From Belle & Sebastian

You're my picture on the wall
You're my vision in the hall
You're the one I'm talking to
When I get in from my work
You are my girl, and you don't even know it
I am living out the life of a poet
I am the jester in the ancient court
You're the funny little frog in my throat

I had a conversation with you at night
It's a little one sided but that's all right
I tell you in the kitchen about my day
You sit on the bed in the dark, changing places
With the ghost that was there before you came
You've come to save my life again

Ninety-one

I'm not generally a dark person. I like being introspective, but I don't usually lose hope in life. However, I've always had an interest in music that gravitates towards that view. People say it affects you eventually and I wonder if that is true. In some ways, it is the most honest type of music in relation to humanity. It reflects our suffering, our anger, our imperfections... It outlines our need for something greater than ourselves.

As an ending aside, distorted cello is the bomb.

Music

Music is a language. It crosses the voids between cultures, it fills the gaps between words, it melts the ice of stark civility. It does not define or explain emotion - it becomes emotion, expressing the sentiments of the soul.

Advice In Passing ~

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen, who play with their boats at sea - "cruising," it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot or will not fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.

"I've always wanted to sail to the South Seas, but I can't afford it." What these men can't afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of "security." And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine - and before we know it our lives are gone.

What does a man need - really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in - and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That's all - in the material sense. And we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention from the sheer idiocy of the charade.

The years thunder by. The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.

Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?

~Sterling Hayden

Issues Rising

Today was interesting.

The Liszt bicentennial concert happened. It was in honor of a man who donated a concert piano to the music department last month. He loved the piano. He died two weeks ago. He left two kids who are in high school.

This evening I watched a film called Patagonia Rising. It documents how a water corporation owned by foreign investors is trying to build hydroelectric dams across the two major rivers of Patagonia, Chile. It would displace thousands of farmers who have lived along the river banks for years, flood their farmlands and doubtless have a large impact on the local flora and fauna. The even bigger issue with it is that it wouldn't produce half as much energy as other sustainable options like solar panels or windmills.

The answers? I certainly don't know. Personally, I'd prioritize human injustices over environmental ones. Often they are interconnected, but honestly when it comes to keeping emaciated children from dying or saving a plot of rainforest trees there is absolutely no question in my mind. There is a balance of man and nature somewhere, but it hasn't been discovered yet. I think there are too many of our skewed desires on the planet for it to work, too many politics, nuts and bolts, too many people who don't give value to a soul... And really, if you don't have a soul, what do you have?

Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a word of truth
'Cause all that you have
Is your soul.

Time winds on...

Crank, crank, crank...

I am extremely grateful to Rimsky-Korsakov for orchestrating many works by other Russian composers that would otherwise fall beyond the edge of gnarly and well into the realm of insanity. That being said, there is still much chromaticism to conquer... onward my brave stragglers of the community orchestra, that notable band...

Sarcasm seems to be reigning supreme this weekend. As well as bad humor.

"I used to work at a fire hydrant factory. It was terrible. You couldn't park anywhere near the place."

 "My dog has no nose." 
       -"Oh really? How does he smell?"
"Awful!"

"I never could believe in Santa Claus, because no white dude would ever go near my neighborhood after dark."

"Cruisers' plans are carved in Jell-O."

"It's hard to be religious when certain people are never incinerated by bolts of lightning."

A Story Waiting to be Written

I usually am inspired to express myself in writing, but lately I've been using other mediums. Anyhow.

Dropped the business class! I feel a little pressure relieved... This thing should be totally doable now. "Should" being the operative word here. I'd really like to do Nano again this year, so we'll see how doable that turns out to be. I even have an idea if I do Nano.

This box of books ended up in the Word Shop. That wasn't the remarkable thing; there are multitudes of boxes that end up in the shop in any given month. There was a small book lying amongst a bunch of other old musty books, and Alliee set it in front of me as she rooted through the box. The book had a navy cover with a yellow poppy on the front. It was a book of poems in German about California. The first page was autographed by the author and looked like it had originally been given to a friend. The poems had been written between 1898 and 1906 and were organized according to subject - Yosemite, Love Songs, Nature Songs... As I thumbed through the timeworn pages regretting my poor recollection of college German, a photograph fell out. It was a small one, apparently taken with a Brownie camera. There were 3 men in the photo with a dog. After a detailed discussion with Justin about the many small things we picked out in the photo, we decided it was probably taken in the 1930's. Another thing that was hidden in the book was a pressed carnation. Most intriguing.