To Beautiful Boy, where ever you are:
Please return my ability to sleep. Now, damnit.
Or I will be forced to take desperate measures.
Signed,
The management.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
No...Our dreams went up in dreams, you stupid pothead.
Let's just say that I've discovered a new and interesting perspective that I'm pursuing. Where it leads, I'm far from sure yet. For now, I'm enjoying the scary first few steps on the road.
Insanity or optimism...sometimes...are quite similar.
Insanity or optimism...sometimes...are quite similar.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Thought Provoked
Today was another bizarre reminder of how fine the line I walk between being responsible, and being a glutton for punishment. After screwing up my courage all week to finally confront the man on being totally irresponsible, he beat me too it. Yeah, I know, what the fuck. The poor guy though, was actually legitimately sick. He came in to Theory this morning, turned off half the lights, pulled over the vibes to play on because they "aren't as piercing as the piano", and made us all sit like two feet away so that we "don't have to yell to be heard". And then ended class half an hour in, half an hour out of, oh, a full two. Hahah, sick, or one kickin hangover...yes I am malevolent.
Then came the infamous, "Peggy, hang out for a bit, we need to chat." Can we say in chorus, "Oh fuck." So I putzed around for awhile, cackling evilly to myself while he soothed a few shattered skulls, calmly explaining that the intricate natures of the harmonic minor scale will not, in fact, blow your mind. And then begins the litany. It was almost surreal at times, word for word that High School rhythm, all "People look up to you whether you like it or not..." and then some, "Because of the person that you are, you will always be an influential person in this department, so you may as well make your peace with being in the spotlight and being pushed into roles of authority now" and finally some of my personal favorite, "When you hold yourself like you are frustrated, like you are tired, like you don't want to be here, people see that and they reflect that. You need to learn to summon enthusiasm, how to find the energy you need to get by." Well yes, I'm sorry. I'm human. What the fuck.
This of course was all as preface to telling me that I need to rehearse the percussion ensemble again this evening. Yes, lets all admire that grand display of eloquent rhetoric. I'll have to try that next time I need something, first a series of back-handed compliments, followed by the omnipresent analysis of one's negative attitudes, then a flash bang closer of a guilty appeal to one's decency and responsibility. Ah, yes. Gets me everytime.
Then, heres the kicker, I managed to actually stand up to the guy. It was worth it just to watch Brett's face, see the progression of his disbelief from first the jaw dropping, then the eyes bugging out, then the push back from the desk, and finally the ubiquitous hands through hair. Ok, sad, yes. I was really proud of myself though, I am very not the assertive person by nature, its definitely something I'm just starting to get the hang of. I told him how angry we were for being left in the lurch, how low down I thought it was, not so much for us, we're used to it. More for the poor high school kids who are dependent on their parents to drive them up here, only to play on a few songs. To help us. To help him. I told him that we really don't mind working our ass off for him, because I think we really all respect him, and respect what we're doing. But you gotta give to get. Yeah, that's about it. But that's all true, all out in the air, this is me not even exaggerating. Exhilarating, yes.
The thing is, I really don't mind doing everything that I'm asked to do. I'm flattered, occasionally even grateful for the opportunities and experiences. But I am past being taken advantage of. I think he has a point about the attitude though, or at least it has caused me to think a lot about it. I think I'm just really not comfortable being thrust into leadership roles, especially in groups of my peers. So in those situations, I put on the disaffected youth hat, reflect the attitudes that I think people expect of me. All those years of music and rehearsals not being "cool", I guess I picked up bit of that attitude, so that's what I fall back on. Like it makes me easier to deal with. I'll give him that.
Old habits die hard.
Especially awkward self-conscious teen ones.
Then came the infamous, "Peggy, hang out for a bit, we need to chat." Can we say in chorus, "Oh fuck." So I putzed around for awhile, cackling evilly to myself while he soothed a few shattered skulls, calmly explaining that the intricate natures of the harmonic minor scale will not, in fact, blow your mind. And then begins the litany. It was almost surreal at times, word for word that High School rhythm, all "People look up to you whether you like it or not..." and then some, "Because of the person that you are, you will always be an influential person in this department, so you may as well make your peace with being in the spotlight and being pushed into roles of authority now" and finally some of my personal favorite, "When you hold yourself like you are frustrated, like you are tired, like you don't want to be here, people see that and they reflect that. You need to learn to summon enthusiasm, how to find the energy you need to get by." Well yes, I'm sorry. I'm human. What the fuck.
This of course was all as preface to telling me that I need to rehearse the percussion ensemble again this evening. Yes, lets all admire that grand display of eloquent rhetoric. I'll have to try that next time I need something, first a series of back-handed compliments, followed by the omnipresent analysis of one's negative attitudes, then a flash bang closer of a guilty appeal to one's decency and responsibility. Ah, yes. Gets me everytime.
Then, heres the kicker, I managed to actually stand up to the guy. It was worth it just to watch Brett's face, see the progression of his disbelief from first the jaw dropping, then the eyes bugging out, then the push back from the desk, and finally the ubiquitous hands through hair. Ok, sad, yes. I was really proud of myself though, I am very not the assertive person by nature, its definitely something I'm just starting to get the hang of. I told him how angry we were for being left in the lurch, how low down I thought it was, not so much for us, we're used to it. More for the poor high school kids who are dependent on their parents to drive them up here, only to play on a few songs. To help us. To help him. I told him that we really don't mind working our ass off for him, because I think we really all respect him, and respect what we're doing. But you gotta give to get. Yeah, that's about it. But that's all true, all out in the air, this is me not even exaggerating. Exhilarating, yes.
The thing is, I really don't mind doing everything that I'm asked to do. I'm flattered, occasionally even grateful for the opportunities and experiences. But I am past being taken advantage of. I think he has a point about the attitude though, or at least it has caused me to think a lot about it. I think I'm just really not comfortable being thrust into leadership roles, especially in groups of my peers. So in those situations, I put on the disaffected youth hat, reflect the attitudes that I think people expect of me. All those years of music and rehearsals not being "cool", I guess I picked up bit of that attitude, so that's what I fall back on. Like it makes me easier to deal with. I'll give him that.
Old habits die hard.
Especially awkward self-conscious teen ones.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Could It Be True?
There is mad evil afoot today. For the first time EVER in my collegiate career, my class got canceled. Not only that...but said class just happens to be Music Theory, the bane of my existance. And it also happens to be a Tuesday, so if my string of unprecedented luck holds true, (but hey regarding last night, who knows??) I will have been granted a BRETT FREE DAY.
MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
This should be a federal holiday. Just for me ;-)
MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
This should be a federal holiday. Just for me ;-)
Monday, February 21, 2005
Dear Mr. Baldwin or alternately Peggy vs. the PC Crowd
Occasionally, between boughts of total sedation and ingratiation, the hell that is Inventing America does pique my interest. Today we were discussing Alexander de Tocqueville's perspectives on race, and the general tilt of the conversation really got me thinking. JK started the class with statistics, comparing the racial and class makeup of basically antebellum America to our present day, including voting statistics, the poverty line, etc. The numbers were really the most unsatisfying, I mean, how does one come around to classifying themselves as "non-white, American Indian or Alaskan native," or god forbid, "African American"? Talk about a loaded question. I think in general, I rebel against such snap judgments, quick generalizations, basically, why assume? Why think you know?
So I posed this question in class, and happily managed to hijack the rest of the discussion. There were a few mixed-race kids in the class, and of course, our token black girl, (token only in the sense that it is Lewis & Clark for crying out loud) which thankfully added to the discussion. I came to realize, again, how deeply I have been affected by the diversity of my family. Someone brought up Affirmative Action, speaking quite passionately about racial minorities exaggerating their standing simply to better qualify for college admission and the like. I don't actually think she meant it maliciously, I just found the perspective really interesting. I mean, ethnically, I'm basically 80% Jewish, a good 3/4 of my family was eliminated during the holocaust, though we haven't been practicing Jews for two generations. Though I do identify with Judaism as a large part of my ancestry, of the history I share with a greater whole, I would never claim to be Jewish. I would claim Jewish ancestry if anything, but the first time I was in a synagogue was definitely Lori Liebesman's bat mitzvah in eighth grade.
The whole idea of self classification, or identity in relationship to how society sees you, it really bothers me. People look at me and I'm sure see straight of most of the truth: I'm a young, white, educated woman, on the affluent side of comfortable. But if you stop there you miss so much. That says nothing about my African-Vietnamese sister, says nothing about my black-as-can-be uncle, his children that I love, my nieces and nephew who are just now coming into themselves. I feel like, because of the people I grew up around, I have a better idea of race. Maybe better isn't the right word, maybe just broader. Maybe I'm just as naive as the rest of 'em.
Or maybe I just like a good excuse to rebel against a more than dominant opinion.
I wrote this letter to my nephew last semester, in response to reading James Baldwin. This just about says it all, I feel like.
"...You can't fully understand the dynamics holding together your life. Your mother's - my sister's - struggle to provide for you and your family has led her through years of strange choices. You may not recall that hole of a house in which you lived; all those years ago back in Baltimore. We visited you there, with the roaches, the seeping ceiling, and the chipping paint they tell me you ate until it landed you in the hospital. Mister Baldwin would tell you that it's their fault, that "these innocent and well-meaning people, your countrymen, have caused you to be born under conditions not very far removed from those described for us by Charles Dickens in the London of more than a hundred years ago" (Reader. Pg. 273)
Now that may be true, if you consider my mother - your grandmother - an innocent and bighearted woman, who thought kicking your mom out on the streets was a worthy penalty for having you. She truly believed abandoning you to the ghettos would make you stronger; that you could never integrate yourselves into our lives. I wish I had better truths to pass on, I wish I had tender stories of bringing you out, of smothering you with enough love to keep you safe for the duration. Instead, we turned a blind eye and let you just be another black baby set down in the dark to be swallowed up (p. 274).
Somehow, Sheldon, you've managed to surprise us all. You've come up in this world compassionate, moral, and indomitable. Last summer, you awed me with your courage. Not only confronting us by waving our flagrant biases in front of us, you spoke quite eloquently on behalf of your mother. It was then, at that moment, as I was hiding and eavesdropping on the conversation, that I realized we could never truly accept you in our world. You only wanted to escape a hard situation, to run away from a bad man taking advantage of your mother. You were not asking much. We feared disorder, and were afraid of the ramifications of taking in a young black man. And how the suburbs would have howled then, irate at the interloper in our midst. You see, Sheldon, "To act is to be committed and to be committed is to be in danger.Any upheaval in the universe is terrifying because it so profoundly attacks one's sense of one's own reality" (p. 274).
Living with us in Maryland would have forced my parents to see how discriminating and degrading our lifestyle could be. You would have made them see how stifling their attitudes could be; making them see exactly how you have been wronged by our society. This painful amalgamation is exactly what we need to make us realize how little we understand of each other! Baldwin said it so purely, that "we, with love, shall force our brothers to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it" (p. 274). If we consider ourselves progressive, we must first confront the evils that we wreak, then with thought and empathy, we must set about to change..."
I think the honest truth is that the "race issue" corresponds to our human need and desire for an easy answer. We go out into the world, and endeavor to make connections with those who hold something in common with us. In many ways, race, profiling even, is most palatable, or at least quickest way to classify those we encounter. Race will always be an issue, because people will always use it as an easy way to disqualify others, to make the great puzzle of conscience that is humanity easier to grasp.
So wherever you are, all you who have influenced my consciousness, thank you.
So I posed this question in class, and happily managed to hijack the rest of the discussion. There were a few mixed-race kids in the class, and of course, our token black girl, (token only in the sense that it is Lewis & Clark for crying out loud) which thankfully added to the discussion. I came to realize, again, how deeply I have been affected by the diversity of my family. Someone brought up Affirmative Action, speaking quite passionately about racial minorities exaggerating their standing simply to better qualify for college admission and the like. I don't actually think she meant it maliciously, I just found the perspective really interesting. I mean, ethnically, I'm basically 80% Jewish, a good 3/4 of my family was eliminated during the holocaust, though we haven't been practicing Jews for two generations. Though I do identify with Judaism as a large part of my ancestry, of the history I share with a greater whole, I would never claim to be Jewish. I would claim Jewish ancestry if anything, but the first time I was in a synagogue was definitely Lori Liebesman's bat mitzvah in eighth grade.
The whole idea of self classification, or identity in relationship to how society sees you, it really bothers me. People look at me and I'm sure see straight of most of the truth: I'm a young, white, educated woman, on the affluent side of comfortable. But if you stop there you miss so much. That says nothing about my African-Vietnamese sister, says nothing about my black-as-can-be uncle, his children that I love, my nieces and nephew who are just now coming into themselves. I feel like, because of the people I grew up around, I have a better idea of race. Maybe better isn't the right word, maybe just broader. Maybe I'm just as naive as the rest of 'em.
Or maybe I just like a good excuse to rebel against a more than dominant opinion.
I wrote this letter to my nephew last semester, in response to reading James Baldwin. This just about says it all, I feel like.
"...You can't fully understand the dynamics holding together your life. Your mother's - my sister's - struggle to provide for you and your family has led her through years of strange choices. You may not recall that hole of a house in which you lived; all those years ago back in Baltimore. We visited you there, with the roaches, the seeping ceiling, and the chipping paint they tell me you ate until it landed you in the hospital. Mister Baldwin would tell you that it's their fault, that "these innocent and well-meaning people, your countrymen, have caused you to be born under conditions not very far removed from those described for us by Charles Dickens in the London of more than a hundred years ago" (Reader. Pg. 273)
Now that may be true, if you consider my mother - your grandmother - an innocent and bighearted woman, who thought kicking your mom out on the streets was a worthy penalty for having you. She truly believed abandoning you to the ghettos would make you stronger; that you could never integrate yourselves into our lives. I wish I had better truths to pass on, I wish I had tender stories of bringing you out, of smothering you with enough love to keep you safe for the duration. Instead, we turned a blind eye and let you just be another black baby set down in the dark to be swallowed up (p. 274).
Somehow, Sheldon, you've managed to surprise us all. You've come up in this world compassionate, moral, and indomitable. Last summer, you awed me with your courage. Not only confronting us by waving our flagrant biases in front of us, you spoke quite eloquently on behalf of your mother. It was then, at that moment, as I was hiding and eavesdropping on the conversation, that I realized we could never truly accept you in our world. You only wanted to escape a hard situation, to run away from a bad man taking advantage of your mother. You were not asking much. We feared disorder, and were afraid of the ramifications of taking in a young black man. And how the suburbs would have howled then, irate at the interloper in our midst. You see, Sheldon, "To act is to be committed and to be committed is to be in danger.Any upheaval in the universe is terrifying because it so profoundly attacks one's sense of one's own reality" (p. 274).
Living with us in Maryland would have forced my parents to see how discriminating and degrading our lifestyle could be. You would have made them see how stifling their attitudes could be; making them see exactly how you have been wronged by our society. This painful amalgamation is exactly what we need to make us realize how little we understand of each other! Baldwin said it so purely, that "we, with love, shall force our brothers to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it" (p. 274). If we consider ourselves progressive, we must first confront the evils that we wreak, then with thought and empathy, we must set about to change..."
I think the honest truth is that the "race issue" corresponds to our human need and desire for an easy answer. We go out into the world, and endeavor to make connections with those who hold something in common with us. In many ways, race, profiling even, is most palatable, or at least quickest way to classify those we encounter. Race will always be an issue, because people will always use it as an easy way to disqualify others, to make the great puzzle of conscience that is humanity easier to grasp.
So wherever you are, all you who have influenced my consciousness, thank you.
Monday, February 14, 2005
My Best Friend is the Queen of the Dinosaurs...
I've been trying all day not to let the weight of this holiday drag me down. Me of all people, you know? I take pride in the comfort of my own skin, I enjoy my own company, I don't fear being left to my lonesome. And here I am, moping around because I am alone on Valentine's Day. I can't make sense of it. I know it all, I've got friends and family...Who needs the trappings of carnal affection? So I set off down the hill for class this morning, bracing myself for the flood of sappy-sweet Pepto Bismal flavored sentiments, and was immediately accosted by a barrage of "I love Alex Phillips, will you be my valentine please?" posters. Some poor bastard has literally papered campus with endless displays of their affection. Nothing like a pre-coffee PDA to make you feel down right cruddy.
Fast forward 6 hours, and you'd find me slaving away for my music, holed up in Evans avoiding the world. I actually did make considerable progress on the Prelude, which countermanded some of my bitterness quite nicely. Then, Ryan, poor soul, showed up to listen to me play through the excerpt for Saturday. (If you're reading this, I honestly don't know what to say. Thank you for pacifying me, and I hope at some point I can actually play for you like I play for myself. I appreciate your kindness and your skill more than you probably realize.) As cathartic as practicing for two hours may be, I'd still rather sit down cold, play, and be proud of the effort. I almost miss not being so invested, because then there isn't nearly so much to lose. That goes for life in general, the scary creation outside my cocoon. I understand the appeal of opting out, because then you put nothing on the line, there is no risk for failure if you haven't begun the attempt.
What a whole-hearted waste of a day. And then I dropped a tympani on my foot. And there went any misguided notion of having it all together. So if you see me limping slightly, please come give me a hug. It's either because of that, or because I'm drunk. But either way, I'm sure to be appreciative.
Fast forward 6 hours, and you'd find me slaving away for my music, holed up in Evans avoiding the world. I actually did make considerable progress on the Prelude, which countermanded some of my bitterness quite nicely. Then, Ryan, poor soul, showed up to listen to me play through the excerpt for Saturday. (If you're reading this, I honestly don't know what to say. Thank you for pacifying me, and I hope at some point I can actually play for you like I play for myself. I appreciate your kindness and your skill more than you probably realize.) As cathartic as practicing for two hours may be, I'd still rather sit down cold, play, and be proud of the effort. I almost miss not being so invested, because then there isn't nearly so much to lose. That goes for life in general, the scary creation outside my cocoon. I understand the appeal of opting out, because then you put nothing on the line, there is no risk for failure if you haven't begun the attempt.
What a whole-hearted waste of a day. And then I dropped a tympani on my foot. And there went any misguided notion of having it all together. So if you see me limping slightly, please come give me a hug. It's either because of that, or because I'm drunk. But either way, I'm sure to be appreciative.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Catch of the Day
Adrian, my Logic professor, on Frege's contribution to the development of logical analysis:
"I mean, the man invented friggin' LANGUAGE...and people are all like...jigga what???"
" I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machin- ery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz..." - "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg
All for now. I'm banishing Ani to the recesses of good moods, and tackling too many days of back work.
"I mean, the man invented friggin' LANGUAGE...and people are all like...jigga what???"
" I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machin- ery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz..." - "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg
All for now. I'm banishing Ani to the recesses of good moods, and tackling too many days of back work.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
How in the HELL??? or alternately: JEZISE MARIA
Does anyone else ever look back on the parade of events that leads you to the places you presently find yourself? Or maybe that much narcissistic introspection is my own particular brand of paranoia... How suddenly, you're buried in hellacious amounts of projects and work and activities and heaven forbid fun stuff, though none of which you voluntarily (or just consciously) sought out. Like, holy fuck, although I've embraced the fact that I am a wholehearted freak of nature when it comes to, well, doing EVERYTHING, I swear to Christ most of this stuff magically appears. Really. Drug induced Disney magic.
Exhibit A: Polyglot
Polyglot is our foreign language annual journal here on campus. Note to self: don't comment on what a great tradition something is, unless you FULLY intend to be involved in it. I unwittingly stumbled 800 feet face down into that pit last week during Russian. Apparently, Polyglot has had less then its normal dearth of submissions this year, so they are desperate. Cue Donna, my happy rotund (I dunno, Donna and rotund just go together in my mind) professor, deciding to link giving me a recommendation for my Study Abroad application, to me submitting something by Friday. Bloody hell. Me being the super brilliant debutante that I am, decided that I could pull something out of my ass easier in Czech, rather than Russian. Or at the very least, fewer important people would have half a chance of understanding my piece. So today after the hell that is my Logic class, I decided to go down to Fir Acres Theater, and try to make contact with the elusive Stepan Simek. Stepan is a theater professor here at L&C, and was off jetsetting last semester through the Czech Republic, in between studying at the Narodni Divadlo in Prague. Or at least in my mind he was jetsetting. Jealous, hell yes. I actually did find him, we talked quite awkwardly for a few minutes, and he told me to email him to set up a get together next week. Insert me blathering idiot quote here. Mind you, this entire exchange was in ENGLISH. I have no idea what I'm going to do in Czech. Knowing me, it'll come out as this laughable conglomeration of Russian and Spanish. Oh, right, and the whole you know, writing part. About that...
Exhibit B: International Fair
Not much to kvetch about here, really, but more so just because I have yet to be exposed to the full fury of the project. Again though, me opening my big mouth in Russian. I happened to mention how much of a shame it is that no one is representing anything remotely Slavic-ish at the International Fair. 'Lo and behold, I am now a co-chair of the Russian group at the International Fair. You'd think I'd learn, right? Christ, Peggy. Sit down, and shut up.
Exhibit C: Scholarships
Ok, this one at least is totally on me, both the stress and the benefits. Next weekend I go in front of the Music Department faculty, and get to play two pieces. Just peachy, minus me and my tremendous inhibiting fear of solo performing. Yea, after oh, 16 years being involved with music, I definitely should have figured out a way to control myself in audition situations and such, but no. My hands get sweaty and start to shake, my breathing speeds up, oh and the kicker, I always have to pee. The worst thing is rushing my tempos, and speeding through hard passages that I really shouldn't, just because my heart is racing so fast. In general, in all areas of my life, I abhor doing worse than I should have, or than I could have, for stupid reasons. There is nothing in the world worse then knowing something, knowing all the kinks and weirdnesses, knowing all the minute colorings and shades, truly having mastered something, and not being able to express that. Be it music, or organic chemistry, I mean, what a huge disappointment. It's funny though, I have absolutely no qualms about performing in groups, or small ensembles, and piano recitals never bothered me, either. Something about all eyes being focused on you.
Exhibit A: Polyglot
Polyglot is our foreign language annual journal here on campus. Note to self: don't comment on what a great tradition something is, unless you FULLY intend to be involved in it. I unwittingly stumbled 800 feet face down into that pit last week during Russian. Apparently, Polyglot has had less then its normal dearth of submissions this year, so they are desperate. Cue Donna, my happy rotund (I dunno, Donna and rotund just go together in my mind) professor, deciding to link giving me a recommendation for my Study Abroad application, to me submitting something by Friday. Bloody hell. Me being the super brilliant debutante that I am, decided that I could pull something out of my ass easier in Czech, rather than Russian. Or at the very least, fewer important people would have half a chance of understanding my piece. So today after the hell that is my Logic class, I decided to go down to Fir Acres Theater, and try to make contact with the elusive Stepan Simek. Stepan is a theater professor here at L&C, and was off jetsetting last semester through the Czech Republic, in between studying at the Narodni Divadlo in Prague. Or at least in my mind he was jetsetting. Jealous, hell yes. I actually did find him, we talked quite awkwardly for a few minutes, and he told me to email him to set up a get together next week. Insert me blathering idiot quote here. Mind you, this entire exchange was in ENGLISH. I have no idea what I'm going to do in Czech. Knowing me, it'll come out as this laughable conglomeration of Russian and Spanish. Oh, right, and the whole you know, writing part. About that...
Exhibit B: International Fair
Not much to kvetch about here, really, but more so just because I have yet to be exposed to the full fury of the project. Again though, me opening my big mouth in Russian. I happened to mention how much of a shame it is that no one is representing anything remotely Slavic-ish at the International Fair. 'Lo and behold, I am now a co-chair of the Russian group at the International Fair. You'd think I'd learn, right? Christ, Peggy. Sit down, and shut up.
Exhibit C: Scholarships
Ok, this one at least is totally on me, both the stress and the benefits. Next weekend I go in front of the Music Department faculty, and get to play two pieces. Just peachy, minus me and my tremendous inhibiting fear of solo performing. Yea, after oh, 16 years being involved with music, I definitely should have figured out a way to control myself in audition situations and such, but no. My hands get sweaty and start to shake, my breathing speeds up, oh and the kicker, I always have to pee. The worst thing is rushing my tempos, and speeding through hard passages that I really shouldn't, just because my heart is racing so fast. In general, in all areas of my life, I abhor doing worse than I should have, or than I could have, for stupid reasons. There is nothing in the world worse then knowing something, knowing all the kinks and weirdnesses, knowing all the minute colorings and shades, truly having mastered something, and not being able to express that. Be it music, or organic chemistry, I mean, what a huge disappointment. It's funny though, I have absolutely no qualms about performing in groups, or small ensembles, and piano recitals never bothered me, either. Something about all eyes being focused on you.
Some days I wish I hadn't sold my soul to the Music Department. The rewards are always greater then the penalties, but still. Eleven hours in two days, is almost too much to bear.
G'night my chickabees. I'm off to Evans until hell freezes over.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Tracing Words In A Puddle
Damn I really need to get off campus more often.
Prayer
Why do I hear the ocean in
silence- rasping?
Greengrey light dripping
opaquely, while the
wasted remnants of song echo
quietly- breathy.
Stone stillness flutters
nervously
and yet-
Where from these heaving waves?
Wounded Heart
such torrid melancholy.
lovely excruciation, to yearn
for long lost sight you never
truly possessed.
call my name
into the night wind
shout until your voice rakes
discontent.
howl, loath,
write me your oppression in
the eyelashes of the world.
fling, dormant,
maybe then you'll finally hear
Comments? Be nice now, its been many years since my poetry has seen the light of day. Or existed.
Prayer
Why do I hear the ocean in
silence- rasping?
Greengrey light dripping
opaquely, while the
wasted remnants of song echo
quietly- breathy.
Stone stillness flutters
nervously
and yet-
Where from these heaving waves?
Wounded Heart
such torrid melancholy.
lovely excruciation, to yearn
for long lost sight you never
truly possessed.
call my name
into the night wind
shout until your voice rakes
discontent.
howl, loath,
write me your oppression in
the eyelashes of the world.
fling, dormant,
maybe then you'll finally hear
Comments? Be nice now, its been many years since my poetry has seen the light of day. Or existed.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
*Meep*
Ulysses...
...There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The auspicious beginning, children. Meh, pourquoi pas?
...There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The auspicious beginning, children. Meh, pourquoi pas?
Friday, February 04, 2005
Release
It's funny. I go weeks upon weeks, stumbling around in my own mind, half drunk, but with no particular need to put pen to paper. No calling for that excruciating release. And then one day the wind tastes different, salty-like, and the clouds come rushing in with orange intensity, and its all I can think about. I think maybe in another life I was a kleptomaniac, because on days like these I just want to possess the world, spirit away the reflection of days, stuff moments in my pockets, make off with city blocks, mine, mine to keep. Weird, huh? It's liberating, like being turned on- whatever the antethesis of dormacy is. God, I'm out of practice. To hell with the erudite. Too often life interupts, intercedes on my behalf, and I never keep hold of the chance. Or my guilty conscience noses me back towards the "right" direction, and thats the end of that.
Well, presently, I'm off to put a dent in the world. Convictions and all that. I've coerced myself into volunteering for Russian Social Services. And thus, today begins another grand adventure.
Well, presently, I'm off to put a dent in the world. Convictions and all that. I've coerced myself into volunteering for Russian Social Services. And thus, today begins another grand adventure.
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