the green fairy

It's my last night at the cottage. I've been back and forth from Chicago to Michigan so many times it hurts my brain to try to remember: sometimes taking the train, sometimes driving, and always thinking about which bike I'll have access to where.

I went for a bike ride yesterday that made me feel great. Must have been about 20 miles, since I followed some route that claimed as much. There are bike routes posted all over up here, planned by Backroads Bikeways. Hilly but not too hilly, roads were good not great. And there was one part where the road disappeared altogether. Granted, it said "road closed" (to thru traffic) and I went ahead anyway.

And tonight I used the grill for the second time, the first being last week with Laura. I made the same thing: a boneless ribeye, marinated in salt and balsamic. Good stuff. And, just like last week, I forgot about the sweet potatoes until just now. Sounds like dessert.

All the things that make the house a good vacation house are really only available in the nice weather: bike rides, grilling, outdoor fires, the beach, sunsets. I haven't seen any sunsets since I've been up here. It's a strange concept, being able to have a sunset just about any night; in my mind they are sacred, associated with vacations with family or friends; seems strange to witness alone. And it seems strange that it seems strange to a guy who voluntarily made his primary habitation a lonesome cottage in the woods.

But my vacation was different this time around than other vacations. It seemed more like work, but the work was largely unpaid and mostly involved synthesizing various former and future selves into one. I think it's easy to put self-work on hold when we get busy with more lucrative activities. Maybe it's just because I'm a procrastinator, but I had issues from years ago that came up--both expected and unexpected. Maybe this is what therapy is like, except more regular and less intense--surely more sustainable.

And so to celebrate my last night, I started with steak and am finishing with Absinthe. I've got a few shots left in the bottle, and I can't imagine doing this with anyone else.

what you see is what you get

This morning woke up in a damp, grey fog like they get in the mountains. After about an hour, though, the sun worked its way through to start warming up the air.

It's the start of baseball season. I'm really only excited in sympathetic vibration with a few diehard fans, only realizing it was today because of some posts on facebook. I think, in the game of life, you're either a pitcher or a hitter. The hitters expect mostly fastballs and then are always surprised when they are thrown a curveball. The pitchers know what's coming next, following a loose plan of attack to keep the hitters off guard. For me, I think I've mostly been a hitter but have been slowly drifting to the pitching staff. These days, I'm pretty much my own pitcher and hitter, throwing myself curveballs and then seeing if I can hit them. This entire discussion grew out of a pain in my elbow--a tangible, physical pain--that made me wonder if I was throwing too many curveballs. Maybe I should give myself a break and just throw some fastballs, increase my batting average.

"Sports are to War as pornography is to Sex." A quote from some TED talk I heard recently.

With no coffee or food in the house or in my system, I took a walk. Got coffee and then ambled on to the beach. The fog was resisting the sun's advances, but eventually gave up. I got to catch a couple of those moments.

On the way to the beach, the sun called forth steam from a damp road.

When I first got to the beach, the water in the air was hiding the water on the ground.

10 minutes later, the lake was revealed.

I saw a pair of bluebirds that got scared when I sneezed.

make your own fate

I got caught up last night; I watched in on tv and now know everything you know--about Lost. I'm not exactly proud of it, but at least, today, I don't have hours of streaming video to tempt me away from some quality introspection and musicking. On the continuum of "good/evil" to "everything-is-relative", turns out it is, in fact, somewhere in between. There seems to be a clear evil but good is ambiguous. Which seems more like our experience: we can all agree on certain acts as evil (maybe not unanimous, but close enough), but there are as many paths to righteousness as there are religions. Maybe to be good is to not be evil. It's like, we can all agree on what silence is, but we can't agree what music is. And, to continue the metaphor, we need silence to define the music, to give it a shape by which we can perceive it.

The show also talks a lot about "good people" and "bad people", often redefining the same person several times in an episode. According to my above interpretation, there are only bad people and not-bad people. And many of the not-bad people think they're good, but few can agree on what that means.

I feel like I've been writing a lot of not-bad music, living a not-bad life, but it's maybe time to get on some path for good. But, considering I tend not to stay on the path if it's laid out before me, I'll have to get my machete and find my own way, make my own path. I feel like I've said something similar before--like when I started this blog.

I went for a bike ride again this morning. Spring is here with conviction; flowers are pushing up through the dirt and birds are scrounging for food. And ants and mice are again exploring the house. I find it ironic that the traffic noise is almost louder here than in the city. We're about a mile from 94, so we get a lot of truck noise, depending on the room. Sometimes, though, the wave noise from the lake beats out the truck noise, depending on the wind.

deadlines and deadends

I allowed myself leisure on Monday. Ideas are the source of my power, but when I forget them, I am powerless. So I have to rediscover the things I believed weeks or months ago.

I slept in late, did a fair amount of thinking, still keeping up with mini yoga routines, and ended up watching the Watchmen movie in the evening. There was a little work on music somewhere in there.

The Watchmen movie was surprisingly good - about as close to the novel as you can get. They changed a few details - like how the good/evil mastermind ushered in a new world order - but they gave a great overview. Especially to people who've read the book.

I've decided that to work on music necessitates a clear mind. And yet I've been spending a lot of time filling my mind up, leading to distractions or just unclear thinking. Everything you learn must be assimilated, organized in the structures of your mind. These periods seem to come and go in waves. A period of intake followed by a period of purging. A period consuming, a period digesting, a period excreting the excess as waste. So I'm back to saying no to say yes. Limiting my intake so I can process what I think I know. Synthesize. It's just that it's hard to create in a period of intake. Creating is synthesizing, purging.

So that's what's on the plate for this week. Info fasting and synthesizing. [read: less internet.] Adhering to a more rigid structure, treating it more like work.

And then to Chicago this weekend for operas upon operas.

happy Frigg's day

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.

Take Tiw

Tiw is apparently the English pagan god associated with Mars, the bringer of war. Which is also the name of one of the most influential pieces of history. Most people would probably not make that claim, but I would say that almost every war scene in every movie owes its music to Holst's classic.



I worked on more looping today and listened to Brahms' 4th Symphony. I love being able to download the score for free at the IMSLP but following the PDF version of the score is difficult on the computer. Either the notes are too small or you have to scroll.

It amazes me how little musical information it takes to make a repetitive, electronic piece sound interesting. I mean it's intended for background music, but still. There's an effect called "Auto-Filter" that filters out the high frequencies. Doing a sweep from high to low suddenly becomes a musical idea. And for each moment in the piece, I try to keep something (several things) repeating and something changing.

So back in the swing of things today. Sticking with the earlier metaphor, with the bottle opened, I got emotionally drunk and then had an emotional hangover. I'm still not quite as mindful as I was last week, but I'm back to working at it. It's a potential new habit if I can stick with it.

One last piece of exciting news: I discovered that I can drive to Michigan City, leave my car in the parking lot (at no cost) and take the train to Millennium Park. That's what I plan on doing the next few weekends.

embouteillage

Suddenly it's the morning - a grey one. I stayed in bed until I could remember a specific motivation to get up. Still working through fall-out from the wine incident, I realized that, no matter how much I pretend, I am still holding out hope for something meaningful with someone. And so I can either work to destroy that hope or work to realize it. What got me out of bed was the latter.

Blockages
So many metaphors to mix; I'm excited. The French word for traffic jam is embouteillage, which means bottleneck, but also comes from embouteiller, which is to bottle up (wine). It's come up a lot in recent conversations about creativity. You can't be recklessly creative if you're blocked up about something - it's holding you back. Several people I know are in an unproductive, uncreative holding pattern, and the cause always seems to be some sort of personal crisis getting in the way of the flow. As for me, I think I've been creative recently, but maybe there are deeper depths to explore once I unbottle some of these traffic jams.

Tension / Release
My parents were apologetic, of course, not knowing about the wine. Like I said the other day, it's not about the object, the wine, whatever. That bottle didn't really contain wine, for me, but a year's worth of waiting, hoping, and disappointment. There was tension contained within that bubbled over Sunday night. That's the problem with bottling it up, creating tension; if you're in control of its release, great, but if not, then it's painful. It's like carrying gunpowder:you can either make some great fireworks or it explodes in your face. Ultimately, there was too much tension for its own good. Whoever it was meant for would have been overwhelmed by the significance, and so would I have been. It's like when I made pineapple mango pancakes for Cory. My sister had brought them back from her honeymoon in Hawaii, and I saved them for a year or two. So then I make them for breakfast and suddenly the whole thing becomes much more intense (for me). I'm an intensity junky.

And so, in conclusion, the things we keep we keep for our emotional attachment to them. In our Materialist culture, it's our' version of karma. See, really, in the East, in many of the religions, both good karma and bad karma carry a weight; the goal is not to accrue good karma (like points in some cosmic role-playing game) but to unburden yourself of all karma. ... Now that I say that, it sounds silly to say that Eastern religions have a goal. ... Well, for we in the West, to understand, let's stick with that and move on.

symbology of mine

I should probably start with an apology to my parents, to whom I just left the most irate answering machine message - yes, old fashioned, Seinfeld-era, landline answering machine. And now the explanation.

I was in Chicago for the weekend, arriving Saturday morning to feed a friend's cat, getting back to Michigan just minutes ago - around midnight Michigan time. Over the weekend, I went to a fun pot luck and the Symphony Saturday night, another symphony concert on Sunday, taught two piano lessons and had dinner that night with my good friend Laura. Leaving dinner on Sunday was difficult, but I couldn't figure out why. Once in the car, I realized that I wasn't quite ready to be alone for the week and started to feel lonely. But I also felt motivated and excited about the things that I could do this week. Last week really felt like work; this week is more open, so I can do more fun things that motivate me.

I'm planning on starting my orchestra piece - at least the research for it - this week. I got inspired by going to the Symphony twice, paying close attention to the string writing. Writing for winds is easy; brass, less so; strings even less. It's just harder to write "idiomatically" for them. Just like writing at the piano produces certain results, you don't want to just write piano music for strings. There's much more flexibility with dynamics, for instance, since you can have them sustain a note (forever) and then crescendo or decrescendo. There's also the issue of the bow and its direction: how many notes do you give them per bow? and so on.

And so when I got back to Michigan, feeling conflicted and confused but ultimately optimistic, I noticed that my parents had opened a bottle of my wine over the weekend. Ostensibly, no big deal. Ostensibly, it's just a thing, an object, practically immaterial. But in this case, it had become even larger as a symbol than as an object. This particular bottle, I had bought in Paris over a year ago and had been saving it for a special occasion. Somehow, there haven't been any - none that I've deemed worthy. Schade. So the bottle became an even larger symbol - one of the noticeable lack of special occasions. Which I find terribly depressing. And so now I'm finishing it off. And, you know what? It's not amazing. Pretty good, but I'd give it a B. The build up, the anticipation, the idea of the wine had gotten larger than its actual quality. Then again, for the 25 or so Euro I paid for it, I would have expected more. Either way, it's over, and in a way, I'm glad that I don't have this burden any more, this reminder of lack. It's become just the latest thing in a string of stuff - objects, facebook friends, whatever - that I've discarded (with or against my will) to lighten the load I carry.

So now the two original opposing emotions - that my optimism (naive idealism) had managed to subsume - have spawned a litter of half breeds running amok. I think there's a sailor's saying like: sad and lonely at night nothing to fright; sad and lonely in morning, friends and family take warning.

many days later

The lake is frozen as far as I can see. That's not exactly true. When on what used to be the beach--even when walking out over the ice ridges--there's no water to be seen. From up by the cliff, though, I think I can see what looks like liquid water. I walked out over the congealed ice balls over the ridge where I made the wave video last week and found a new ridge. The new one is much more dramatic, so I was going over the edge, not being certain I could make it back up. Throwing caution to the relatively calm wind, I went over the second ridge and wandered around in the vast desert of ice balls. Two amazing things: one, since I took the photo with my iPhone, iPhoto knows where I was when I took it and knows that I was out in the lake; two, my phone actually changed time zones back to Chicago/Indiana time while I was away from shore. I almost felt like an arctic explorer; it was a unique experience to explore this landscape, especially considering it is temporary and may never exist again. And yet, I was still tethered to reality by my phone.

I got to Michigan Monday afternoon after a crazy weekend. Saturday was my favorite, although it wore me out and I had to crash early. Sunday was nice but more calm and predictable. Saturday went like this: wake on a futon, drive friends to their i-Go car, make camp in a cafe, shower at a friends, get a text about dim sum, walk 4 blocks to dim sum, take train to coffee, meet someone for coffee, call up Laura, meet her and Joe at a cafe, then falafel at Sultan's, go to Myopic, almost buy Doctor Faustus, and then start to feel out of sorts. The Damen bus led me right back to Andersonville and I crashed on the couch watching South Park online. Wore me out. Sunday was coffee at the Coffee Studio, which has great coffee but is crowded so I stress about the seating situation, bagel with Amos to discuss music, coffee with Brian, food with Sarah, Gallery Cabaret for the open mic, denied (too many people had signed up, no room at the inn), then to a bar with Anna, Peter, and his French friend with whom he wanted me to talk French.

Discussions this weekend included: what makes an opera; how recordings are like pornography; how we have a crisis of imagination in this country; spectral music; my music needing contrasting themes; and so on.

That last one is interesting. In my music, I strive to create organic change. I start with the zygote and then grow it into a fetus and then birth it. Traditional Classical music has contrasting themes, acting as the thesis and antithesis, coming together to form a synthesis. Turns out I just start with the synthesis and work it out from there. A friend and fellow composer thinks I should start incorporating contrasting themes in my music. I'm not sure he's wrong; it's a good way to challenge myself. And a good time to rethink how I think about the world. I'm happy seeing the big picture, but it's helpful to break unities into their component dualities.

among the living

The snow is so beautiful, I had to document it. It's becoming an addiction that I'm going to have to break next week. I have impulses to share everything on the 'net. It started with Twitter, of course, but now spread to this blog (blessing/curse) which is getting me into youtube and such. I did have the thought that I would be open to making music for internet videos (assuming requisite artistic merit and creative liberty). I figure I'm mostly making the video as an accompaniment to music; I might as well focus on what I'm good at and leave the video part to someone who is more passionate about it.

So why is this compulsion to digitally share a detriment? Because instead of living the moment, I am prone to thinking: "how am I going to describe this later?" It's just a bad thought habit that is the opposite of my usual habit which is to live the moment and quickly forget it in order to live the next. It's finding the balance.

I am learning a lot about music the old fashioned way: aurally and through imitation. Today was mostly about preparing pieces to some day perform (such as at that open mic). I was going to do some crazy guitar shit with vocoders and loopers on Ableton, but I think I'm just going to play them on piano. Doesn't that make me sound like a burned out heavy metalhead when I say "crazy guitar shit"? It does. But I also came up with a great idea for a piano piece in the process. And I'm still toying around with the clarinet piece.

And then I had to pack up and leave. Per usual, I couldn't stop the music early enough to give myself enough time to really pack. Or clean. So I left an hour later than I wanted and tried to rush home for Grace's birthday party. But I couldn't rush because the highway in Michigan was covered in snow with no signs of plows. It started even before that when I had trouble getting out of our street on to the main street. The tire ruts led me almost all the way, but then at the "delta" the plows had created a snow dam that took a couple tries to get over. And then the on ramp was under an inch of fresh snow (with more underneath). Once on the highway, I quickly adapted to the new reality: stay in the tire tracks, follow the semi ahead with its blinkers on, go 40-45 mph. That was fine for about 2 miles, but then the cars behind caught up. And even though there were no signs of lane markers (the 3-lane highway was effectively down to 1) they felt like they should pass me--AT THE SAME TIME. One on the left, one on the right. I really don't know how they maintained traction. Their cars must have just been so heavy (yes, SUVs DO have a purpose in Michigan; I can still, however, call them stupid urban vehicles) that they didn't have to worry about going 55 on 2 inches of chewed-up snow. It was really bad only until Indiana where they either got less snow or have better plows. I was still on alert for ice until Chicago. OK, bridge, so I'm looking for ice; what would you have me do if I see it?

I was fairly tense driving, but I became aware of it and wondered why. Was the tension part and parcel of intense focus? Or could I be focused on driving without being tense. I decided a couple things. One, if this is the way I'm going to die, then I don't want to be anxious when it happens. Two, being uptight about dying in a horrible car wreck that never happens may actually bring on a "natural" death sooner. Three, breathe. My grandma told me once to breathe in a square: 4 in, 4 hold, 4 out, 4 wait, repeat. Dr. Andrew Weil said something similar but the numbers were different. Either way, it really does work to release tension--especially because I hold it in my gut (effectively cutting off the source of all truthiness).

So I made it to the party (almost 2 hrs late) but really made great time (considering). And here I sleep (at Corbett's and Grace's).

Little by little, I'm regaining consciousness. It only takes one night to lose but takes so long to get back. Tomorrow begins tonight, but tonight began this morning. It's a cycle, and you can either be on the spiral-track elevator going up or down.

I'm still adamant about having a clean space: having a clearer mind today, I had the mental energy to wrangle the space. I got up late (again) and drank my coffee with my oatmeal breakfast. There's something so pure and simple about oatmeal (even with the brown sugar, salt, walnuts, and curry that I add). After a weekend of some of the best food, my body is content with simplicity. So oatmeal, homemade bread, rice, and potatoes have been the main ingredients in my diet today. And a hot chocolate and a hot cinnamon milk. But in general, simple.

I did music things this morning but nothing really focused or productive. I am getting distracted by the idea of covering songs at the Gallery Cabaret open mic on Sunday nights. I would really like to be a better performer, but at the same time, I know it doesn't come as easily to me as to some. And so it's a question of whether or not it's worth it. Right now, I'm enjoying it, so I'm going to work up a couple songs and do them this Sunday. Probably the Elliott Smith song I posted yesterday and maybe another Nine Inch Nails song. The one I did last week seemed to go over well--or not at all.

And so I played the guitar a lot today and the fingers on my left hand are a little tender. They'll toughen up. And in the process of playing, I keep getting to know my software better. In a way, I can excuse whatever I do, no matter how tangential, as long as I learn more about the world of Ableton Live.

In fact, the last tangent of the day was making a quick cover of a Daft Punk song. You can hear it here.

I took a great walk to the beach today. Since my phone is dead, I charged up my digital camera. Turns out it can take movies. That will probably prove to be a better option for future youtube piano performances. But for now, I just have a couple images. I highly recommend spending time at the beach in the winter. Here, the beach has been extended about 50 feet by the ice. So far. We'll see how far it gets by February. It's not ice like you'd think, though. As you can see in the picture, it's like dirty ice balls that have been swimming in the lake that have frozen together. It was like walking on another planet. And intensely windy.

The last two nights, I got sucked in by the tv. Being weakened by the weekend, I was not strong enough to resist. And I rediscovered South Park. So funny. Tonight, I only watched one episode. Good thing we have cable; it's always on one of three channels.

All for now. I think tomorrow holds big things. Remind me to talk about time.

Oh yeah, read this.

full week ahead

As you saw from my last post, I had a pretty good New Year's Eve, the spirit of which seemed to continue the whole weekend as I traipsed about the city sleeping on various floors and couches. I managed to bring in the new year with the perfect amount of planning and surprise, leading from one brunch to another, from coffee to pot luck.

The pot luck was more than just random food: people were also supposed to bring random tidbits of good luck. I found out about it a little late and so didn't really get to meditate on this concept, but everyone else had one--I felt a little awkward. Turns out, having had time to think about it, I don't really believe in luck. Or, at least, I don't believe there's anything you can do about it; I'm not superstitious (or obsessive-compulsive). I wish I had realized that then so I could have excused myself from participating because of my belief system.

So then there was some more stuff management at the old apartment. It's getting there. I keep feeling lighter and clearer with each thing I dispose of, sell, or gift--even the stuff that I just store in boxes. If change is inevitable, then let's at least make progress.

So then, last night, under cover of darkness, I arrived at the cottage in record time. It was a Sunday night, and no one seemed to be driving anywhere. I think after a long weekend of ringing in the New Year people were ready for some sleep before starting work again in the morning.

When I got off the highway in Michigan, I could tell that the Lake-Effect Snow fairy had visited and that the authorities did not have the same obsessive-compulsive commitment to snow removal that you find in Chicago (thanks to the blizzard of '79). But I took it slow and made it safely to the house where there were 6-8 inches of fresh powder.

I slept a long, dark sleep that felt so good (but not enough). I foggily started setting up my space (and mind). Recall: "clean space, clean mind." I have since come to think that it goes both ways: a clean space leads to a clean mind, but it takes a clean mind to set up a clean space. Chicken, egg.

So I didn't get the space exactly how I want it, but close. I'll tackle it again tomorrow with a cleaner mind.

So I wasted away hours doing dumb things, took a walk to get milk and cream, got coffee at a corner market, and made bread. The market was cluttered, another obstacle to mental order.

Wasn't feeling up for anything big, so when I started music time (finally, at ~1), I just let the water flow down hill, instead of trying to push the river. Path of least resistance. For me, that means coming up with ideas. Then I managed to do some organizing of something I started last week. Nothing genius today, more just connecting the dots, shaping, tweaking.

And I didn't succeed at planning the future, remembering the past. That takes energy. After a good night sleep, I'll attack it tomorrow.

I think this blog would be more interesting if I didn't write at night. By now, I'm just trying to remember all the things I did, thoughts I had. Like a needle in the hay.

Oh yeah, I worked on learning this song, thinking about maybe arranging it some day.

PART I: night
I'm developing musical habits. I guess that could mean that I'm developing a style.
And, actually, come to think of it, I rather like it. I always tend to start with all the possibilities, but I keep choosing this particular set over and over. And there's still plenty of room for variety and improvisation.

The most recent video I made does not fit this style. It's more representative of me reaching beyond myself, pulling in more atonality, experimenting. And I like to listen to it, but it's not really *me*. I am not my preferences; I don't want to express my preferences. But likes and dislikes are a treasure map to what's buried on a desert island.

I don't want to give away all my good ideas before they're ready.

PART II: morning
I had the feeling last night that I had an important realization that I wanted to write about, but I could not remember what it was. Turns out, it's memory. I listened to a podcast on the way up here that described what researchers at Stanford are learning about how we learn, and the most salient detail that remains with me is how different parts of the brain remember different things. We like to forget (or ignore) that there are different types of learning, but there are several: factual memory (hippocampus), emotional memory (amygdala), habit memory (basal ganglia), perception (cerebral cortex), and motor memory (cerebellum).

So, as if I didn't know this about myself, our ability to remember emotions is different than our ability to remember facts; we can remember the emotion but forget the details surrounding those emotions. The story of my life. And probably everyone's. Because those two functions are in separate regions, an event can trigger an emotion even when the original event and the emotion are no longer associated together.

Even more amusing: our motor abilities are controlled by a different region than our higher brain functions. That's why we can ride a bike even when we're stupid drunk. Not that anyone would ever do that.


So, we're carrying around all these memories that we don't even consider part of our memory. I guess they would be our subconsciousness. But there are at least three different brain parts that seem to correspond to subconscious memories: amygdala, basal ganglia, and cerebellum. The emotional memories in the amygdala are probably the most exciting/powerful/frightening: lodes of data to mine.

All for now. I'm headed back to Chicago for NYE this afternoon. I have some resolutions to make before then.

a day in the life

I talked to my mom today. Turns out Christmas is Friday and I should go home tomorrow. I would be content to stay one more day and make it a full week up here; I'm building momentum.

My mom requested that I talk less about philosophy and more about my life. To be fair, I didn't really say anything specific; I was really just padding the post with content, for I didn't have much in the way of excitement yesterday. So, just quickly, I think it's interesting how Kant, Baudrillard, Richard Bach, The Secret, and the Matrix all have the same thing in common: reality exists in your mind. I think therefore reality exists.

I especially like the way the woman in the video flinches when she says "simulacrum".

So my life today: set an alarm, got up early, planned on planning but took a spontaneous constitutional to the lake, wanted to stop in at the corner market, didn't, coffee, got right to work, focused, intense, curried oatmeal at 11, more coffee (caffeine doesn't affect me as much as it used to), started a new atonal piano piece, improvised a fantastic ending, finished a project (finally!), recorded an improvisation (see below), dinner.

I did make the following plans: apply (again) to Bang on a Can Festival, apply for a CAAP to make a website, finish this new piano piece for a competition in January. Really soon, I need to look at other festivals.

Tomorrow I leave the cottage for the weekend and won't return until the middle of next week, possibly not until after New Years.

I had wanted to give you (and the world) some sort of music from time to time, but that hasn't materialized in a real way. So I did a little improvisation and took video with the Mac. For some reason the video stopped partway through, so I had to fudge it. The sound I was recording in Ableton Live using some shmancy Steinway. I usually use the Bechstein; the Steinway is a little bright. Now if only my keyboard had a better feel and sensitivity.

adornable

I've been mentally bathing in the sea of the early 20th century for the last month. It started through a confluence of three rivers of circumstance: we started covering the 20th century in music appreciation, I brushed up on Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunaire for an interview and video, and I started reading Alex Ross's The Rest is Noise. I find that period fascinating for its instability and change, a time of opposition between violently creative and destructive forces ultimately leading to the Great War and it's illegitimate offspring, WWII.

And so I'm studying up on Adorno. But thanks to the teleological nature of Western civilization leading up to the last century, it's hard to jump into the river mid-stream; by then the water is flowing too fast. But the roots of Adorno are in Marx, rooted in Hegel, rooted in Kant, reacting to Hume, and so on all the way back. Which is to say to the Greeks: all Western philosophy is just footnotes to Plato, right?

Fortunately, the early 20th century also saw the end of a single (Germanic) teleology and a disillusionment with progress. But though there's more diversity in philosophy, it's still ultimately about the Germans and the Greeks.


Aside from drowning in philosophy, I felt motivated and inspired today and worked on music all day. Had to get out of the house to enjoy the snow. It's so white! Tomorrow my plan is to plan more in the morning--not just for the rest of the week, but for the next 3 months. There's a lot to do but there's a limitless future in which to do it. Time to get down with some cartography and chart a course.

Montag

I came up last night. The weekend was packed with socializing, plotting Christmas purchases, and even just packing. In retrospect, it was a bit wearing.

Which solves the riddle I was asking this morning: "Why am I so tired and unmotivated?"

I realized that the remote, undisclosed location is not a magic bullet (go, go, go!) but is just part of the overall solution. I still have to show up and be present. Which is exactly what I was having trouble with this morning. Even after coffee.

So I threw the ingredients in the bread machine and took a walk down to the beach. I suspected that part of the problem was also the gorging I did the night before at a party. But whatever it was, it was my brain that was foggy. I couldn't find my motivation on the beach either, although I had a nice sit on a log on the snow. On the way back, I felt a strong desire to go buy something at the corner store--happiness through consumption--but I couldn't think of a thing I needed.

Finally, after a second cup of coffee, at about 11am Chicago time, I got down to work. I came to understand the procrastination is really the act of distracting your brain from what you should be doing in hopes that the motivation to do that will magically appear. In the creative process, that can sometimes work. All this talk of procrastination...off to make some hot chocolate.

That brings up the second form of procrastination: interruptive procrastination. When you're doing a task that is either not the easiest or is just not that exciting, you're more prone to have tangential (or non-sequitur) thoughts and are more likely to give into them. At least I am. I have such thoughts a lot. It's one of my superpowers, but I've got to keep it in czech.

[Like writing this blog: how many random references is too many.]

I managed to work a good 5 or 6 hours today. Today just proves my 3rd favorite maxim: tomorrow begins tonight. That is, whatever you do tonight will affect your tomorrow. I got up around 11 last night after a hectic day. How could I expect to hit the ground running this morning? I think I first discovered this maxim when I was drinking more.

Here's a video that I happened upon today. It's pretty much about what I'm doing, and he even calls it a sabbatical. My friend and former CSU colleague rolled his eyes when I called it that. If you don't have 17 minutes, at least watch the first 5 or so. And if you don't have time for that, here's the shortest summary: We need time off. Whether you work for 7 months and have 5 off, or work for 7 years and have 1 off, a sabbatical refuels our fire and refocuses our vision.

Day 4: End of Act I

It's time to leave for the week. I had another productive day working on "Perfume" by Corbett. If you don't know that song by now, you should really listen on his site. In fact, you should do that now while you're reading. I'm almost done with the arrangement, so for now you can whet your appetite on the unadorned version.

I don't have time to say much, but I wanted to leave you with the final piece of the blog title puzzle. A quotation from the introduction of Jens Peter Jacobsen's Mogens:

His characters are not studied tissue by tissue as under a scientist's microscope, rather they are built up living cell by living cell out of the author's experience and imagination. He shows how they are conditioned and modified by their physical being, their inheritance and environment. Through each of his senses he lets impressions from without pour into him. He harmonizes them with a passionate desire for beauty into marvelously plastic figures and moods. A style which grows thus organically from within is style out of richness; the other is style out of poverty.

In a letter he once stated his belief that every book to be of real value must embody the struggle of one or more persons against all those things which try to keep one from existing in one's own way. That is the fundamental ethos which runs through all of Jacobsen's work. It is in Marie Grubbe, Niels Lyhne, Mogens, and the infinitely tender Mrs. Fonss.

Day 3: Simplified

This will be short, because I just spent all my word-writing time on my other blog. I take on blogs like Chirac took on mistresses.

Draguer is the French verb for flirt; bloguer is the French verb for blog. And here in Michigan, with a limited array of options, I can focus on the latter.

That's one thing I've noticed while up here. In the city, with seemingly infinite possibilities, there is stress involved in making those decisions. Every decision is an act of violence, killing off all unwanted possibilities in favor of the one. My mom told me a story about some friends who were in Saudi Arabia for a couple years. Going to the supermarket was a breeze because there's only one store, one brand, one choice. Here, in the land of unending possibility, I find grocery shopping incredibly taxing, because I'm always thinking about price, quality, value, etc. i have since committed to some decisions that limit my choice and so free me from that burden. Same store, same products, a few impulsive buys.

Here, in Michigan, I don't really know anyone and don't really feel the need to. So far. There's no question about what I'll be doing with my time: I've made that decision already and now just have to follow through with it.

The den in which I compose (or arrange like today) is a forgotten corner of the house that no one could figure out how to use. It had been mostly used for storage until I came along. Now we are finding our purposes intertwining.

Tomorrow, back to the city for the weekend. I don't quite feel like I've worked enough to deserve it, but I'm just starting to build momentum.

A quick note on the blog title. The first two options were already taken. One, "into the void", I liked because that was my stock answer to people asking where I was moving to. The other, "noise and haste", was once the name of a stillborn website project. So I searched around a bit, found nothing, and then remembered Rilke. I have read his "Letters to a Young Poet", but it didn't seem perfectly applicable at the time. It seems more so now, so I started to read the first letter. In it, he cites Jens Peter Jacobsen, a Danish author, as being one of the authors whose books he keeps with him--along with the Bible. So I downloaded a free e-book (project Gutenberg) called "Mogens and Other Stories". More later.

Day 2: Dust Settles

I've been here two full days, but it seems like much longer. I'm digging new grooves in the soft clay and yet they seem so familiar. Soon they'll become ruts but of my own doing.

The new morning routine is: make bed, do some yoga or push ups, breakfast and coffee, free write. Then to music. I've never been one to feel a strong need to make my bed, but I'm trying to keep a more orderly existence; it seems like a good place to start. I figure I've already got chaos down pat, so let's give order a try.

So today I worked on an arrangement of Perfume by Mysteriam. You can hear their version on their website. I'd been playing with it for a while off and on but still hadn't found the right combination of instruments. Until today. It's by no means done, but I at least know where to begin: clarinets and strings all on middle D.

That took me up to lunch. And continued after lunch. At about 3 Laura came over.

I tried to finish the piano piece I started yesterday, but I'm being too perfectionistic. I'll have something for you all to hear by the end of the week.

The night is so beautiful here, especially when it's clear like tonight. I forget what a rich tapestry of stars the night sky can be. Laura and I went to Cafe Gulistan partially because it was the only thing open. And as it turns out, we were the only customers. There was another couple there but were on assignment from a local news magazine and were taking lots of pictures. They even photographed our food, making us wait an extra 5 minutes. It was an interesting exercise in desire and anticipation, something I don't usually experience with food. I was hungry and ate the whole thing, even taking the hock of lamb home "to make soup." I'm assuming you just boil it in some water.

I still have yet to explain the blog title. It'll have to wait till tomorrow.

Day 1: the back story

I made it through the escape hatch and am now drifting in space. The bright lights and sirens gives way to the inky blackness and silence of southwest Michigan.

For those of you who don't know, I quit everything. It felt good to say that in the weeks leading up to now. People at parties would cock their head to one side and ask: "everything?" And so I would explain that I've got things to do, but they are constantly getting put on the back burner by quotidian tedium. They would look even more confused when I would tell them that I've got to go pack because I'm moving. "Where?" Out. I'm leaving, moving, out. I'm setting myself adrift, so I can't be weighed down.

Up until last week, I had been teaching at Chicago State University, a university most famous for being where Kanye's mom taught before his wealth unburdened her of working for a living. I taught music theory and appreciation--two classes, although one could argue that all music theory should include appreciation.

"The trouble with music appreciation in general is that people are taught to have too much respect for music; they should be taught to love it instead." - Stravinsky

Stravinsky couldn't anticipate today's youth who have no respect for anything. Not that I'm much better.

I generally enjoyed teaching, although it's a lot of work. And, not having a Phd, I wasn't tenurable, or even full-timeable, so I ended up working a lot for a little. Granted, it was more than I was used to making teaching piano a couple of days a week, and since I was living so well within my means, I built up some reserves. Which now allows me to spend some quality time in a cabin in Michigan thinking, writing, and organizing sounds in time.

My last final was last Wednesday, my roommate left on Thursday, and I spent the whole weekend packing and sorting. There needs to be a list of clever adjectives that describe tasks. For that task, I would choose the adjective that means: "tedious sifting through items belonging to the past deciding what to keep at hand, store, sell, recycle, trash, or throw into the middle of the street at 3am." I wanted to call it sisyphean, but that's only because I like that story (it makes me think of Mercerism in Blade Runner).

And it's not quite done, but at least the big decisions are made. I hate not knowing the proper way of disposing of things that are potentially useful but not valuable. I've been donating a lot of these items to my mom's resale shop.

But on Monday, I decided that I'd done just about as much as I could. I had a piano lesson to teach at 5--which involved dinner--and then improvised with a sax-playing friend. Finally, at 9, I could start packing. Finishing about 11:30, I was off with a brief stop for a burger and fries, which I ate in the car. The government should really make it illegal to eat certain foods in the car. Fries, ok. Burger, maybe not. Lobster, no. Anything involving chopsticks, no. But I made it, safe and sound to my new sometimes home at ~1am Chicago time, 2am Michigan time. I unloaded as much as I could and collapsed into an overstuffed...um...chair. [Is there a word for a recliner that doesn't recline?]

So today, Tuesday, I set up my life. Here's a picture of my Mac on my desk. I have come to believe what a former girlfriend once told me: "clean space, clean mind."

After a trip to a cafe-cum-general-store called "Milda's" and a walk to the beach, I sat down and worked on a piece for piano. I wanted to finish it and just put it up on the net, but that'll have to wait till tomorrow.

In part, I'm writing this for friends and family so they can check in on me, but I'm also writing this as an ersatz journal. It's hard for me, sometimes, to hold myself accountable. I make no small plans, but no good are big plans left unfinished.

Time for bed. Tomorrow begins tonight.