hypotheses and philosophies

Dahlia

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(My blog has migrated to both www.diggingthedirt.net and www.scintilligence.net)

I love death. I used to talk on it quite a lot. I’m sure of it. That is why I love certain things. They summon it up. Staying up into the dead of night. Naps. Certain musical things. Talking to a shrink about sad, depressive things. Some people love the life part of life. I like reveling in the death part. I like people who can appreciate the mystery and beauty in these sorts of ruminations. I don’t need a religion to uncover any mysteries of death. That’s silly, really. I can get there on my own. No one has the answers. I should try to remember that I am okay with death. What do you think we were talking about on the second floor lounge all those hours? At least in my case, death. And I attract the true death devotees, the ones that put me to shame. My closest friends are as such and always have been. We talk about existential things. That’s the whole idea. And even if we aren’t talking explicitly about it, we are talking around it. They look to me for insights in the matter. I look ahead to it. I size it up. That is probably what happens when I play music. It is an elegy on the afterlife or whatnot. It isn’t notes. It is thoughts. It is life. It is death. It is. It is existential. It is the end of all humanity.
That is why I must title my blog entries as such. They are not real. They are not for the faint of heart. They ask. They surmise. They are meant to ask more than answer. So the titles aren’t there to give it away. To give the answer. They support the enigma.
I’m even willing to go to 12 step meetings where I don’t suffer from the addiction in question. I like the meetings. I like the digging into the yucky meat of life. I appreciate it. Dick probably didn’t know this about me. But he opened up his meetings to me. He sponsored me. He befriended me.
Now I go to eating disorder chat rooms. This is where I find people who toy with death and discuss the pros and cons. I spend most of my time in the trivia room nowadays, but I still feel close to the community of semi suicidals. I should know that threatening myself with death by chocolate/overeating isn’t all that persuasive. I’m better off with another threat. Rotten teeth?

everyday observations

larger

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Maybe people know their death is impending because of my theory. Maybe you feel the juxtaposition of wisdom and death. You have aha moments throughout a lifetime. But that doesn’t feel like the final deep understanding. Perhaps you have a choice each time one of those aha moments comes along. You can heed it, and change your evil ways, or not. If you end up not, you are exactly one step closer to your ultimate demise. Maybe your lifespan is directly proportionate to this heeding. Maybe it’s only the lucky ones who gain the wisdom to know why they’re dying. Genesis wrote a song about the quest to live forever. There’s a lot that goes into longevity. Right? Or so I’ve heard.
So how do you heed the call? Is it a question of the appropriateness of a reaction? Don’t either overreact or underreact. What’s wrong with overreacting? Maybe either of those is somehow too superficial. You have to react exactly the right amount. You have to ingest those epiphanies. Eat them. Taste them. Swish them.
Maybe that’s why I feel I’m closer to being a true interpreter of the repertoire. I have eaten enough moments of understanding in my life that it has built up. I was even telling Josh about an interpretive concept that surprised myself with its degree of Starkerian wisdom. It was about building Bach movements architecturally. You are working to get from point A to point G, I said. You need to seek all the distinct points in between.
It was nice to have this source of wisdom inside me, that I also knew how to impart. But is that a sign that death is getting that much closer? Am I supposed to fear death? Or not. Is it better to fear it? I don’t know how deep my fear goes. If it is coincidental with wisdom, is it really such a bad thing? Is it perhaps the beginning of something better, something new, something different?
I used to think I could remember the time before I was born. There was a time. I wonder if that memory has spared me from some of a fear of death. But logic dictates that having an underdeveloped fear of death means you will act more rashly and impulsively. More recklessly. More fearlessly. Do I?

everyday observations, Uncategorized

mortals

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I did have a theory. It is that life is like the end of One Hundred Years Of Solitude. If you’re lucky, that is. You have all of your peccadillos. You have your weaknesses that you’re trying really hard to overcome throughout your life. One of the reasons for this is to extend your life. Because life is short, as it is.
But, it takes you the entirety of your life to get to the point where you seem to have resolved your peccadillos. So, actually, on the last day or hour of your life, you finally know how to live peacefully without your vices. Without your extraneous peccadillos. But, isn’t it ironic, as Alanis would say. It’s too damn late!! But, as a matter of fact, it’s perfect. We’re perhaps not supposed to live our lives without our vices. We can and should seek to balance ourselves out over time, but it’s not meant to end counterbalanced. Only Buddhists, perhaps, can make it past that mid point. They know that life is basically fucked up. Life is suffering. They strive to not live as a mere mortal again. They strive to rise above.
I think Christopher Hitchens strived to rise above. He sought prophet-like heights. He was not satisfied with the normal, typical daily grind of status quo life philosophies. He saw something greater for the world and for himself. He has helped me greatly. I would be fortunate to emulate him, I suppose.

everyday observations

blech

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My daily constitutional. Accompanied by beautiful music, no less. It’s nice being trapped in this body and brain. All alone, trapped. That’s why God is such a trap. I don’t need to pretend I’m not alone in here. Why muddy it up? Things are already such trouble in here. You see, here? I’m trying to free myself up with this blog. I’m trying to express the inexpressible. The difficult-to-express.

Is breathing a way to express things? Can I substitute anything? But why? I can just sit here and write until the day I die. That was why I implemented this forum in the first place. A different sort of place to exist. I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was my own idea. Ha.

Don’t hover. Trust. You have to trust. He knows what he’s doing. He’s himself. There’s nothing inherently wrong with youth. Trust. Breathe. Be a yogi. Maybe yogis exist in this place, this blog place. Is that why Z writes so copiously? Does she get the same release out of it? Is being a child better than being an adult? Maybe it depends on the circumstance. But what if you put the circumstance aside? Aren’t there supposed to be advantages to being an adult? Andrew once told me he didn’t subscribe to a great deal of adulthood. Maybe the idea is that adults and children are supposed to help each other as they go. Children maybe don’t have to do anything specific to help adults, just be their cute, vivacious selves. Adults on the other hand do have to wake up from their adultish mindset and take a chance on their child companions.

I don’t know if I want others to see this. It’s not exactly for human eyes. It’s for the ether. Humans may eavesdrop on it if they like. Is that like my concerto performance? People eavesdropped, but weren’t the main focus of it. If you don’t perform for people, you’re better off, less self conscious and self serving. I shouldn’t feel guilty for writing here.

reflections within

hotel

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I have hate in my heart. I don’t like it. I need to purge it. I need to reckon it. There must be reasons, right? What have I repressed? I don’t want to go into details here. I will write in a private journal instead. But I wanted to mention it. Joe Dirt says you can’t have hate in your heart. But if it’s already there, you need to address it, I guess.

cello practice, everyday observations

NY String

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I’m really disappointed at how far I’ve strayed from my childhood self. How is it I’m just discovering him now? What a circuitous route I’ve taken to this starting place…!!! Very frustrating indeed, to think about the heartache and solitude and waste. Is this an inevitable route, the way life just works? I wonder what has brought me back to this point, at least partially. Can I credit Haydn? He was a magician, no doubt. Is that why Mr. Schneider always programmed him? Every single year. Do they still do that? Does Mr. Laredo see things in that light?

everyday observations

lungly

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It’s all hidden there. In my childhood. I am nothing without it. Nothing. My current 47 year old self doesn’t exist without it. If I tried to learn the cello, to learn the Haydn, now, without all of my early experiences, imaginings and playfulness, what would there be? I think perhaps you can see it all around, in adults who missed out, who had no creative outlets. I use this blog as a creative outlet. I even used psychotherapy that way, I’d say.

Anyway, I can talk all I want about cello technique, about preparation, about adult understanding, but the heart of my passion and interpretive musings bloomed in my childhood. I am nothing without it.

cello practice

concerted

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I realized that I’m always looking for that feeling of playing a concerto (in front of an orchestra). I use all manner of things to replicate that feeling – overeating, sugar, media, emotional outbursts, over analyzing, sleep adjusting. Now, is that the best way to handle it? Or should I be incessantly putting myself out there to accumulate concerto appearances, which I imagine would be what it takes to acquire them? Or is there a middle ground? Am I hiding behind my job and my comfortable life here in Naples? Should I take more risks and put myself out there more? That’s partly what I felt when I was sitting there trying to play the Haydn. That I’m just way out of practice. I had to cram. Like a high school student before an exam. I have gotten better over the years, so my cramming has improved. I have gotten wiser. But older.

The question is do I really have to put myself in that position to feel satisfaction? It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable feeling. But remember the crucial decision I faced all those many years ago with the Haydn D performance. Did I make the right decision? I felt that yes I had, last night. I lived. I breathed. At least to the degree that I’ve managed to acquire over a lifetime of funny ups and downs.

I know that my family and children have engendered my musical growth in myriad ways. (I say this as we are scolding C for being non responsive and irresponsible. Ironic.)

hypotheses and philosophies

lime

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If he has limitations, then I have limitations. Does that make things a bit easier, or harder? Does it depend on the veracity of the limitations? I know people who have overcome their limitations, at least seemingly. It’s the American way.

What if you start with the assumption that you have limitations. What if you start from where you are, which isn’t where you’re going to be. You’re going to be further along, somewhere else. I still can’t believe I can type. Before I could type, I couldn’t. Then I could. It’s a funny sort of transformation. Thank you Mavis Beacon. You did it.

I love him. I love him regardless if he has limitations. I don’t hold them against him. How about myself? Can I identify and deal with my own possible limitations? Why do I like to get ahead of myself? Do I fear being limited that much? I have to peek into the future to make sure I get there. Meanwhile I’m not here in the here and now to soak up the good life, the life, life. Only now, when I’m writing. I’m in the zone it seems.

everyday observations

Cod

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I really like your piece, buddy. It’s got a good bouncy swing, good energy, and nice shaping. It’s fun hearing you flesh out the harmonization. I saw that you started taking yourself a little bit seriously today at the lesson, too. You were aware of something that’s there, inside. I’m very proud of you. I’m one lucky dad.

You’re also loads of fun for your cousins, for your bro, for mom. You are one of a kind. That’s the only way I’d have it.