Christianity has taught me to feel guilty for that which I do and don’t do. So there is nothing really left to feel good about.
Someone please explain why we need to constantly acknowledge our faults? Is this not neurotic?
Sorry, this religion isn’t working for me, never really has. It’s built completely around expectation and ritual. I am saying this because I have discovered last night that all of my pitiful notions of self that are built around feelings of inadequacy and the like are results of having a religion where we are told to be “Christ-like” in our following. The expectation of masking ourselves to be the perfect being drives our entire person and personality to continually be more and more compartmentalized. It’s a Machiavellian ideal of the status quo. Enforcing the idea that there is no need to be a self and that we must eventually be dead to be free.
But what if that’s what we’re supposed to find out?
This acknowledgment of the self, this idea that we are what we are, human, cells, atoms, organisms, etc. is something Christianity overlooks (and sometimes frowns upon). I see the spiritual nature of humanity and see how it is so often lost in religion. These people who claim to see God on a weekly basis put on a worse show than a man trying to fake an orgasm. It’s those that are awake and aware of the self, people whose eyes are constantly batted open with realization, that make me realize that I am not alone.
And then there are those whose eyes have seen these things and they have made peace with it. The Zen Buddhists, the Monks, the calm and tranquil human animals that have seen life and death as a process rather than as a very cut and dry line.
Has geometry taught us nothing? Line segments are just that! Line segments!
And perhaps our birth and death are just segments of that line of existence.
I feel as though I have overlooked much of the world trying to be a pleasing human being for the nineteen years I have been alive. And now, I think I should look to myself to find within what I want to be and see and do. Because at the end of the day, looking out is looking in, not the other way around, unless you are looking for what is inside of you, outside of you.
I spend my whole life thinking in terms of “me”. What am “I” going to accomplish today? What do “I” want out of life? What’s “my” favorite color?
What about “me” matters?
That is a question that is relevant. The self is a possessive place. The self is possession of the body, to know that the body is not what the soul is. To know that this union is not permanent. That this union exists, this is a good thing to know. To realize. Perfection of body and mind’s connection is a life time of work.
It is hard, almost impossible to strip oneself of the ego, I have found. I have spent a lifetime trying to claim my importance on Earth instead of just living. Instead of just being and experiencing. This is our worm struggling to come out of the dirt.
Unlike myself, I want to surprise the self with a newness. But we’ve been struck with our own expectations. Our own foul play and good sportsmanship that is either healthy or illegal.
And now, I’ll continue to just do it. Forget about me. Speak as if everything is a truth and change constantly. Never say “I”.
whether the Siamese half of me was cut off at birth does not matter I am a fool for thinking in lines, waiting in lines, walking in lines, driving in lines, living in lines where expectation meets solitude and fortune surmounts wealth and broken down spirits are like boxes surgically opened on the lawn of an abandoned house with their entrails of pictures and moments and families and childhoods everywhere within these lines of the lawn I am a failure at being the best for anyone inadequate for a martyr’s purpose and alleviated by sour doorbell rings that say the mail is not here and maybe just maybe the Siamese half of me was cut off at birth
(This is for my CW class right now… tentatively. It is proof that nothing I write comes out well… or clear.)
Thoroughly enjoying my Creative Writing class. The professor is 23 and knows what she is doing (as opposed to some of the forty something cats that have never actually gotten anything published). She did an open-mic poetry night at Tatame, which was swank. Word.
I just deleted the entire play-list I had on Rhapsody. I didn’t realize there wasn’t a ctrl + z function for these kinds of things. That was 1000 songs I had ready to go. Well shoot, now I’ll just have to start over… This is a good thing. Haha :D
Okay, so I’ve been listening to John McLaughlin (the guitarist and Jazz Musician, not the pop dude) for the past couple of days, obsessing as if I were insane about the Music/him. Something dawned on me, however, and I’ve found that Indian Music and culture really appeal to me more than western cultures despite my predilections. I’ve always been highly interested in Music of the world (because I loathe the term “World Music” because all of our Music comes from the world) and easily prefer it to what is commonly played.
So my thing, my predicament, is finding a graduate program, or a person of interest, that could lead me in the right direction. I might just study these things on my own for now (maybe indefinitely).
Contrary to my earlier talk of reviewing Herbie Hancock’s “Thrust”, I’ve decided to do something a little more relevant and personal for my friend Chase of Solaseria.
I will be posting a review of “Grantle Fina (The EP)” by Solaseria.This will probably come some time tomorrow as the review is looking like two pages right now, which is a little too long for my taste. I want to get to the point that this a great album.
Interesting experience. I wasn’t able to change the fabric of time and space or anything like that, but I was able to consciously make decisions for a time until I woke up and fell back into sleep. At that point, however, things got pretty nasty.
I am being blown mentally by musical information. The west is slow to move, even in the classical sense.
Today, I picked up a copy of The Percussionist’s Art from the school library, which is a comprehensive and wonderful set of information about solo percussion music and it’s complexity and difference over the past eighty years or so. What I came up while flipping through the pages were several time signatures that seemed to made my mind jiggle:
3/20, 2/12, and 5/24.
Now, most people would probably think immediately, “Ah shit, no way! You’re subdividing eighth notes in a way that is unconventional.” This is true, but what it is, is that the “20” marking indicates quintuplets (five notes) that subdivide a whole-note. In essence, this is twenty notes to every one bar of 4/4. So, 3/20 would be the division of that twenty into five quintuplets first (one for each beat leading to twenty), and then taking only three of those for the duration of a “bar”. 2/12 indicates more of a triplet feel, but only two of these “triplets” are in the bar. 24 just doubles that “speed” of passing, which is two notes for every one triplet, and the 5/24 would go by extremely quickly in comparison to the 2/12. So the bars would be most practical at slower tempos. This seems to be the best for multiples of four, like 28, 32, etc, etc.
This is obvious with more normal compound meter and mix meter, like 4, 8, 16, and 32.
The piece these signatures reference from is called “Fanfare for Klaus Huber” by Brian Ferneyhough.
I’ll post in a minute about the Bone Alphabet piece.