A Mind Beat In Time

There are times in my present 

In present years

I feel moments of vivid memories

Of places

Roads 

Mainly paths I walked on when young. 

There are flashes of memory like I am THERE

My consciousness floating along with someone ON that path.

Sometimes I remember how so long ago 

Walking

Running

Riding a bike on a road

A path

Some place

I felt my hair rising up with fear 

Bewilderment

Of some … Presence with me

A Ghost perhaps but…

What ghost?

WHOSE ghost?

Walking some path with me

Matching me step by step 

Breathing in my lungs with me

Silent in my thoughts

Feeling my heart beat 

And I … trying to feel a Mind Beat in that Presence beside me

Behind me

Trying to be Inside me.

Looking back now I understand who and what that ghost was with me so long ago

That Mind Beat sent back feel a heart beat of youth

That mutual bewilderment as THIS mind,

Remembering some past random moment 

In some past random place

Connected with that younger self

Walking

Plodding 

Running and flying along…

At first frightened then that odd sense of familiarity

And familiarity to come

A fond welcoming…

Oh self In time…

I am with you

I was with you

There was no god

No devil no … ghost…

It was only I

You

Unstuck in time

A mind beat reaching back

Caressing a youthful heart beat in Our time. 

Our Dark Past Heroes

Who were the heroes that made you sing songs you never questioned?

Who were the artists that painted darkness in your mind

As you gazed in wonder

Inspired,

To tear yourself down?

Oh who were the lunatics 

The demons

Eaten alive by THEIR own demons

That set your soul afire

Believing you’d found prophets

Then later

Falling and burning 

Then possibly rising 

A survivor of your demons

Their demons

The lives burned by youthful heroes 

Not heroes

(Just flawed sick self destructive humans like us)

You saw 

(WE saw)

How wrong they were in preaching 

Teaching how to live

What desires took us to heaven 

Or hells of their inspiration

Our youthful desperation

How foolish we were to raise them up as heroes

How wise we were

To pull out of a tailspins falling

And stop trying to live as they lived

Teach as they taught

And die as they died

Living longer 

Healthier than the Heroes lived

Having found our own way

Blistered burned 

Yet ashen, 

Alive,

Smiling,

Singing our own  life affirming love song … without them. 

That Rainbow Of Shadows And Night

There is a sadness to it,

This realization that I will end,

That every moment is GONE

So many times I flinch and realize:

That moment will never be and there will be fewer moments with each step

Each breath passed

Each thought

Each word I speak

Spoken.

There is no maudlin sentimentality

Only realization

Reminding me like a school boy that 

Summers end is near

That school approaches but

That school was 

The lessons I learned and lived

Then let slip away as I approached a great surprise

Of ENDING. 

There is a plodding sadness and sense of wonder to it 

A greediness

A grasping

So  often when I DESIRE something new and think:

This is the LAST car

Computer

Phone

Long walk

Fine piece of music

I may own or experience.

At times I have a morbid sense of wonder of…

What WILL be the last film I see?

The last music I hear

The last words I may speak

Will any of it have meaning?

Will I have HAD any meaning with anything I said or did?

How vain 

How egotistical is it of me to WANT so many things before I END.

How many billions have come and gone NOT having what I had or want yet in their own ways…

HAD their own wish lists

Desires to fulfill 

Or breathe out a hiss of laughter laughing at themselves for WANTING so much

So much that had so little or no meaning.

I wonder with so much humor

Surprise and frustration,

That of all the books I read

There were never any on how to be young

Be middle aged

Be old grow old 

What words 

What voice do I speak with at such times?

Was it something people taught generation to generation?

This is the voice of age…?

Aging is something that cannot be taught

Perhaps Dignity and Honor are

By example to live 

And living,

To possibly die with. 

Desiring more before I die

I feel the empathetic Reality of so many that have come and gone

NOT able to live so rich and good as I did

Not able to desire more than… another chance 

In the end,

Dying…

Another breath before dying

A breath like a long drink of cold water on a hot day

That sweet scotch after a long life of sobriety

One last…

Oh one… Last. 

All the people I knew in my past are lives past

Those now,

Fading

As waking, 

The images and voices fade into the night

As I face a night that will most likely come in the day.

All whom I loved or cared about are gone

At times I turn to them

To a door inside

Pounding on it beseeching them to come back up the stairs from the past to me, 

Then turn away

Leave the door it’s best that way. 

There is a coldness as those I loved and cared about

Fall away

Like garments on a cold winter’s day

Leaving me cold and bereft of love 

And company

My fingers reaching for other fingers long gone

As I walk through a field of light toward that rainbow of shadows some day

Night

Morning 

Or moment,

Mourning a moment 

A life regrettably momentarily felt to be wasted

Hush 

Oh hush no regrets…

Dammit man…

You lived a good life

Raise your head high without regret

Without remorse

Smile and snarl

Laugh 

As you enter that rainbow of shadows and night. 

Lasts And Firsts

(This started out as one thing  but writing it, it evolved into other things. Thoughts that opened up other thoughts and ideas. A therapy session of discovery in writing. It IS stream of consciousness with very little if any editing. Fresh ink from the mind. )

 

Lasts And Firsts

Feeling my mortality more than ever as I get older and realizing I am the sand is getting less in my hourglass, I have found an odd byproduct of it: 

“MY LAST”

I became aware of the “MY LAST” thinking and labeling when I fell in-love more than 2 years ago and told the woman that she would be, “my last” girl friend and possible wife. Ok my LAST woman. It sounds like there should be a dramatic SIGH every time that word is used. SIGH, “My Last” dot dot dot (…).

Yes, very MELODRAMATIC.

Aware of this I have realized that EVERYTHING at any moment can be, “My last”. Or YOUR Last. Every action and word. You or I can think, “these words are or could be the last anyone will hear from me or remember of me.” It’s like social media posts. Hmmm this guy wrote about pooping and that was… HIS LAST WORDS WRITTEN! Or she posted a cat video and … 

You get it. 

THAT part is Vanity and Ego. HOW we will be remembered and what for. It used-to mean a lot to me then I looked at what I remembered people for that had exited my life and I had to laugh. Most of it is negative. People I knew at work or went to school with. Come to think of it, I remember very little about the people I went to school with so long ago and hope that when they hear my name they scrunch up their faces and say, “WHO”? We are all so obsessed with OURSELVES at that time. 

And now, for me, I realize. 

At my age there is probably some truth to, My Last as a very real possibility. For example, I got a new car last year with the extreme help of an older very generous brother. I told people, “this will be my last car”. They laughed. I tend to hang onto vehicles as long as I can. It’s like clothing that fits well. In truth, probably hang onto the car for another 10 or more years if I can. Maybe in a few years I will be too senile to drive or poor. Maybe I will go nuts and off myself. So yeah it could easily be My Last.

Have been drooling over a new computer for a while. Ahhhhh how to talk myself into it. How to rationalize getting it?

MY LAST! (To the rescue).

Oh yeeeeessssss. Desire for bright shiny things can use THAT melodramatic excuse. “I bought this new iMac because … (SIGH…) I wanted to have ONE LAST FINE COMPUTER. Yes that would be MY LAST COMPUTER”.

See?

At my age I can use that excuse desiring something to cheaply (in this case more like expensively) rationalize the purchase of something.  A big toy. Old man wants a shiny bright toy. Ah, HIS LAST! Of course! Let him go get it no matter the cost! HE IS A DYING MAN!

News Flash: We are all DYING. Or about to die. It just takes a few more decades or fewer minutes for others to die. 

There is a luxury to all this, “last” talk. How many of the billions of people in this world alive now and those that have come before me have had the luxury of COMFORTABLY choosing what they said their last pleasure would be?

I remember how MY FIRST was such a big things to me so long ago. My FIRST sex. Making love. Marriage. Getting drunk! Thinking about it for the first time what great joy was there in realizing I read MY FIRST BOOK!? So many FIRSTS that were not memorable or just taken for granted. So many that were regrettable (yeah, my first great sex adventure! ANTICLIMACTIC!) 

First and Last. 

It comes down to DESIRE in us, I think. I could have kept my old car going with duct tape but desired a new one. I can keep THIS old computer going for a few more years and save money. 

DESIRE, EGO AND VANITY have so much to do with FIRST and LAST. The FIRSTS are more about goals. That FIRST bike. First kiss. First Job. First house, apartment, dog, cat, taste of this or that food. First surgery first… accomplishment. There is TRIUMPH to it. Adventure.

LAST ?

A sad, yes melodramatic completion. Finality. Before I leave I want to play with this toy as the door opens for me to reluctantly leave for the last time. 

As I leave these thoughts here I smile thinking of what that first breath we take. What a thing of beauty! The last breath we take is one of the ultimate surprises. It ends with the reason we all die: We end that cycle of First and Last. Breaths.

I need to sometimes savor a breath.

Smile as release it

Realizing, 

It was not my last. 🙂

No Bucket List, I Just Want To LIVE

When I was young,

I felt I was immortal 

An immortal that as I aged and became a young man

I tried to kill

In whatever stupid insane ways I could. 

It was an insane way of living

An insult to what forces created me 

GIVING me this wondrous gift of LIFE.

Now that I am older and wiser,

I desperately want to retain and enhance my health

Live as long as I can

With whatever silver bullets I can find to

If not beat death

Slow that fucker down from earth-ash devouring me.

I used-to drink a lot. Smoked into my early twenties. Used drugs and tried suicide. I ate every damned horrible artery clogging thing I could socially find and eventually… quit it all. 

In food, WHITE became a poison to me. White Rice, flour and sugar. Over the years I would fall off a dietary wagon and indulge heavily in ice cream, snack foods and other sweets. Proof that, “food is a drug”. Addictive. There are good and bad drugs. The basic foods we can find that are not highly processed are the good drugs. I try to eat those now.

We eat too much. That 3 meals a day thing for Americans with too much protein, fat, salt and carbohydrates is poison. It is BRAIN WASHING. We don’t NEED it but are brain washed to WANT it. DESIRE. It reminds me of one of the teachings of Buddhism, that desire creates pain. So much of what we desire does create pain. The fizzy drinks high in sugar are like stabbing ourselves. It gets worse as we age. Yes, when young we feel immortal – we can drink that shit and not feel any bad effects. 

My father had a horrible diet of all that was bad for a person. He lived a long life. I understand WHY he may have lived so long: Calorie restricted diet when young during the Depression years. He was highly active for the first 20 years of his life. GENETICS helped too. Yet genetics also kicked his ass into misery with diabetes. 

Last year I had a blood clot that was a wake-up call about health. More than ever at that 62 years and now near 63 (July 2018) I am more aware than ever of how little time I have left and that I can MAYBE make that time longer with some diet and life style changes. 

Removing the major toxic foods and working on whatever else I can eat or not eat is a big step. I have been doing 24 hour fasts for 5 weeks now. I feel better for it. I work in a factory and that burns a lot of calories and is physically stressful. Take walks after work when my body allows it. When not exhausted from work I feel better than I have in a long time. 

Some people have the luxury of a Bucket List. Me? I just want to keep this body going as long as I can. Do whatever is economically feasible to keep on going. With age came some wisdom. Biggest wisdom?

I decided I wanted to live.

For so many years I wanted to die. Not consciously all the time obsessively just… it was there in how I felt about myself and how I lived. How I lived was a way to die. 

Here we go now… I want to live and an odd way to live is how humans have lived and lived to eat for thousands of years. Eat to survive.

It all comes together.

I want to live and to live … eat smart live smart. 

But if someone offers me a pastry once every few weeks at work… screw it. Live a little 😉

Fading Old Blue Collar Super Hero

When we are young 

Full of strength and Power

Subconsciously or consciously

We feel we are Super Heroes

Riding a bike we may fly

Running, 

The road no end

Our legs immortal

As immortal as we may believe we are

Death,

A great mercifully unknown to us. 

When I became a young adult

I got a job in a factory working hard

Tireless 

Immortal

Indomitable

Working hard

Pulling

Tearing 

Injured often bleeding

Falling 

Rising 

Bruised and battered 

Yet like a Super hero,

Give me a day

Give me a few weeks to recover from surgery

And all was fine

Do it again 

Over and over…

Just as strong just as … indomitable

Immortal…

Still that kid flying on a bicycle.

Old now,

I do the same factory work

I have fallen numerous times 

Body parts crushed bruised torn but not yet Broken

Exhausted after 4 days not 5

Bleeding more when cut

A mass of pain for days after an injury slowly healing   ……. Yet,

In my subconscious and sometimes Conscious Self

I am still that super hero kid flying as I ride a bike

Run forever with tireless legs and lungs

Inside that comes to me

Get up you concussed too many times old bastard,

You’re old

Full of pain

But still…

Still inside a super hero child riding the wind 

Into the wind

Of a fading body

Fading ego… 

(Get-up old man… 

“Get-up you old bastard” says the immortal super hero child

“We’re going to run again once the bleeding

The bruising

The fatigue passes,

Come on old man… I’ll carry you…

Running with you in my arms…

Into the night of your last fall”)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Sad Sweet Incident At Work Today 

 

At my factory, every day  group of handicapped men come in for 4 hours to do simple things such as cleaning and labeling product parts. One of them uses a wheel chair some of the time. Nice kid named, “Angel”. Hard worker.  When he was a kid he was in a school bus accident that threw him up into a tree impaling him on some branches. At times I can see the scars on his head. Angel’s mom had cancer. Little woman. I had watched how she had lost much weight shrinking into herself and then as the treatment worked, she grew again filling her tiny frame out. In the past few months the cancer has come back. She is hardly recognizable she has lost so much weight from the cancer and chemotherapy. Today it was announced that Angel and his mom are moving to New York to live with her sister. I felt a little sick hearing that. Others thought nothing of it. I KNOW this woman is now dying and what she is doing is making sure her little boy-man is taken care of. He has been a burden on her for a long time but also a loving burden. Angel has trouble talking but is good at making thumbs up and OK signs. We have had simple conversations and I am proud to say I have made him laugh a lot. It’s just one of those things in life HE has gone through so much pure hell as well as his mother. It has been difficult to look at her when she goes to the factory to drop-off Angel for his 4 hours of work then pick him up. She reminds me of my mom, how wasted she was from cancer but kept going and going and going. 

The sweet of all this is that the owner of the company gave Angel a specially made company T shirt. Most of the people in the company got together with Angel and posed for a group photo with him. I know he will cherish it. He felt he belonged and THAT was what the work is about, I feel: Helping the handicapped feel they have some meaning and belong. A purpose with work. Some of them appreciate it and look forward to it. Others I have seen treat it like day care for grown-ups. Angel liked working there. Having purpose and camaraderie. A feeling of being a part of something. Grinning as he worked. I hope his aunt is good to him and knowing his mother IS dying and doing a noble thing to make sure her baby is taken care of, I hope her ending is painless. Somehow. Having seen her waste away TWICE I hope that her suffering will mercifully end…. Or by some miracle of medicine she is healed.  

Music And I

Recently, a friend on Facebook was doing some challenge of what albums changed that person’s life. I could not do it because of my love of classical. There were no particular albums. However, there have been COMPOSERS that have. This is a response to that “challenge” thing my friend wanted me to address. I warn that any trying to read this may give-up due to how long and probably BORING it is. To any that may try to read this, YOU WERE WARNED! 😉

We start our lives being bathed in the sound of our parents taste in music or that of our environment and culture. For me, my father’s taste. Odd gutless sounding stuff to me (now). I felt embarrassed by it. Herb Alpert? While Rock was taking over the youth of the USA. THAT sort of stuff. Henry Mancini and other (to me now) odd sounding composers. Baja Marimba Band? Chet Atkins? I cringe remembering such. For a kid and then teen it was painful. The music of my father’s generation was the Big Band stuff but he never played that. It was puzzling to me then and now. Most of us carry the music of our prime in life around with us to remind us of our youth and energize us later in life. I wanted an identity of being able to tell the other kids I liked the rock bands of that time. I tried to find rock groups that were tame that I would not be yelled at for playing. I failed. I recall playing a song by a non hard rock band The Guess Who. My mother heard the singer singing, “Awful goddam glad”. 

My mother never seemed to have a musical identity. I think that subconsciously from her, I grew a love of classical music later in life. My dad got her an old beat-up piano he put in our basement. Mom would try to play it while she washed clothes. There were music books with some pieces by Chopin and Beethoven I recall. She wasn’t very good but she tried hard to play. The main song she seemed to sing playing that piano was, “dammit!”. “Dammit”! As she hit the wrong keys over and over. I love her more for it remembering her doing that. It was a song in itself. A song of perseverance. Determination. A beat-up old piano was not going to make her stop!

 I tried to be different by liking a band called, 3 Dog Night. It was just a weird different. They were not hard or edgy like other groups. They seemed “safe” but my dad still hated them. Hated them like other rock. Maybe he found rock threatening because he was a teacher at the local university. Sure he was exposed to the music of that time but rejected it as threatening to the world he lived in. 

My big rock influence was a kid across the street. A best friend that, I realized later only thought of me as his fucking dog that followed him around. Billy was my age. He was “COOL”. Long hair, boots, tight jeans and black T shirts. The COOL look of the time.  Taught himself to play guitar. Bought big amps and speakers and annoyed everyone with the loudness. Surrounded himself with a few rocker types. Looking back I see his parents indulged him by creating a padded room to blunt the noise. Rubber on the walls. He and his sister were allowed to like the trendy rock bands. Rolling Stones. The Who. The Beatles. Steppenwolf. I would go over and listen to them. Unlike my friend, I got heavy into drugs although I was never cool with the look of cool. I looked LOSER, I now think. A broken kid. Broken by anxiety and his dad often yelling at him. My hair could only be short. No boots no tight jeans no simple black shirts like Billy. Nope! I DID wear those horrible flared jeans that were the THING to wear back then. “Horrible” because bell bottoms and flared bottomed jeans were a bitch to walk and run in. The fabric chuff-chuffed as you walked or ran. Get a hall of kids walking in them and it got loud, looking back. A mass rubbing of jean fabric. 

My older brother Steve had an influence on me with his music. Steve was in the high school band and or orchestra playing trumpet. HE WAS COOL. He knew the COOL guys. Athletes, scholars and musicians. I had tried to play the clarinet in school but was an utter horrible failure. My dad had bought a used damaged clarinet for me that was constantly out of tune due to warping of the plastic (learned many years later!). It seemed everyone thought it was me. It is funny and confusing to me now that I was in some school bands and music classes but NOW I have 0 knowledge of how to read and play music. It is something that I know I KNEW at one time but seems to have been shamefully thrown out with the mental ignominious garbage of my school years. Brother Steve could play music. I envied him. He was good. He bought and brought home borrowed record albums of classical. I have a vague memory of hearing Beethoven symphonies being played and being transfixed! INCREDIBLE! All those musicians playing together for one massive piece of BEAUTY! I have more vague memories of him playing a composer named, Gustav Mahler. HE was a life changer! Such genius! So much complexity and depth. Passion! It was as-if god was a composer of music to me. 

I went through my own Wilderness of life for a long time. Barely graduated high school. Worked various jobs then my father helped me get a factory job. After a year there my sister helped me get out of my father’s house where she joked once, she feared my dad and I would kill each other 😉 My musical taste was the rock of my youth and of THAT time. It is often embarrassing to note what groups I liked. I DID indulge my curiosity about classical music starting with the basic GODS of classical: Beethoven, Mozart,Bach and Haydn. I Bought boxed sets of their music. I learned of others. Mahler of course. Brahms. Tchaikovsky. Bruckner. I learned about the composers by reading blurbs about them here and there. Learn of a big name composer, buy his works and then read the record jacket about him. “Him” because there were very few female classical composers. 

Regretfully, I introduced a coworker to classical music and he embraced it in a SICK way: He found one radio station that played it and HE PLAYED THAT INSANELY LOUD AT WORK! Radio classical music plays in a predictable limited loop. Or so it did back in the 1980’s. I CRINGED hearing it! I hated it the same thing over and over. I put away MY OWN classical music collection and tried to shut-out the baroque-heavy radio station that my coworker played. Things changed for me when he got fired. It was a huge relief to me. After a few weeks I could listen to classical music again. Things had changed technologically: Albums had faded out and CD’s replaced them. Computers, too. The internet. I started collecting CD’s of classical. It was a journey of discovery. Discovery of GENIUSES. Self-education. Learning what kinds of classical I liked. At that time in the 1990’s and early 2000, I had started with the biggest well known names in classical and then reached out to find others, lesser known. I felt contempt for opera because it was all screaming and yelling to me. That cliché of a fat woman screaming. I tried to like and quartets and quintets. Nope! Did not work for me. Even though many find classical music generally boring and dreary, that is how I found the small groups of musicians gathered playing a piece. I discovered WHAT instruments I liked most as solo works: Woodwinds yes. Brass, no. Piano, yes. At first I disliked solo violin then grew to love it. Cello? AWESOME! What made me fall in love with the power of strings was the Adagietto from Mahler’s 5th. It embodies so much emotion. It can make you cry and be so damned glad you are alive just to hear it! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Les39aIKbzE ). 

I must add here a reminder that I never finished college. I took a few courses then dropped-out due to panic attacks. I am not some high educated elitist geek. Over the years I found a music I liked then loved. I am blue collar but SELF-educated. I laugh about how some people are arrogant about classical music! I believe that for classical to survive as a musical form it needs to be de-arroganted. De-Elite. It is brilliant intricate  often deep music but any person can embrace it because at it’s heart it is just like any other music: IT IS SOUND. It is sound that can be written down to be played by people in notes and chords. You cannot do that with rap. You can with some other forms of music. Some rock can be written down. Folk too. I recall books of guitar chords of rock and folk music. I am hazy and ignorant about how it can be written down. I doubt if hard rock can be. So much of that is improvisation. Correct me please for my own knowledge. 

For me, classical music is an epic life journey of sound and feeling. DISCOVERY! I have literally CENTURIES of it to explore. As I sit here, I listen to Haydn’s Violin Concerto in C. Another exploration of sound. 

I have found a fascination with the LIVES of the hundreds if not thousands of composers of classical. Such rich often tragic lives. Take for example that of so many geniuses cut-off in their prime by disease or tragedy. Recent example is that of Marcel Tyberg (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcel_Tyberg) He could have been a giant in the music world but was burned in the ovens of Auschwitz instead! He wrote 3 symphonies, 2 of which were saved and recorded in the past few years (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRcq_m8gyug). There have been few women classical composers but my favorite is a French composer named, Louise Farrenc. I fell in love with her 😉 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louise_Farrenc). She wrote 3 symphonies and at that time of her life in the mid 1800’s it was quite a feat! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZeYHeXnNdo)

Europe was filled with Nationalist flavors of music. Case in point to me is that of  Czech composer Antonin Dvorak who imbued much of his music with tunes I understand he absorbed from the peasant folk. I believe he is mostly known for his 9th or “New World” symphony. 

Classical is flavored with WHERE the composers lived and created. Dvorak in middle Europe and then there was the great Finnish composer, Jean Sibelius (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Sibelius). He wrote 7 symphonies. All in stark contrast to Gustav Mahler’s .  Sibelius Violin Concerto is an incredibly beautiful piece to me (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITTbY1n3Iz8) You don’t have to be some fancy dressed elitist coughing in an audience to enjoy it 😉

One of my favorite Cello concertos is by Nikolai Myaskovsky. The first movement of his Cello Concerto in C seems full of pain and tragedy, depression and so much … LIFE! It is in it’s own way beauty incarnate (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqNWSM7fcCE) It is a piece that when I hear it, I have to listen to that first movement again. 

For me, there is so MUCH to discover in classical music. There are nationalistic styles to like or dislike. There is very little AMERICAN I like but do like some (Copland for one and another rather odd choice is Louis Gottschalk!). You can dive in to Russia for some wonderful what I think of as “flavors”. Shostakovich! 

There are so many names I could drop but have not. It gets to be a bit pretentious. The many names are what make classical so fascinating and fun for me to explore. A richness a wealth!

Part of that discovery, that journey that wealth (and poverty I have incurred collecting it) has been that of a recent (past few years) discovery that I actually LIKE OPERA! Like all “Classical” there are composers and compositions, styles we like and dislike. I forced myself to listen to Mozart’s operas as an introduction to opera and found I liked it. Since I had a collection of Haydn’s work I tried and liked HIS operas. I was late to trying and like Wagner’s operas fearing it would be too heavy for me. Hmmm yes and no. I still like it but it IS heavy stuff. My favorite operas are those created by Italians. Rossini, Donizetti, Verdi and Puccini. I don’t think I know a single word of any other language but I love the SOUND OF MANY OPERAS! I tried to like Strausses operas but that “fat lady screaming” was so much in his works. It is again, what you LIKE or do not like to hear. I am not one to say who was better or greater. The thing people miss about classical is that it IS ABOUT WHAT YOU LIKE… and to me? Damn the critics! Here is the one symphony by a little known Finnish composer that died age 22 of tuberculosis. One can wonder (as I have) if his first and only symphony was so good, what could he have accomplished had he lived longer?(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernst_Mielck) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDf6HVO0Owk) He was only 22 and in the span of 4 years he created such beauty. 

To me, classical music is about pleasurable sound. It can be moody and low and it can be dissonant. So much modern classical is jarring and unpleasant to me. A modern film score writer (I do not remember his name now) said that film score music is modern classical. I have to sadly agree with him. Composers write music that fits and elevates the film. A symphony will often be in parts and often like or telling a story. A film score follows and enhances a story. 

I used-to be and probably still am an alcoholic. I gave it up. In my youth I loved drugs. I have come to realize that have an addictive personality that I fight. These days I seek a positive addiction and find that in classical styled music. My own liking of some of it. Not all. That is like all music. We like some we dislike others. I dislike most other forms of music. Rap is not a musical form to me. It may be an art form but it is not music. Some dislike or hate classical. I read that some shop keepers in some cities play classical music to make pan handlers and homeless go away. I would probably stay and linger for a while. Until some baroque crap was played 😉 See? I have a general liking of classical but do not like it all. You can like Country or Techno but you do not like it all. 

I feel that classical (or what I listen to) is good for my mind. The complexity of it. I will listen to rock at work to block out the noise of other  people’s radios or playlists played LOUD! (Always). 

When I see a kid walking home from school with what looks like an instrument case, I smile inside. I would love to tell the kids that what they are going through is great. There is greatness in the bow of a violin; the mouthpiece of an oboe. There is genius in the start of learning REAL music. I wish I had learned and REMEMBERED music – how to read it and play it. For now, I will relish what time I have left by enjoying what others do and have done. 

I have never had a “bucket list” and always wondered about such. Writing this I know what it is: To get out of debt some day AND to listen to and experience as much classical music as I can in the time left for me in life. 

(Please note that all written here about music are simply my OPINIONS AND VIEWS. )

Why Not A Peace Parade, Too?

On Veterans Day,  trump will have a military parade. It is my belief that the best way to counter  a military parade that would seem to celebrate death and destruction and NOT honoring Veterans, is to have a counter parade: A PEACE PARADE. My generation that now ruins the USA had (ironically) PEACE MARCHES to protest the Vietnam war. A war trump and others in his administration were able to get out of serving in. Bolton, a war monger is one of them. Since trump loves to play the entertainer like some ancient Roman emperor throwing games for the people, the People could out-do him with a more ENTERTAINING event than a military parade. Something joyful, that at the same time honors veterans and embraces them, welcoming them HOME as so many did… welcoming them home with peace, compassion, empathy and healing. A Peace parade to try to avoid any more of their comrades, sons and daughters dying in another futile stupid war as we keep on having… as we had with Vietnam.  Trump and his regime would love to send more Americans off to another war (it would seem to me). Perhaps with a Peace parade, we can in some small measure forestall that and have a world with fewer Veterans. Fewer widows, orphans and people ruined by the effects of war in body and mind. What epic schadenfreude to ruin trumps authoritarian chest thumping with an alternate parade celebrating all that is good, calling for and encouraging a peaceful USA and world.

Reformed Alcoholic Watching A Movie

 

Tonight I watched a detective movie. Part of the plot is a cop gets kicked off the force for being a drunk. Ex cop seen drinking. CONSTANTLY. The beer labels are fictional but I know the cop is drinking beer. Yeah, it’s all fiction.

 A movie. 

Problem is, 

In the background of my mind, 

I observed myself salivating. 

Wanting a beer.

 A boilermaker.

 A few shots of whiskey. 

Drink until stupid and puking then

Drink more

And more,

That feeling again. 

I wanted to be buzzing like that fictional ex cop in the movie.

I didn’t want to be at the wheel of a car driving drunk.

Sweating, watching it.

In the background of my mind,

Stomach churning remembering the drinking

How sick and shitty I felt

Inside

Wrapped around my mind and identity…

Snap out of it,

It’s only a damned movie

Bullshit,

It’s flashbacks

It’s a reminder to don’t go there again

Churning stomach

Sweating

Terrified of flashing lights but I have to get home hanging onto the damned wheel then

Wondering next day if I hit anyone

Anything ?

The me now wanted the cop to quit drinking

Begging that fictional character to go for food and water

Not booze and junk

Redemption oh writers of this film

Oh please redemption like my life

Trying…

Trying…

Part of the damnation is the flashbacks

Part of the salvation are all those sick feelings watching a movie…

Reminders

Reminders in a movie

No you don’t want to go back there again

(And you won’t)

Because like that fictional ex cop…

You get up in the morning and make the pancakes

Instead of reaching for the 3 day old pizza.