February 21, 2005
Collaboration, Old Friends
Just had a dream where I was hanging around naked with a bunch of artist friends... maybe we had gone swimming? Not sure, in any case, the dream ended as we (5 of us) went into a blackbox theater to put our clothes on and watch a show (we would have been the only audience—the theater was empty but for us), or possibly to collaborate together on some artistic project, maybe we were to be auditioning people for something. I didn't recognize the people other than Emily Robertson—random that she should be there. Actually, now I remember, when we were just outside the theater, preparing to go in, she was talking about her breasts, and lifted one up, then the other, calling them F1 and F2, like the keyboard keys... then I made some joke and squeezed her butt. Hahaha, that's really funny... :) It was right after that that everyone laughed and we headed into the theater.
February 14, 2005
Quick Triple Sequence
Last night I had a new version of a recurring dream about being in a long bike race, quasi Triplets of Belleville... I'm leading the pack, and just as I get to this really hard place where we have to carry our bikes up hundreds of stairs, perspective jumps off the bike and into the boy of a woman on the side who is protecting me, the biker... now "me" is the woman, talking to this other woman who's maybe the mother of the "bad" biker, enemy guy... somehow both these women are lawyers and the dream turns into one about lawyers... after a lawyer-battle of sorts, it morphed into a beautiful, patriotic, sad, loving, and longing dream where I was basically my grandfather, deciding that my country needs me, deciding to volunteer for service in World War II. It was hard to make/explain the decision with/to my wife-to-be (a.k.a., my grandmother), but we knew that great things were at stake. I had a sense of the grandeur that was America in those days... fascinating that we've lost that. The loss of our sense of purpose, the loss of confidence that we're right in our actions in the world. I woke up as an awful battle scene started.
February 13, 2005
As Solange soars home about five miles up between Atlanta and Baltimore, snow, thick and weighty, like an orchestra conductor's wrists, forms a constant sinking stream past the amber lamp across the street from my darkened, second-story window, having waited (fermata-like, those moments in passionate love where you pause, mid-breath, and wait for a small gasp and smile) for her flight to depart the precipitation's purview safely. She may be writing in her journal, reading, or planning her day ahead; my alarm is set for mathematics, quiet supervision, tutelage-sharing, and the other happy vagaries of my day. Having her here was perfect bliss. Music reverberated among us, acquaintances were made, and we reconnected. I'll miss her again soon, I know, but in the present, I can only smile. And sigh.
February 7, 2005
Being OK with Death
Just thinking briefly about my skull's run-in with a patch of ice last week... Things happen, we're always taking little risks... It's true—I have to acknowledge it—I could've died that night. In some alternate universe, I've been dead for a week now.
And you know what? That's OK. If I would've died that night, I would have died very, very happy, doing something I love, surrounded by great friends.
It would have been very hard on everyone still around, of course. And hardest on Solange, who might have beat herself up for not being here, even though we know exactly why we're apart now.
I'm glad I'm in this universe, still chipping away at all my life's goals. Gives one cause for pause, though, eh?
February 6, 2005
Sometimes I think I want to hide in a hole here, and not spend time with any of my friends. Being around them, sometimes, makes me lonely. Most specifically, being around them in romantic couples, or being around them as they talk about their relationship issues... these things make me miss Solange.
She is coming for Valentine's weekend which will be wonderful, but I know some part of me expects too much. I want to show her everything, take her everywhere, share my life with her completely, as I imagine she wishes she could do too, where she is. Being apart is difficult; we know this. Knowing it is difficult, knowing it will continue to be difficult, these things do not lessen the difficulty. Thirty-six hours together will be great, but it's obviously not the same as knowing she'll be in my arms every night.
I'm missing you Angel.
February 5, 2005
My house rocks; let me tell you why. We are all musicians, and we are all smart guys. We all have ideas about music and what it should be, what it could be. Our ideas aren't the same, but they're similar. We are all passionate about what we do. We feed off each other. (They keep me on my toes.)
There's a fun piece by Steve Reich called Clapping Music. I've heard he wrote it on a napkin at a bar—don't know if it's true, but it's that kind of piece. I started randomly clapping it. Mike joined in. Conversation continued (minus clapping). A few minutes later, Mike was like, "C'mon man—let's do clapping music!" He ran downstairs, and I followed. We proceeded, clapping, drumming, beating on our legs, the piano. Then we started making up our own rhythm, not using Reich's. That eventually morphed into us just jamming away. This kind of thing happens all the time.
So we were all home; j. and Noah got some food and we all had a drink. Then we started messing around on a rhythmic narration piece by j. It was fun. Then j. gave us suggestions, then we really rehearsed a bit, but it was still really fun. We were going to rehearse this other speaking thing that's also a house inside joke. It's inspired by The End of the World, and we're going to program it on the next Salon3136. Yes, our house does, in fact, have a website. Yet another reason why I love living here. Yet another reason these are the coolest guys ever.
Björk is the greatest. Just ask Mike Ethen. Her music pursues the expression of truths most of us know but can't or don't articulate. She makes me want to move my body, and every new album moves my mind to something it hadn't explored before. She collaborates well with artists in every field and genre while maintaining a strong sense of her own identity by shaping what those collaborations achieve, either in performance giving them direction, or in the studio molding their contributions into her creations. Everything I've heard of hers has an incredibly strong sense of musicality. She has said that she could have easily become a composer in the classical world, but gave her music school the bird. She is true to her own instincts, and because she and I share some of the same instincts, I am enthralled by what she makes. Awesome.