Random Thoughts

Originally uploaded
by Erzébet.

Four slightly unsure, hesitant and incredibly powerful warlocks sat down in a deceptively rough semicircle, and for a time they played a new game. Eventually, not exactly tired of the game, but knowing that they had work to do, they ended the game. Then came the magic.

The first golden chord shone forth and all the words were gone. I thought: this is what I will fill my heart with, I thought: this is what is already in my heart, I thought: every single bit of pain and suffering is worth it. This is pathos this is love this is sex this is death and life and it needs no words to describe it. This is the horizon, the impossible, the attainable-unattainable sky beyond which existance becomes just another word you've forgotten. This is how I feel when the only way I can communicate is through tears and racking sobs. This is my heart and the box is open.

The second magic was more refined, difficult, aged in that particular way. A small bonfire came into being and lit the air between the four; the focus shifted outwards, a breeze stirred the grass. The magic drew inwards, spiraling softly, to encompass the world of sound without. The sound of humanity was deafening as the spell drew tighter and tighter in, until finally the silence roared and the fire went out.

The akward warlocks got up and walked away; now was the time to absorb what they had learned before moving on.

Returning to their workplace the four watched somewhat apprehensively as smaller creatures rearranged the space for the next spell. This one would be something different, and they were a bit unsure. One of the four abruptly sat down on his favorite stool to prevent the small creatures from taking it away; he was rather attached to it and felt he should be allowed to keep it. Eventually they were ready.

A spirit of innocence and sexuality appeared beside the One, singing and growling she made passionate primal love first to him, and then each of the other three in turn. Each time the harmonies changed, small talk in the form of tentative imitation and tender experimentation crackled between them, the ebb and flow punctuated by absolute joy in each pleasure as it came. Finally, sweet and demure, she sang a love song to the four, then made love to them once more as a whole. The spell ended. She should have dissappeared, and yet she chose to stay, some fondness prompting her to remain outside of the magic.

I bought her cd. I thought for a moment I might be able to fill my heart with this magic and drive all else out, but then I remembered that this is what's already there. I might be able to change the focus given time, but somehow I think this chord of yours will remain reverberating throughout my being for the rest of my life, and I am truly glad for it.

I just heard the best concert of my lifetime. I'm having difficulty not crying. The two are both related and not.

Posted by Beth at 12:16 AM | Permalink

Originally uploaded
by ArtLights.

...but Chris has such a good bow-hold!

haha.

I had my first lesson on cello today. I felt incredibly akward; I haven't felt that uncoordinated around an instrument in ages. It felt weird, my hands wouldn't do what I told them to, I wasn't sure how to hold onto both the instrument and the bow to put it away....ack. I need to practice. Lots. I also need to learn two grand studies on oboe. mwuahaha.

Sometimes tearing things apart is beneficial. I'm still so far away from being able to leave the university mind set. I suppose that's not such a bad thing, and I don't actually want to skip the steps because I like the process, but I do feel a little as though I've somehow slacked off and could have gotten here faster. Not something that matters. A lot of the things that I agonize over end up not mattering; I'm not sure what to do about this. Ha.

I really like my oboe. It sounded particularily beautiful today. Sometimes I forget how much I like it's sound.

Posted by Beth at 8:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Originally uploaded
by Zeb Andrews.

Occasionally I'm struck by just how well off I am.

I'm eating sautéed crimini mushrooms, eggs, homemade bread, and drinking really good milk. There's half a wheel of savory moon cheese sitting on the counter beside the most beautifully green french butter dish you will ever see. On the counter sits another cast off from my lovely sister, a camera this time. The macro setting is amazing, that's why I got it, but now I have a better one... Apparently the camera my mom got her is better than the one they have at work, so they used it to do most of the work on the ad N is making.In a few moments I'll head out, walk a block to the school, and vote without worrying about anything at all, come back and then head out to the ivory tower for some raunchy comedy. Is there really anything else I could possibly need?

Posted by Beth at 11:18 AM | Permalink

Sometimes there's nothing for it except to swallow and shut up.

In other news:

1)Applying western notation to Balinese music is STUPID. Yes. Stupid.
2)I am done all but my clst100 readings
3)midterms are frighteningly close
4) I really, really hate feeling powerless. I feel completely powerless. I hate it.

Grargh. Ugly mood, Ugly entry.

wait, accept meekly, gullibly or unquestioningly? Maybe chain down and shut up would be more appropriate.

Posted by Beth at 11:58 PM | Permalink

Originally uploaded
by eyecatcher.

There's a delicacy of intonation, of pronunciation, that I fall in love with. Sounds so refined, so beautifully controlled, and yet free. I struggle with my own reactions, the way I shape interaction. I wish too much lately, it's a bad habit born out of adolescent daydreams that take over reality while the truth is loneliness in shades of grey. So easy to fall into, so easy to sleep the day, the week, the year away. I once spent an entire year hidden in books. I only remember the sunlight from through glass. An entire year. An hour. So incredibly important, so wasted. But only forward motion is acceptable, why fall back into it now, now when not being wastefull is so very important?

I have so many pathetic impulses, it makes me furious. I hide them agressively, but sometimes I wonder how much of me is the urges and how much of me is the struggle to hold them at bay, and after that what's left? And yet that's stupid, so much of who I am simply is, but there are definately the things I won't allow myself to be. Am I a hypocrite if I abhor those who choose not to supress what I deem pathetic? Of course it doesn't matter.

Take people as they are, with everything that's a part of them, and see if your souls mesh. I can never quite function the way it seems I'm expected to. Perhaps I've misunderstood the expectations. What are we doing with our lives? What's next? Why isn't there some incredible rush of dizzying understanding? Am I becoming what I pretend to be or am I pretending to be what I was....am? Am I pretending? Can you tell? These things don't matter. Old men laugh at the questions because they've decided in their wisdom that there aren't answers. Maybe.

I can see a cycle emerging, and I'm not sure I approve of it's nature.

Posted by Beth at 9:21 PM | Permalink

Originally uploaded
by *Chris.

What do you do when everything you know is gone?
You start over.

Motion, art, life, death, love, picture, frame.

My first instinct is to cover the process and pronounce it a sucess in certain ways. My strength, if I have one, is my belief in forward motion, but sometimes skipping the process isn't such a good idea. Perhaps I can work backwards from my assertation of acheivement. I paid a small sum of money in order to take an audition that was three weeks away, I got the excerpts and practiced them like crazy, I've learned them well, but they are not up to my standards for public airing, let alone an audition, however, the fact that I learned them this quickly and have been this driven is worth the money, therefor I do not feel that it is a failure.

Step back. I'm horrified that I haven't met the deadline I set; this is twice in a year, or once if you actually think of new year's as a marker of a year. I am not a person who sets herself up for failure. I set goals and reach them, yet twice I have set unreasonable goals and not acheived them. Why is this?

I'm reaching further than I have before? Yes, true, but that, in and of itself, does not explain the failure. Ignorance, both times, I realize, is the answer. Yet how am I supposed to know everything? I can't. I can know a lot, and a lot more than I do for sure, but not everything. I suppose this is a failure, and I should admit it, even though it has had positive side effects.

A part of me still wants to take out the oboe tomorrow and play till my lips bleed, but I'm pretty certain that they still wouldn't be ready for tuesday. I might anyway though, just in case. I mean, I don't have to call till monday.

Everytime I watch or hear something that moves me I fall a little backwards, or at least that's how it feels. It's as though all my life I've been told how modern everything is, and now I'm unlearning it all and discovering just how old every single human experience is.

I wish I was where you are right now again...

I begin to feel a little of what I am capable of. I'm responsible for doing something with my life, odd, I always felt I wouldn't know what to do. Sometimes I don't. The things that come naturally to me.....well, the things that don't I chase. funny, how that works. I'm a little saddened that I like a focus on achievement over love or romance, but I do. I used to feel differently......but that doesn't really matter, it was a long time ago to me.

I don't feel like talking. I feel like curling up into a dark green and waking to bright sunlight, but I'll probably colapse into red and wake up to my alarm instead.

Posted by Beth at 11:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Sometimes I enjoy my classical comedy class almost too much. We sit in a threesome in the third row and make snotty comments about footnotes and phallis...phalli? Today was quite wonderful. There is something about Classics profs, or perhaps their environment, that makes them almost completely unable to operate most devices more modern than a projector. Heaven help them if they need to show video clips from a computer on a projector though...

Some quotes and random ideas from today:

Marshall:: Your homework is to watch the Daily show!
Me: I don't have cable!
Marshall: Find a friend who does!

Aristophanes Wants YOU!
-Jess

Technical difficulties and how they relate to the Classics faculty..........an essay topic?

In response to technical difficulties:

I'm going to go and get someone who doesn't teach the Bronze Age for a living.......talk amongst yourselves.
-Marshall

Watch CBC tuesdays at 8pm......even in the backwoods of Canada you can get CBC
-Marshall

----

Tomorrow is Studies in Motion at UBC, then four days to decide on the audition thing. I'm going to be recording a short clip for an ad my sister is animating, some sort of contest....music for opening flowers.....heh. I might actually see what she thinks of Le tombeau de couperin, I think it's out of copyright now. It's odd, I barely have time to think right now, and yet - it feels like the semester has only just begun? I'm taking one less course than before, you would think it would be less work? Or something? I like this semester though, everything I'm reading I'm interested in, even the evil first year class' readings are interesting.

Posted by Beth at 9:21 PM | Permalink

I'd forgotten just how much food and the lack therof affects my mental state. Must eat more than one meal a day. must.

Spent about 4 hours making reeds today, I'm fighting myself over even taking the audition now...you're doing extremely well for learning these excerpts in three weeks....but they take years to learn ...I just don't want to play horribly. I hate embarassing myself, but I don't know....I still have a week.....gah.

Posted by Beth at 8:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Originally uploaded
by darkmatter.

Pretty, is it? Worthless because it just happens to appeal to me. No grounds for my taste, no well founded arguable reasons. Why should I try to be something I'm not? I shouldn't. Why can't I just like something? I have a million reasons that are unacceptable.

smiles and sunshine
ash and wind.
Ask me in a week how it felt.

you have to play what the audience wants.....isn't that what being a dj is? no. no and yes. no?

learn to sell yourself without selling out.

back to playing band music. The fact that people in the ensemble are considerably below my level of playing bothers me. I am getting better, a lot better, but jeezus bloody christ these people sound like they're fresh out of highschool......I suppose they are? I've been at this stage for too long even though I've barely figured out how it works. Time to move on, heaven forbid I become a medium sized fish in a large pond, after all, being the fast tiny fish is way more fun.

you're ignorant and naive, don't pretend to be dumb, these are easy questions.

Ever have a really strong urge to hit someone considerably larger than you who also holds a position of power that could fuck you over for quite a long time? Stupid bitter old man, go find what your life is lacking or throw yourself off a cliff. Celest would get mad at me for that.......don't say things like that, don't exaggerate, don't say mean things, even if you mean them. I don't even have to practice the solos for this music. It makes me sad.

Posted by Beth at 2:47 AM | Permalink

Originally uploaded
by Fack to Bront.

I love the space between; I love the tension created by absence, be it one of sound, movement or light. I found the simplicity and bareness of dance and sound incredibly beautiful. So often people try to put on performances that shock or amaze the audience...I've gotten used to being bored by technical brilliance. This was something different; something I liked. I listened to the hotshot bassoon soloist during the two day double reed workshop....and he literally could play anything...but I didn't like his sound. He played a piece written for him that had a prerecorded track to accompany him...I dislike prerecorded accompaniment, but I always try to give it a chance....it let me down again, and not only because the piece was stereotypical lets do something new free jazz boringness, but because the balance between the bassoon and the recording was off. Even if it had been a good piece it would have sounded bad. The balance of amplification for tonight's show was so bloody amazing. There were a few things that could have made it better, but it was really good.

I have difficulty holding performances up to traditional models, maybe that’s why I often really like fusion - I’m not offended or bothered by decisions that might seem wrong to others who demand a clear logic for each change.

If there is one thing that bothers me in performances it is performers of the woodwind persuasion who gasp for air between phrases. I’ve always thought that every part of the body should be involved in the music, and allowing one’s self to gasp so unmusically is simply not acceptable. The nokan flute player in the performance tonight was completely involved in the music; every breath, every movement was carefully controlled. She used her breath as a part of the music, her voice and the flute sound were one musical line. She even carefully played notes that were almost entirely inaudible. I want to be good enough to play my instrument like that.

One week and one day till the NYO audition. Still a bit under tempo on Le Tombeau, but I’m at 70 now…only need to get to 84.….reed making tomorrow I think.

Posted by Beth at 1:21 AM | Permalink

Originally uploaded
by oneup.

I used to buy blank notebooks, some with lines, some without; the paper, it’s texture, it’s size and colour would inspire me to sketch and write.

When I was introduced to the internet I was 15 or 16 and I felt incredibly lost and ignorant of the whole business, so naturally my first thought was I have to learn how everything works followed closely by an overwhelming desire to create a webpage. I threw myself into html with a vengeance, and fully intended to learn java and C++ following that… well I got as far as putting up a web page, two, in fact, and they’re still around. Each time I learned something new I would incorporate it, making my pages huge and cumbersome, but I loved every huge picture and weird link and table. I only recently learned how to do the nifty little floating tables, so I was rather frustrated that I couldn’t make the site look exactly how I wanted it to. I never got into designing graphics, mostly because I didn’t have the programs to do it, or the time to learn them really, but eventually the learning curve levelled off and I realized that, for all it’s colour and snazziness, my page was nothing more or less than a journal in electronic form. It was slightly different, of course, since it was now an open journal, and I had a bulletin board attached to it with the thought that people could comment on content if they so wished, but it was still just a journal.

I still wrote in my paper journal during the time that I had my own site; some of my most personal and intimate writing still went into the various coloured books that I’d grown up knowing, but increasingly I used my website as a sounding board for whatever I was feeling or thinking about until I hardly used the notebooks at all. Always though, when I bought a new notebook, there was something special about the first page; something sacrosanct. I would sometimes wait months before starting a new book, thinking what would be appropriate, grand enough to fill the first page of what would eventually hold a year or so of my life. I would try not to think about what to write, as I’ve found that always ruins any semblance of flow, but I tried to wait till the light, my mood and the weather were perfect enough to approach that beautifully blank page so that I could write something worthy of it.

I’ve never written anything I was happy with in the first page of any notebook, and it’s a failure that has prompted me to often leave the very first page blank. Perhaps I hope that by the time I’ve finished the book I will have gained some new appreciation of life and be able to fill it properly (although I never do because doing so would change the decision that I‘d made at that time to leave it blank), or maybe the emptiness is simply the perfection that I’ve been striving for every time and then ruining; I don’t know, but it seems to work…on paper. There is not a satisfactory way to leave a page blank in an electronic journal, at least no way that wouldn’t be ridiculously pretentious.

It seems that I have a lot to say these days, I think some of it can go here now, now that I’ve ruined the first page.

Posted by Beth at 6:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)