider the acoustic evidence. Multiple pupils reported that during particularly intense passages of the Barcarolle, a soft, wet sound could be heard beneath the instrument distinct from any human foot. One anonymous account speaks of “a gentle suckering cadence that seemed to answer the left hand in perfect contrary motion.” The same account notes that after such lessons the carpet near the piano bench was found damp with fluid that smelled exactly like low tide in South Florida. Attempts to analyze said fluid were abandoned when the laboratory assistant reportedly became aroused and then unwell.

I believe the sexual dimension is the entire argument. A man of Mr. Chopin’s hypersensitive, diarrhea-soaked constitution could not possibly have possessed ordinary human feet. Ordinary feet do not leave circular sucker-marks, right? Ordinary feet do not, upon withdrawal from a mouth, lengthen, split, bloom with suckers, and immediately attempt to return because they “missed the heat :/“

If we assign Bayesian priors based on the available data, then the posterior probability that Chopin’s lower extremities terminated in prehensile, independently phrasing, slime-producing tentacles rises above 0.89. Some of us who have examined the evidence with our entire bodies place it closer to 1.

I believe the implications are both musicological and pornographic. A tentacular appendage possesses continuous mucoidal secretion, independent articulatory capacity across multiple voices, and the ability to maintain simultaneous rubato stimulation of throat, ass, cock, balls, and nipple while the owner whispers in Polish about the ocean waking up inside his flesh. 
It is, in short, the perfect physical correlative to Chopin’s compositional practice. 

That George Sand eventually issued her famous interdiction, “You were NOT allowed to touch his feet”,  is less a moral stance than a practical admission that few human orifices can sustain nightly exposure to eight tentacles without structural compromise.

One final observation. In the last year of his life Chopin is reported to have said and I quote: “Moje stopy gniją od środka… i coś z oceanu już przez nie pełznie.” (My feet are rotting from the inside and something from the ocean is already crawling through them.) 

This particular statement has traditionally been dismissed as feverish poetry. I disagree. It is the only hypothesis that renders the surviving evidence coherent and the only hypothesis that explains the damp carpets, the suppressed letters, the sudden departures, etc, etc, etc. 

The historical record has spent nearly two centuries pretending that the wet sounds under the piano were only the pedals. I don’t think they were. 

Further research is both necessary and, for the suitably prepared scholar, extremely messy.