__




“Mein Teil”, Rgo parts proto

THEOREM: Q EinMeinRouge - Mein = EinRouge (1), QED.
CORALLARY:
J BluePersuasion α cannabilism + dt/dx [1-6 +fenderGold +fenderRepaintTurquoise + rgoHumbuckers θ*customMatchingHeadstockByFender = codename Turquoise] +k-1... (2);
  cannabilism = -pickups -originalPaint -repaintedBlue (2a LEMMA);
α Turquoise = MeinTeil, aka MyTeal, not-so ED, modus ponens incongruent distributed middle term.





Jason's 1970s MyTeal Fender Stratocaster
Nominated for a Grammy for best Metal performance, “Mein Teil” (2004) is also Rammstein's first no.1 hit (in Spain, no.2 in Germany). Believe them when the band says the song is based on a news about a cannabilism in Germany. But it was also about Rgo's wish for Rammstein and what sorting six friends could do if they started believing they would be together from then on and discussed anything they wanted and made decisions together and went through life together as a cohesive group. Unlike the Beatles.
    The double reference is also about Jason's specially enhanced super-deluxe Stratocaster and how its parts were ho-hum tinkered with to support the engineering side of Rgo that became Rgotek. The original pickups went into the Telecaster “TellMeMore”, swapping with the Tele's nonfunctioning pair with one Seymour Duncan P-90 added for testing the pair then heavily modified for the three-pickups set, then verified as the base of “active voice” suspiciously inferior to Ha's EinRouge, then reapplied in a double chain of engineering complexity (like anti-derivatives again, a math Jason could understand as his geometry got better) going in opposite directions to pass to Fishman. It's not a function-function like a curve, Ha said, It's kinda flat but can be algebraically linear, hiding along the x axis, which you do not care about because the precision requires a computer to map and exaggerate the dots on the number line. We'll get back to that, Ha said. I should do it on a chalkboard for you, but I get tired calculating the exact value of pi out too far. Then I don't care about it, he said. Good! he said, pleased.
    MeinTeal is the rig guitar to QA pre-microchip processing of >1 energy cycles, then reduced to ≅1.0 only, codenamed by Ha the Rammstein Paul pickups set Aft-Fluence, Jason codenaming the Stern-Fluence but choosing to skip it in favor of the Year2 star-studded Buoy-Fluence for her to specify the lab gemstone modeling, which he does not yet grasp fully, that the “buoy” also relies on her “sound skirt” engineering, which he decides to deactivate and shelve away for later because she does not want to use concepts from Casio and Yamaha, never having heard the Clavia Nord and not wanting to reinvent “speakers” and microphones while Jason's TellMeMore guitar is relegated to duty for Gibson and Rickenbacker.
    That is a run-on sentence, Jason notices and says. He plans to set aside the advanced, unheard of pickups for later. Just make one like my guitar is still BluePersuasion so you won't forget, then I double it, voilà! You make the pickups, I copy you and do the wiring. That was bold of him. Everything so far has been feasible but only because he has been there to catch Ha's technical mistakes. If she worked on her own, the point was she would be more careful and would not let him “inherit” her mistakes. And now, how not to be hypocritical and respect his division of labor.
    Ha says, Your guitar has had drastic plastic surgery, as severe as Michael Jackson, only to spite you like on your nose. Ever heard of the stage play Death of a Salesman? If you sell it, you die. We make one and one only. Be a Christmas elf and make one as a gift. What was getting old on him was how he felt Ha was at times too bossy. Christmas, Christmas, that day that overshadows his December birthday. He disagrees with Ha's idea, reverses the offer, and threatens that he would whine to Gretsch that Ha is going to receive a century gift much, much later on. Ha calculates she would be 45 years old by then. He says that would be good... when you'll be too old for gifts. He means babies, which Ha understands.
    In a grandma voice straight out of a Brothers Grimm fairytale, Ha cajoles Jason over his extravagant guitar (she had spent $45,000 in U.S. bonds on a Chinese lab for the hazmat magnets for his Christmas gift and lost the first set of humbuckers to Gibson's lab in Nashville).

Oh look what the children of 1993 brought us! Gather around, ravenous grandchildren, there's a wee turquoise curiosity left behind in the woods. Is this your guitar, young man?

Just a minute! I have to put my underwear on. Ahhh, I was bathing in the stream near these woods and left my guitar there. You like it?

Foul, foul! So gawdy. All that gold that gleams and sheens will not pay for the petrol beyond the village, me seems. These little woodland urchins live on post-apocalyptic mushrooms right here in the woods. (aside, grouchy) Children, behave! (to Jason) Please excuse the little belches and burps. The youngest is only tree branch old. (aside) Run along. Brush your teeth! As for you, how old might you be, how youngblood is old enough still good?

I have not been rhyming for... 45 minus 78, 79, 80, 14, 93, four subtracted from... I am forty-one years old. I would be, wouldn't I?

Floop! Flop! Oh do excuse these wrinkly old breasts, I must gather them and smooth them as they used to be the best. It was not my breath and singing that was wild with lust, such a beaut time was, time was... you are from the West?

Aye! I came by boat, from Alexandria, I mean Europe. I sailed here. My people, we are called Vikings, druid Vikings. We are the Celts, I am from my Celtic people.

What shames you to blame the Great Alexander, master of Macedonia and conqueror his fame, eh? He hath not raised up such city by the Atlantic in your parts, he hath not given credence by his deeds the military arts. Tis why you sailed away without name, crooked not with heart longer to blame straight unto him Alexander, Alexander the Great. Fix your face now and speak free, thy name, Celtic, thus thee.

How does a pentameter go? I am Jason Guyker of Rgo. No, I mean, Jason of the Argonauts. You deem me a sheep. Well, I have fleeced it, the ram, this golden coat. Its horns I, uh, I do stuff with horns. Its horns I broke and blow into the one, the other I soak in blood and drink in its tone.

Ah, a young man of music musing. He speaks the tongue of his people. Slakes his thirst, scratches his underwear, refusing his itch and just stands there. Yonder is the Rammstein steeple. I have been laying bricks and vaulting its ceiling. I am making the plinths for the bottom of the columns, Roman cathedral archways to promenade my pets, my meaning. Careful my grandchildren have worked all day, shy of strangers and play with the band. They bring out pots and pans and bang all day til dark. They will be hungry by then to yank on the chains only to hear the fat one Till bark.

How now he scowls, I hear him yonder. That is the one with the big low voice. He protests so his mates won't make music for work. Before, he yelped and wooped, they hollered for sport. Then he cried out, but I do not hear him now. They kicked him and made fun like boys. He screamed, I am but one and I, though I am a man, A MAN! What cruelty is this, they, is she the one? The best you can do is leave me alone! Aw, how his whelping makes me fonder.


Ha had not seen the video before 2026. The choreography is as she, Jason, and Shoegazer mostly intended. She told Jason and Shoegazer there is no plastic where she is from in Vietnam. Small children should be held and their drooling neatly wiped away. She described different foods to help small children who were teething. The video is darn pathetic. Not sure that an audience would be sympathetic to the plight of singers with skinny legs, Ha guessed, being muzzled and chained together and moving on fours like dogs. They discussed empathy. Ha asserted, But if they wrestle, there's hope!





Pity the one, the man you call Till. That is no way for a crew to behave. They should run away from you, old cruel woman. You mean to build a prison for your slave and put his men down lower than a captive bowman, a boy. Then from no kin I have heard of, they will howl and whelp as animals before they are reverted to babes. It is not backwards I slew the one with his one own sandal and put my sword away. Why you let your small kins drum without joy, they only know hunger is man and boy is noisy.

You wretched, talented sailor. You disguise your shipmate, the singer, the one betrothed to whom he has been chaste. Many a monster you have met to the eye and slain. Dear Son of Dream, is he, the kindest poet and not profane, elevating the waves for your mates and the stars lower in their gaze. Of songs sung sweetly for his maiden, I know, I have heard, do me a favor. Go tell Jason of the Argonauts that loathsome, rough Viking is burning your boat to stay. Many a beast this way came but mothers and fathers they were not. Pity, you say, pity then none other than Orpheus and the Argonauts. And when you are through, I will build your boat for you. Let sail your talent, Son of the Sandman, and pick up your sword. I want to know what battle skills you have. Strike me then, you accuse me I keep a slave, a woman with rare ears you cannot have. You would be mute and deaf, your saliva the lust in you when you were a cold blond babe. Run your sword into me and strike me with a... pentento arpeggiated chord!

I was presented with many gifts from the family of my fair lady. Long story short, she's underwater. So much for that jewel of the sea who did not know the day of her birth. And once a year there blooms a flowering fruit to humiliate me. Like I said, it is red like my blood, a hundred fruity teeth. Soft and sweet and tangy and bitter its mood. Its color insinuates all the days are but a night without delight empty and dark above. The stars and waves, do your ears get wet? What would you know, of mother, father, a thousand leagues under my bed.

There once was a succulent that mated with a pile of sand. Jason of the Vikings would not know this one. It was a droopy cactus with lots of crevices and prickles. The sand was itchy to the breath of a bird. Stop me if your one-eyed mate Orpheus knows this one. To the insects the thorns were absurd. The wind escaped the mountain only to run away. Cheerlessly unfit, without a friend, that green plant. The sand stretches out and makes its own play. It devours everything, fetches failing friends, a working bee, a wise lizard, a dying bird. They crawl out from the sand and scuttle to escape. They wait no longer and follow the wind for a mate.

Then there was only one shadow beneath the spires of the sun's rays, the stars' silvery dew drops with the moon's sickle. That every day the cloud swept grey, throughout and underall no shadow swayed. Angry were the clouds put fear into the land. And every night a distant planet chased a comet where the moon could not display. From out of dry thunder the stars far distant could hear the clap of the last play. They conspired to beam a twinkle to let fly the bird to the stars. And opened the sky and rained down one of them, one star. Every grain of sand wept in the rain, those little itchy particles ligtning tamed. A mass but not one body, a mud pool would be better, slipping closer to sand and plant and slapping upon a phoenix feather. Out there even above the wandering dark afar, the fire of the one star. To the heavens the bird stretched into the silence dark. And hushed its cries to pull its feet out of the mud pool. The phoenix left the land to be with a star in the heavens where they ruled. The sand burped as puddles of splurting, the green plant sighed, unmoaning, unhurting.

    Jason is dead-ass tired. Ha was improvising the whole way. Her voice had a catch and hitch when she hesitated to find the next phrase. I like the way you said, Angry are the clouds, put fear upon the land, he corrected her.
    He has more than two hours left. Every Saturday at Ha's house is only a short workday for a soldier, six hours. I know there's a German word, when you meet yourself but the other guy's not you. Ha told him: Doppelgänger. Ha had not shared any poetry with him til then. It was so special, he wanted Shoegazer to come over so all three could work on the Rammstein folio. He asked permission to leave, he would be right back with Shoegazer. __


Jack Guyker impresses BP!

And so Jason had to pay British Petroleum through his father for a short round, 5 gallons is 18.9 liters. So he would know how to do it later. He thought to convince Jack Guyker to let him bring back the petrol for him. Later, he reported that his father did that, except he had to do it for twenty dollars or twenty gallons or twenty liters. Jack took his sister Jill, who was two or three years old. They went on a walk and recessed at a park and had a picnic while waiting on Jason. Jason arrived by bicycle. Jack ordered him to go onfoot with the jerrycan for petrol (gasoline) and get advice on the “fuel economy”. He did two rounds while Jack waited. He wanted to go for another two rounds. He had $12 left, because he cheated and added his own $5. His father took back his $5 and more until Jason had only $5, explaining that it was his picnic budget for only him and Jill. If he wanted to eat, there was one sandwhich's worth of cold cuts and cheese. He was too hungry to argue and had to tend to Jill. Jack explained that he used to do that all the time, fetching gasoline. He was going to show his son how much money he could make. He nibbled on plain sliced bread while his father was away. Jill was not hungry yet. He left with the jerrycan.

In two hours, Jack returned with $80, explaining he went to fetch more groceries that cost $20. Jason was so hungry, he ate another sandwhich, that time with olives in the cold cuts. Jill ate almost a whole sandwhich, with more cheese and fancy bread. Jason had groceries for four people for one meal, dinner that day, which he carried home onfoot while his father sped away on the son's bicycle to pick up his jerrycan he had lent out to some folks to do assembly-line gas self-service for foodstamps. I feel strong and healthy, Jason reported what Jack said.

Jack had gone into the grocery store and requisitioned the foodstamps out of the cash register on the promise he could get a few dozen Hispanics to use the foodstamps for working. The store said that was a deal and would pay him $100 cash. Sixty Hispanics were in line outside the grocery store waiting to work for Jack. By the time it was getting darker, they knew how to proceed on their own with only a dozen left. All of them had already relayed onfoot to the gas station, even most of the women, and given up their few dollars on-hand to work the gas station. He was satisfied the fat women simply used their dollars to buy bags of junk food and went to the grocery store to wait their turn to go shopping without cash or foodstamps. They understood they ate junk food so had to wait in the back of the line. One of their young men tried to get them to do jumping jacks or jog in place or something. When the last few were too stubborn to, the young man went in and did the shopping for them, not allowing them to have fatty groceries. It was a scandal how out of shape the women were, how disgusting their rolls of fat and mishapen breasts and bulging tummies.

That report from their own ethnic tribe to the Celtics back to the Asian chick. That Wednesday Jack took the receipt of recycled foodstamps and bicycled into DC to the federal government for a write-on, personally negotiating with HHS (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, the welfare office). He would see what he could do with U.S. international policy; he was ready to take on Navy and make them pay over the Gulf of Mexico. He followed Ha's order to reduce federal spending on frivolous vaccinations. Some mothers misunderstood and brought their children into DC as if they wanted more experimentation. Jack speaks perfect Spanish and explained the situation to them. One young mother had to be deported for trying to sell her baby. She was thinking HHS was a secret laboratory orphanage and she could buy a house for giving up her child.
    By the second time Jason and Ha went back to the topic of MeinTeal a week later, he joked how weak he was compared to his father around the Hispanics. He said his father was happy leading them, Jack concluding, "Not my spill. Ein De-kline.”
    I did not tell him to fight Navy! Ha protested. Your father goes down that road, into that lagoon, are you sure he wants to fight them for the rest of his life? Maybe six more years, Jason was told. He speaks five languages, he can go anywhere he wants. But it's the U.S. Navy! Ha said again. After the Coast Guard, the Gulf of Mexico, Puerto Rico — that's only six months. What is six years, everybody in Europe plus parts of Africa? Jason said, He can speak French, you know, I don't try to stop him. I get out of his way. Ha felt defeated Jack Guyker was risking too much on a crusade. Jason repeated as advice, Don't get in his way even if you end up in Japan. He's better at languages than you'll ever be on guitar. He's a man, he had more privilege than you'll ever know. Navy privilege? Ha wondered about the back-and-forth. Well, ummm, they can't sell what he's got because they don't produce a guy like him like they used to, so he'll charge them a lot, more and more all the time. Especially if it's Asia. They who, Europe? Oh, ummm, yeah, Europe can't let you think that because they're not around, you know what I'm saying about his way is not your way. I don't speak Japanese! Ha said, I don't know whether to be impressed or scared of your father or I should start learning Russian. It's over, Ha, they do what they want to do. He wants to go to China, he would take it slow with a woman his age, he'll go on romantic walks to enjoy the culture, he'll accumulate several millions of dollars, that's what he told me. He would leave you and your sister behind? Ha asked. That's his business, Jason said. Ha thought, abandonment? Maybe that was misunderstanding Jack Guyker, so Ha was sorry to worry.

True to form, Jack started learning Chinese calligraphy. He took his time at the Treasury Department, trying to catch up his writing skills to his language skills. By the time he left the building, British Petroleum was impressed by his Chinese poetry on old-timey craft he had made himself. Although, Jason reported, Jack was tempted to whip out the French and call it anger management. Chinese calligraphy calmed him, which was why he devoted his time to learning Chinese so well. How much was that worth? Ha asked Jason. Oh, enough for BP to not refuse.


Thine spiel

After all that reporting, it was time to move Jason along another tutorial.
    What Ha wanted to work on for Richard ZK's challenge was not the multivox active pickup that he's stuck with from Fishman (Ha's fault). Nor the original Bob Dylan-sounding Fender afficiando joke labeling of 2- and 3-band equalizer (on tour with SlipKnot, for example, not his fault) of energy cycle >1 on the knobs for stereo equipment. Those guitarists of the 1970s were haulted to avoid having their guitars confiscated by the government. She had to work on something different from the Alternative music crunch sound — for Paul first, the Rhythm guitarist. A mechanically separated crunch would be better for Clavia because the dissonance she wanted for Shoegazers fit them but they were poor in rhythm without bands with good regular timing like My Bloody Valentine, which meant a singer who could sing on-time; the fx scrunched the vocalist's sound on the mic. Ha paused to ask whether Jason knew what a scrunchie was. He said, a girl's hair tie. The potentiometer, a silly jargon, was enough for the first iteration from simple to complex, so she skipped it. Jason agreed even though he was lost in Ha's exposition. He guessed bowtie, then immediately realized he was wrong. Ha explained the passive magneticism, which she drew, which was redrawn by Gretsch (__) for her Abbey Road Studio guitar. He was not into engineering but said, I'll take this, her messy schematic on paper. I'm stuck in the 1970s, Ha protested. Good!
    He told her his father had to QA it (quality-assure), see if it's dangerous. It didn't matter, he could rely on Ha to reinvent, anything like that, which was slightly okay, kinda dangerous. I don't know what to call all that, he said. Engineering applications? Ha said. Yeah, whatever, it's not going to pass without reclassification. Jason, it's textbook stuff, you can buy a kit down the road from Radio Shack. Jason the bureaucrat does not want to die in Ha's technocracy? Ha asked. We call it foul, we call it brave to avoid people being foul, Ha said, not meaning his father. He adroitly, summarily rolled up the paper like it was expensive blueprint. He was fumbling, so Ha helped him. He tucked it under his armpit like he was going to whip it out and review all of Ha's naughty sin in an interrogation. She felt suckered by Jack Guyker, who might have been cranking out CIA tandrems. Poor thing, Jason needed a real tutorial, not cheerless technowonking.
    Would you like that repeated on a chalkboard in a different way at the end of the tutorial, ahum, your investigation? He kept at it, Please do. It's the same as your two guitars, Ha said. Herr Jay-szon Geeker, if you keep at the, ahum, classifiable material and forget, not only is the interrogation going nowhere, they will say that stuff is chicken scratch! I have evidence, I have clear and convincing proof it is you who purloined invaluable memorabilia like it's a nicked corner of the frame left behind when they purloined millions of dollars' worth of oil paintings from Europe. They! Jason hollered. They don't know chicken scratch, he calmed down. He unfurled the roll of paper, trying to consider his alibi. They and thine spiel, he remarked, reviewing the paper like a bureacratic appraiser. So did Ha. She stood up to look at it laid out on her desk like a sitmap. They moved the furniture to look at it like two lights dangling overhead.
    He yupped, yupped his way through her spiel. That is not connected, those two side by side are magnetized. Bridge only, middle. Two only, he said, bridge there, neck there. North is there, Ha said as he pointed on the paper. Correct, he said. That's twice the size at an angle. Correct, so he swiveled the paper to put the bridge pickup at his preferred nonparallel position. Nein, Herr Geeger. Guyker, he said, just tell them I'm French or something, nobody knows the difference. The angle is in the winding, the internal is triangular. If you want it at an angle— I do, he said. That's the slashed ones over here, one on each side. Yup. Geomtry works for you? Nope. Next is that, she said, so he skewed the paper the other way. And that, he said, the bunker. That's the trapezoidal one, condensed again. Yup, we can do that, he said. That's the hushbunker pickup. Stereo, show me. He pointed on the paper. Hushbunker, Ha said, 2.1 there, 3.1 there. Shoegazers' stash there. Do you know what that is? Dissonance, she said. Then he saw everything. Yup. He detected a kaboom could happen. You know, it doesn't go kaboom, she said. He did not understand. Let them sleep, she said, the Shoegazers. They've brought their equipment to shelter with us. It's our responsibility to let them get some rest. Those are their amps there. He snapped up the paper and rolled it up right away. You would let them keep a hand tool, wouldn't you? A screwdriver, a switchblade, you know. I have to, he said. Then you know I would dismiss you from the area. I let them use the parts from their amps, you go fetch food and keep busy. If you come back, we're done, you'll be safe. Heck no, you're not certified to operate a radio! she insisted. I'm going to tell my father, he warned. C'mon! Nothing against the classifier-interrogator-noninformer. Chinese calligraphy, my friend, just like your father.


    Between the __ and __ iterations of the logo, Ha paused Jason for moral development for Rammstein and to cut out the sleaze society had in store for him. Temple of six frat bros
Ha began the exercise. Considering Rammstein, at their own sanctuary, they would simply live together. If it's not a clubhouse in the neighborhood but they have acreage to themselves, do they turn into monks and retreat from the world? They would spend their whole lives on body chores. Six guys together, and only them, it takes up their whole daily routine just to get through subsistence living. One guy goes grocery shopping while the other starts a garden. One guy draws a bath for the gardner and the gigolo, they both need to clean up afterwards. The gigolo takes turns with the grocery shopper to leave the temple and go out and make money for the grocery shopper, so he has to stay clean the first season while the new garden is getting started. One guy does the laundry and stays behind at the temple. He cleans the water, fetches water for the baths, does the laundry, dries the clothing, folds the band's clothing.
    How many guys have jobs so far? Jason counted: the gardner, the grocery shopper is two, the gigolo is three, the laundry guy is four. Four persons each have a job. There's also a cook, number five. That guy has a really important job. He cooks, he cleans after every meal, does the dishes. He sweeps the floor. Everybody has to sweep the floor, Jason decided, everybody is a janitor. He said that it is not one person's job to clean the latrine, everybody has to do it. What if the scholar-secretary-singer wants an exclusive job? Jason pounced on it. That would be number six, number five is the cook. No, no, the scholar does not get to lead in prayers without poop inspection, for health reasons. The other five want to know if the incantations are spiked with voodoo or bad propaganda.
    Really? The leader is the most literate and vocal guy? Yeah! That's why he does not have a body job, he has an us-versus-world job. He has to constantly affirm why they are together, why it's better that way for the six of them versus the alternative of going back to mingling in the world and never having met each other. They can have babies and boring jobs and be boring people, there's nothing special about them. At least as a band of fraternal brothers, they are not missing out on treating each other special. If they can take care of each other, they can take care of their families. Or one big brood family.
  What happens if we lock the doors and keep them in and walk away? Is separation from their family a prison? Or is spending every last minute together blissful suicide. Rgo-Rammstein singles:
Released as singles, songs prototyped by Rgo before they were exclusively handed over to Rammstein: