So we get to Friday, and I assume I know where Friday comes from. In German it's Freitag, which would mean free day. But it turns out it is the day of Frigg, wife of Odin, the only one besides him permitted to sit on the high throne and look out over the universe. But Odin turns into Woden, Wednesday, which is a whole day separated from Frigg's day. It's like they are forever separated by Thor. It reminds me of the sign they have at the Red Arrow Roadhouse: Free Beer Tomorrow. So close, yet so far.
I went there last night per my weekly tradition. The bartender recognized me from last week, making me feel almost like a regular. Already. I'm looking to become the mayor of it in Foursquare. [Which is a silly, silly urban game; I only "play" because it doesn't take any time and doesn't cause me to do things I wouldn't ordinarily do.] And I read Les Jeux Sont Faits - Sartre. It was getting really good - a romance was developing, plot twists, death, insurrection, and so on. I didn't think I was getting close to the end, but it turns out the last 70 pages (!) are glossary and study questions. So, last night in bed, I finished the last 30 pages or so. And then I wondered why I couldn't sleep. [It may also have been from the coffee yesterday; like an addict, once I taste that sweet bitterness, I'm back off the wagon.] I tried but couldn't and so read some music history. Which you would think would work, but I was in the middle of the section on Shostakovich and his dealings with Stalin. Everyone around him died or went missing, but somehow he made it through. What terror to live with - and to create under! The commies were talking about him like a true genius; maybe that's what it took. I sort of wish art were more life or death here; it's become so self-congratulating and redundant. But I am fairly certain that, most days, I would be in the "disposable" camp, and the Russkys would be throwing out the baby with the bath water.
I finished two things yesterday! Granted, they were a cover and a remix, but still. I'm really excited about the Arvo Part remix and what it portends. Maybe I will write that orchestra piece after all.
So I'm in the finishing, polishing mode. I'm off to work on a song. I've been dulling the perfectionist urge - which ultimately does a disservice to creativity - by thinking of these as demos. The Nine Inch Nails cover I made in like 5 or 6 hours; if I have to remake these (once I hear how they go, their structure) then so be it.
Focus.
Showing posts with label etymology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label etymology. Show all posts
Friday, February 5, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Woden's Day
I was way too old when I gleaned some of the etymology of the days and months. I love the fact that I was born in SEPT-ember which is really the ninth month, not the seventh and then OCT-ober, NOV-ember, and DEC-ember all follow suit. So it seems that July and August got in the way. I just learned, right now, today, where Wednesday came from: the English god Woden, who came from Odin, related, I'm sure, to Wotan but not to Wu-tang. I just realized how amazing it is that, despite all of Christianity's best efforts, the names of the gods (and Roman emperors) are still a part of our daily lives, woven into the very fabric of time.
First, here's a video. I took the images and assembled them on Tiw's Day but then finally made some decent music today:
I had lots of good thoughts today, and, what's better, I jotted them down lest I forget.
One came when I was taking a walk. The sun was shining and the snow on the streets was becoming muddy puddles with a hint of sand. I wanted to get out and enjoy it - must have been about mid-afternoon - so I took a quick 5-minute walk. Off to the side of the road, I found some footsteps from days before; turns out, they were mine. I even checked the sole patterns (you should always be able to recognize your soul, regardless of the shoes). And I got the silly idea to walk in them - walking in my own footsteps. I realized that it's a pretty good metaphor for what I'm doing up here. I've been absorbing all kinds of information, from academic to mundane to folk wisdom, so this is my chance to sort through all it. I came up with another maxim:
So there I was, walking in my own footsteps, thinking about music. In a similar way, I have absorbed all sorts of music, but now is my opportunity to weave it together into a cohesive whole. And to do that, I should write the same thing over and over, while continually evolving it. I'll keep exploring new musical landscapes, but I am at a point where I have built up somewhat of a style, so I should explore this before moving on. But: Style is the absence of imagination. So by having a style, I'm giving up a little on imagination. That should be fine because genius is only 1% imagination, and I've already got plenty to work with for a while. Just like with music, I'm hoping to develop more of a cohesive self. Post-modernism may say our self is fractured, but that's only if we don't spend the time to make ourselves whole. [Not that we'll every really achieve it; it's a nice dream.]
Speaking of dreams, I had a strange dream last night where I got speared right through the gut. I was with my friends Corbett and Grace, and we were sitting around waiting for it to happen, like I was being executed or something. And then it happened, came and went; I don't even know who (or what) did it. And then we talked about how I was going to die and all that - no one seemed that concerned, not even me. In fact, maybe it was a dream test of my attachment to life, fear of death. It seemed like any other thing in the dream, nothing to fear, totally natural. At some point, though, I started to think that this didn't necessarily mean death; I mean, I just got a spear all the way through the middle, not much bleeding. I realized when I woke up that there was probably pretty bad internal bleeding. The weapon itself was probably actually a little bigger than a spear, maybe like a sharpened fence post or an atlatl.
In a way, a lot of ways, I'm somewhat of a monk up here - a hermit monk. Except that, whereas monks know exactly what rules they are to live by, I'm still writing mine. I'm content to have this flexibility, but it's still a lot of responsibility - responsibility, but not really more or less than what all conscious beings face. My mom gave me Walden, but I've also been reading "Les Jeux Sont Faits" by Sartre. (To be fair, I'm still in the introduction of the latter.) Walden, so far, is a bunch of self-righteous preaching; I'd expect more from a 19th-century New Englander. I'm holding out hope. It turns out, he also began his experiment at 30 - or just after. The Sartre, so far, has given me much more to think about. In the introduction, the editor emphasizes Sartre's strict atheism, which I've come to appreciate as a useful tool for thought experiments. I used to have such discussions with my old roommate who was a fundamentalist atheist. I know that sounds funny, but it's true. I don't quite understand how anyone can be so sure one way or the other; if there's one thing that we're all sure of, it's that we don't know the whole story. And anyone who thinks they do isn't necessarily wrong, but they're not seeing the *whole* picture. Anything that you can imagine, the Universe is larger and less knowable.
This is a long post; it might be a good idea to get more coffee.
I've also been trying to incorporate a new thought habit into my life: when I see people, I want to see them as the complex mystery of history and interrelationships and not as a 2-dimensional automaton. I think after years of being overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humanity that's out there, I have stopped looking beneath the surface of strangers I meet. It's too overwhelming to imagine the backstory to everyone, so I just don't. But every individual is a symbol of years of parenting, education, and societal effort; everyone is important to someone; everyone will find themselves at a funeral of a loved one, and everyone will find themselves at their own. Typically, I get more excited about ideas than people, but this is really just a new idea, a new framework, a new lens with which to see. I need some practice, but this time at the cottage gives me the time to solidify the framework before returning to the churning mass of people in Chicago.
I didn't quite finish on Sartre, but this is a good introduction. Throw in the word "responsibility" and "condemned to be free" and you're almost there.
First, here's a video. I took the images and assembled them on Tiw's Day but then finally made some decent music today:
I had lots of good thoughts today, and, what's better, I jotted them down lest I forget.
One came when I was taking a walk. The sun was shining and the snow on the streets was becoming muddy puddles with a hint of sand. I wanted to get out and enjoy it - must have been about mid-afternoon - so I took a quick 5-minute walk. Off to the side of the road, I found some footsteps from days before; turns out, they were mine. I even checked the sole patterns (you should always be able to recognize your soul, regardless of the shoes). And I got the silly idea to walk in them - walking in my own footsteps. I realized that it's a pretty good metaphor for what I'm doing up here. I've been absorbing all kinds of information, from academic to mundane to folk wisdom, so this is my chance to sort through all it. I came up with another maxim:
Everything you take in you'll have to process (sooner or later).Two things: it's a good reason to limit how much we take in; it's a reminder that you can't just rush from activity to activity, from distraction to distraction, without some time to process. Else you'll be making decisions based on a tired, distracted mind.
So there I was, walking in my own footsteps, thinking about music. In a similar way, I have absorbed all sorts of music, but now is my opportunity to weave it together into a cohesive whole. And to do that, I should write the same thing over and over, while continually evolving it. I'll keep exploring new musical landscapes, but I am at a point where I have built up somewhat of a style, so I should explore this before moving on. But: Style is the absence of imagination. So by having a style, I'm giving up a little on imagination. That should be fine because genius is only 1% imagination, and I've already got plenty to work with for a while. Just like with music, I'm hoping to develop more of a cohesive self. Post-modernism may say our self is fractured, but that's only if we don't spend the time to make ourselves whole. [Not that we'll every really achieve it; it's a nice dream.]
Speaking of dreams, I had a strange dream last night where I got speared right through the gut. I was with my friends Corbett and Grace, and we were sitting around waiting for it to happen, like I was being executed or something. And then it happened, came and went; I don't even know who (or what) did it. And then we talked about how I was going to die and all that - no one seemed that concerned, not even me. In fact, maybe it was a dream test of my attachment to life, fear of death. It seemed like any other thing in the dream, nothing to fear, totally natural. At some point, though, I started to think that this didn't necessarily mean death; I mean, I just got a spear all the way through the middle, not much bleeding. I realized when I woke up that there was probably pretty bad internal bleeding. The weapon itself was probably actually a little bigger than a spear, maybe like a sharpened fence post or an atlatl.
In a way, a lot of ways, I'm somewhat of a monk up here - a hermit monk. Except that, whereas monks know exactly what rules they are to live by, I'm still writing mine. I'm content to have this flexibility, but it's still a lot of responsibility - responsibility, but not really more or less than what all conscious beings face. My mom gave me Walden, but I've also been reading "Les Jeux Sont Faits" by Sartre. (To be fair, I'm still in the introduction of the latter.) Walden, so far, is a bunch of self-righteous preaching; I'd expect more from a 19th-century New Englander. I'm holding out hope. It turns out, he also began his experiment at 30 - or just after. The Sartre, so far, has given me much more to think about. In the introduction, the editor emphasizes Sartre's strict atheism, which I've come to appreciate as a useful tool for thought experiments. I used to have such discussions with my old roommate who was a fundamentalist atheist. I know that sounds funny, but it's true. I don't quite understand how anyone can be so sure one way or the other; if there's one thing that we're all sure of, it's that we don't know the whole story. And anyone who thinks they do isn't necessarily wrong, but they're not seeing the *whole* picture. Anything that you can imagine, the Universe is larger and less knowable.
This is a long post; it might be a good idea to get more coffee.
I've also been trying to incorporate a new thought habit into my life: when I see people, I want to see them as the complex mystery of history and interrelationships and not as a 2-dimensional automaton. I think after years of being overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humanity that's out there, I have stopped looking beneath the surface of strangers I meet. It's too overwhelming to imagine the backstory to everyone, so I just don't. But every individual is a symbol of years of parenting, education, and societal effort; everyone is important to someone; everyone will find themselves at a funeral of a loved one, and everyone will find themselves at their own. Typically, I get more excited about ideas than people, but this is really just a new idea, a new framework, a new lens with which to see. I need some practice, but this time at the cottage gives me the time to solidify the framework before returning to the churning mass of people in Chicago.
I didn't quite finish on Sartre, but this is a good introduction. Throw in the word "responsibility" and "condemned to be free" and you're almost there.
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