Breakthrough!

Not only did I practice for 2 solid hours today (scales are magic) but I finally wrote a poem I am happy with!

Inspiration hit and I am so elated that I have created something. I have been working on releasing my creativity, both in music and in poetry, but not directly for the past week or so. What I mean is that I listened to music and read Steinbeck and The Courage to Create (which I need to finish) and today I read a few of The Sonnets to Orpheus, by Rainer Maria Rilke and I have listened to Rob Inglis narrate The Lord of the Rings the past few days. And I have written very consistently all October. But I hadn't sat down and tried to write poetry or practiced.

I feel joy, like life is beating in my heart again. This poem really springs out of all my musings and frustrations during this time of serious reflection.

The old self is dying
Every moment.
Let us grapple with ourselves
And wrestle in intimate places -
And so consecrate our bodies,
Setting each bone in its right place,
Conforming to the character
Of our will.

Breaking free of all chains
We dare to twist ourselves
Into something immaculate
And strive to meet the
Immortality of the stars.
Death is transcendence
To be sought daily
With open arms.

Dreams

I don't usually remember my dreams for more than a few minutes after I wake, but tonight I had the most realistic, if not transparent, dream in my life. A lot of my dreams involve me being chased by something. Not this one. Mom asks my friends to play some sort of chamber music etude, much to my chagrin. Oddly, only Jim was playing his actual instrument (viola) and I don't know why he was in my dream at all, since I dislike him so much. Cici played the harp and Dean played bass.

Cici and I tried to turn off my computer speakers, drank absinthe, and went for a drive. Before we got anywhere we saw some friends behind us, so we turned around. We were on a golf course and we greeted a bunch of my friends, although it was a mix of my real friends and they don't all know each other. For example, it was great to see Alicia, and though they were at Vanderbilt together I don't think Cici knew her.

I had another, shorter dream that I've mostly forgotten. All I recall is that I was dancing, running, and singing around the pews in a big church, along with some other people, dressed in white robes. I thought about trying to write down the song in my head, but I never quite get it (dictation) right.

Hopefully vivid dreams are a good sign of a renewed creative life. I didn't write any poems last night but I feel poetic today.

Brief reflections

Today I had a lesson for the first time in about two weeks. The first movement of Sibelius was okay, but barely pulled itself together at the last minute. I'm still trying to figure out where the passion went. I felt some spark when I performed in Trey's recital. The exhilaration was mostly overshadowed by my feelings of disappointment and shame when I screwed up the sextuplets. But it was the most alive I've felt in a long time. There's just something incredible about performing.

Professor Teal had really good suggestions, although I know that if I had brought the Sibelius in in top shape, we could have really gotten into the music more. He complimented my technique and planning, but said it came off sounding more like an etude; very careful and precise but not musical. Even though I have played the piece for so long and know it well, since I'm bringing it back so slowly I'm in the stage of careful preparation again. I tend to tackle each piece I play focusing first on simply what I need to do to play the right notes in tune. Then I address the music. I need to change my approach to learning new music so that I incorporate my musical ideas into my practice strategies. It's like I've planned for a vacation and packed everything I think I'll need before deciding where I want to go.

Trey introduced me to Calypso Cafe today for lunch. It was very good, and I wish I had known about it before. We talked a bit about what we need to do for graduate auditions / applications and he told me about his plans for his senior thesis. I really should pick a piece of music and learn everything I can about it. I want to go back over my notes from my class on Mahler. I also need to organize my recordings from my semester abroad. I know I have at least a few lectures from Solvik's class (Mahler and turn of the century Vienna).

Maybe I'll sit down and analyze some Schubert. Winterreise, most likely, although his Octet is special to me as well. Reading about opera is very rewarding and interesting. Obviously having a narrative gives it a different dimension that is concrete and can be analyzed more definitively. Mozart's Mason principles come through in Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute), for example. That opera and Don Giovanni are my favorites. I have the full score to Don Giovanni, too. Or possibly if I thoroughly analyzed a Prokofiev piece, Trey might come around to liking his music more. Oh well, this is all just more talk until I do it.

I babysat for the rest of the day. My phone's battery is almost dead so I can't play Words With Friends right now. I'm really glad Lindsey and Lucy play, it's a lot of fun. I haven't done much besides work on the puzzle and listen to LOTR. For the rest of the night, until Martha comes back, I hope to write some worthwhile poetry.

After Concert Drinks

I drove up to see the Vandy orchestra concert tonight, having arranged to meet Lucy for drinks afterward. I wasn't sure if the winds were first, so I arrived right at 8. The concert winds were okay. The Konzertmusik for piano and chamber ensemble by Hindemith was interesting. Not too inspiring, though I suppose most of the notes were correct. I'm not a fan of watching Verrier conduct, it's so bland I couldn't see any nuance or musical creativity at all.

The orchestra was quite good, I think. It was a kind of pops concert, with a nice J. Strauss II waltz, an overture by John Williams, and Bernstein's West Side Story (suite?). I'm not a big fan of Strauss waltzes but imagining Vienna really made me appreciate it a lot more. I think as a genre the waltz is just dated and isn't taken seriously by classical musicians most of the time. But as I imagined it being played at a ball or a concert in Vienna 100 years ago, it went from quaint and outdated to charming and lovely.

I sat with Lucy for part of the winds, and then moved to sit by Susan for the orchestra half of the concert. We went backstage to find Chris and Lucy, although Susan disappeared somewhere. I talked with Chris a bit about the concert until we walked to the lobby and I found Lucy. Lucy and I decided to walk to Jackson's for a drink, since we were too poor to go to Patterson House.

It was really fun hanging out with Lucy. She saw that I was playing Words with Friends with Lindsey and said we will have to play. We talked about drinks and the new music history curriculum and schools and German audio books and Chris and Susan as a couple. I will miss her very much when we go our separate ways.

Monet

While at Barnes and Noble a few days ago I found a puzzle of Monet's  The Japanese Footbridge, 1899. I hope it will help keep me busy and away from the tv. It's 1000 pieces. I started putting it together last night while listening to Rob Inglis' reading of Lord of the Rings.



What have I gotten myself into?

Also, I finally steamed some rice for a snack with kimchi. I'm starting to doubt that I can finish such a large jar of kimchi, but it was the smallest size in the Korean store. Now I need to find a recipe for marinading Bulgogi.



It's nice having a day off. Dad and I set 5 more fence posts in concrete yesterday, and I am so sore. I went up to watch Grace and Hazard so that Brian could run to the store and the bank. Grace can swing all by herself now, and she is good at baseball. I love seeing the leaves change, and when I have another free day I hope to take a hike somewhere, maybe around the Natchez Trace.

Patterson House x2

This weekend was wonderful! Full of good friends and alcohol. Last night after Trey's senior recital, which was packed and a huge success, Trey, Lindsey, and I went to Patterson House. They laughed at me when I said I had just been there the night before. I guess my role as the studio / mayfield alkie still applies, haha. Just as a joke, of course. I'm not worried until it becomes a necessary coping mechanism that I can't live without. Good drinks are too expensive. I can be a miserable sober person, as evidenced by the past week.

On Saturday I helped mom set up her table at her friend's neighborhood garage sale she was invited to take part in. We woke up at 5:30 and left by 6 in the morning. I would have been miserable in the cold but I was allowed to sit inside and watch tv with the dogs. I know I watched Ocean's 13. I took a nap when we got home around 2. I woke up and got to the Vandy homecoming game vs. Army. I met Jeff there right at 7, and Kristin, Brett, and Nathan were there, too. It was pretty fun actually winning a game. We left at the end of the 3rd quarter and apparently missed a lot more action. We went to Patterson House and had a great time. I can't remember the drink I had because I asked for a recommendation. It was okay. The Black and White I tried was delicious. My favorite two drinks are still the Monkey Gland and Star 81.

I walked back to Vandy-Barnard with Jeff where we hung out with Kristin and her friends for a few hours. We played Circle of Death, which was fun but slow as everyone was distracted and talking to each other. I couldn't believe that so many people could fit in such a small single.

A fun text I got was from Chris, saying he had met Charlotte Kies up at IU. The music world is so small. I waited a while to sober up and then jogged across campus back to my car at Trey's.

Trey's senior recital went really well. Except my sextuplets. I feel really bad that I couldn't make it work. I let Trey down, and I was not happy with myself. Also, Justin's cello slipped once or twice, so Trey wants to get us together again soon to record it a second time. In the back Justin and I were sullen, but Justin more than redeemed himself when he played Trey's piece for Cello and Percussion. There wasn't anything he could have done about his cello slipping during Soupir.

One little thing that I'm proud of is that I successfully swatted a fly in midair. It ricocheted off the wall and Trey moved it to the floor and stepped on it. I was so pleased that he and Lindsey got my literary joke, "So it goes."

After the recital reception was finished, Lindsey and I helped Trey bring the extra food back to his place. Trey got his family to bring the LOTR audio book CDs! (I'm downloading them right now. The first book alone has 16 CDs) I met his family briefly and they seemed wonderful. His father in particular is a funny man and it's obvious Trey inherited his sense of humor from him. He asked Lindsey and me if we liked Honeydew (to take home) and when Trey's grandmother answered, "I love honeydew!" he said, "Not YOU!" We all died laughing.

I drove us to Patterson House and we sat at the bar. We tried to apply chordal properties to the drinks we got. We are such nerds. The Seasonal Sidecar was pretty good. Like I said above, the Star 81 and Monkey Gland are my top drinks there. I'm going to have to cut out drinks except maybe a social beer or two because they are way too expensive for me. Lindsey and I split Trey's tab between us (we also had a pizza and donut holes) so it was a bit more expensive than usual. But I thought we should treat him after he worked so hard on his senior recital.

After a hard, full day of work, mom brought home Steak and Shake for dinner and I'm playing Words with Friends with Lindsey. It's been a really amazing weekend. I'm still unsure of myself, I'm still wondering what I'm going to do with my life, and I'm still lonely sometimes, but although I know I'm not the funniest, smartest, or most talented guy, my life is worth living and I have and continue to positively affect the lives of my friends.

Doubt

I just want to be happy. I chide myself when I'm sad because I know how good my life is.

I wonder if I'm retarded. Slow, dull, boring, apathetic, simple. Maybe I had more permanent brain damage than I thought. I know that I have my flaws and I'm earnestly trying to address them. I think people tend to forget that I exist. People will confide in me because I am a great listener and very supportive. But sometimes I doubt people will miss me when I'm gone. My family will, of course. But what about my friends who aren't obligated by blood? I suppose when I'm dead I'll finally stop caring about what people think of me.

How many people have noticed my absence on Facebook? Do any of them care? Maybe if people just responded to my messages. Or invited me to something once in a while. Asked me how I'm doing and meant it. Just gave a damn. It'd feel wonderful if anyone read this blog and let me know they enjoyed something about it by leaving a comment.

I know I'm being dramatic. I am blessed to have amazing friends. This feeling of disappointment, anger, and confusion is beating me, though. I don't emote very strongly, but it's always the sadness of feeling isolated that is the strongest. I feel like I've given to people and not gotten much back.

Disappointment

Today was rough. I should mention that climbing on a roof in order to pull off old shutters to be cleaned is not my idea of a good time. But today was just disappointing overall. Because work ended very early I arrived at Blair around 1:30. I sat out on the patio and read some more of The Courage to Create. I thought about making that my 'Place,' but it's far from home and it's getting cold out. Still, I felt more comfortable there than anywhere else at Blair. I feel like an intruder, that the building doesn't belong to me anymore. I hardly recognize people anymore.

I practiced about an hour and a half, which was the most I've played my violin for a week. Then I tried to write some poetry but ended up just wandering around the building feeling ill at ease until I found Chris and his dad drove us to Starbucks. We hung out in the comp. lab until Susan came by and we went to dinner. We wanted to go to Korea House but it was too busy and I knew it would take too long anyway. Buffalo Wild Wings was a great choice, though. Susan dropped us off at Blair just in time for our dress rehearsal for Trey's recital. The run through went okay. We fixed a few minor details but everything seemed to gel. Except for my sextuplets that play against sixteenth notes. I was upset that I couldn't get them to click with the rest of the music, but at least we held together.

I hung out with Chris for the rest of the night. We went up to see Susan practice and she wanted me to sight read the Debussy violin sonata with her. I forget who she is accompanying. It's a beautiful piece but it was hard to read off the score and my counting was horrible. Then she asked me to play grad school stuff. I shouldn't have indulged them. It was horrid. Not just the first 2 pages of Sibelius, but Don Juan was atrocious. It was the worst I've ever played for someone, I think.

Susan kept practicing for a while and I felt what it truly means to be a third wheel. I'm happy for them, and they are a great couple, but I didn't really know what to think. I know I have people who care about me. But it's a bummer not having someone special.

And perhaps even more frustrating, I haven't made any progress on my poetry at all. Today just sucked the life out of me. I saw my life and everything about it screamed failure. You're nobody 'till somebody loves you.

Into the Wild, part 2

Work today was canceled due to rain, so I slept in, like I always do. I'm such a lazy bastard. After a shower around noon I left the house to make a deposit at the bank. I bought dinner for my mom's birthday (Korean food, naturally) and my sister paid me back. I don't have much money left in the bank right now so I really need to stop all spending. Unfortunately I need gas soon.
I went to Barnes and Noble to finish reading Into the Wild, by Krakauer. It's a pretty amazing tale, but the more I read about McCandless' relationships with his family, the less romantic his journey seemed to me. He was very selfish and arrogant, however nice he was to the few friends he made across the country. I understand the love of exploring nature alone. I spent several days alone hiking the Austrian Alps without a jacket and sometimes without water. It wasn't 'the wild' because I never intended to sleep out-of-doors and at the end of the day I could eat in comfort at a local restaurant and sleep in my hostel bed. But I know a little of the joy of hiking.
I would love to go hiking for a week or two, and I'm jealous of McCandless' ability to just get up and go. He followed his dream. He wanted to truly live, and he chose to live on the outskirts rather than live a life he viewed as sterile and fake. He didn't get very far off the beaten trail in Alaska, but he isolated himself and managed to live off the land for over 100 days. Here are two passages McCandless wrote / underlined in his journal.
"I am reborn. This is my dawn. Real life has just begun. Deliberate Living: Conscious attention to the basics of life, and a constant attention to your immediate environment and its concerns, example -> A job, a task, a book; anything requiring efficient concentration (Circumstance has no value. It is how one relates to a situation that has value. All true meaning resides in the personal relationship to a phenomenon, what it means to you).
The Great Holiness of FOOD, the Vital Heat. Positivism, the Insurpassable Joy of the Life Aesthetic.
Absolute Truth and Honesty. Reality. Independence. Finality - Stability - Consistency."
(From Tolstoy's Family Happiness)
"He was right in saying that the only certain happiness in life is to live for others....
I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor - such is my idea of happiness. And then, on top of all that, you for a mate, and children, perhaps - what more can the heart of a man desire?"
Before he died McCandless wrote a note: I HAVE HAD A HAPPY LIFE AND THANK THE LORD. GOODBYE AND MAY GOD BLESS ALL!
If he had finally realized that a happy life is one spent living for others, than to die in the Alaskan wilderness (barely qualifying as wilderness to Alaskans) alone is a tragic waste of life, especially given his background and loving family who he shunned for his last 2-3 years. I think everyone would benefit from going off by themselves for a while to discover who they are. Getting lost in the majesty, grandeur, and beauty of nature is important for a healthy spiritual life. Yet recognizing the harshness and danger in nature helps us to keep our small lives in perspective, humbling us.
The rest of my time in the bookstore was spent in the gardening section. I've been dreaming of growing my own kitchen garden. The nature section wasn't the place to look, although that's where I found Krakauer's book. Practical, how-to advice is all in the gardening section. However, I am low on disposable income, and likely will not be here next year, so I can't start my gardening days here, no matter how much I would like to. I will elaborate on my back to nature, get off the grid, simple lifestyle plans later. Our furnace apparently isn't working, which makes me want to crawl back in bed. I'm going to try to practice instead.

Excerpt

Here is an excerpt from Steinbeck's novel The Winter of Our Discontent. I now have 9 full pages typed out. There are many sentences I already know I will cut, but I typed them all out and I can block them out with a line in pen. Obviously I could have simply copied all the pages from the book directly, but that would waste more paper and besides, taking the time to type things out helps me remember them.

The more time and effort you put into something, the more you get out of them. It's an illusion that efficiency is all that matters. "There is more to life than increasing its speed." ~ Gandhi.

If I can somehow condense this novel into under 10 pages, who knows, maybe if I push myself I CAN memorize all of it.

"I had thought I could put a process in motion and control it at every turn - even stop it when I wanted to. And now the frightening conviction grew in me that such a process may become a thing in itself, a person almost, having its own ends and meands and quite independent of its creator. And another troublesome thought came in. Did I really start it, or did I simply not resist it? I may have been the mover, but was I not also the moved? Once on the long street, there seemed to be no crossroads, no forked paths, no choice.

The choice was in the first evaluation. What are morals? Are they simply words? Was it honorable to assess my father's weakness, which was a generous mind and the ill-founded dream that other men were equally generous? No, it was simply good business to dig the pit for him. He fell into it himself. No one pushed him. Was it immoral to strip him when he was down? Apparently not.

Now a slow, deliberate encirclement was moving on New Baytown, and it was set in motion by honorable men. If it succeeded, they would be thought not crooked but clever. And if a factor they had overlooked moved in, would that be immoral or dishonorable? I think that would depend on whether or not it was successful. To most of the world success is never bad. I remember how, when Hitler moved unchecked and triumphant, many honorable men sought and found virtues in him. And Mussolini made the trains run on time, and Vichy collaborated for the good of France, and whatever else Stalin was, he was strong. Strength and success - they are above morality, above criticism. It seems, then, that it is not what you do, but how you do it and what you call it. Is there a check in men, deep in them, that stops or punishes? There doesn't seem to be. The only punishment is for failure. In effect no crime is committed unless a criminal is caught. In the move designed for New Baytown some men had to get hurt, some even destroyed, but this in no way deterred the movement."

You Are Jeff

So today I slept in. For no discernible reason I stayed up late last night. But at least I didn't have to work, and Dad doesn't get back until tomorrow, so no work until Wednesday. I decided to watch Ocean's Eleven while I ate soup for lunch, and Mom sat and watched it with me. I don't know the last time we watched a movie together, but as long as she doesn't ask too many questions (I get annoyed when people ask what's going to happen) movies are a good way that we bond. I'm also glad that we found a church that we both like. Hopefully this year we can rebuild our relationship.

Right as the movie ended I realized that I had made plans to meet Lucy after she was done with orchestra at 5, so I ran out the door. I was 15 minutes late, and Chris called and joined us for coffee and donuts at Dunkin' Donuts. It was really great to see her and talk. She's someone I always feel comfortable confiding in. Unfortunately she had to leave to go to McTyeire dinner. I dropped her off and Chris and I went to get food at Wendy's before our Soupir rehearsal.

Rehearsal was good as usual. I think we are beyond the basics now and feel comfortable enough to listen to each other and feel the music. Trey decided to leave us by ourselves in the hope that we'd figure out the piece by ourselves.

After rehearsal I had texted Lindsey but never heard back from her. But Trey asked how rehearsal was and then asked if I was busy tonight. I had just left but when he suggested Jackson's or Fido's I turned around. I tried to work on my poetry until he showed up but didn't get much done. Kaiser Wilhelm also came, which was nice.

Trey asked if I had heard of poet Richard Siken, who I was not familiar with, and we went back to his place and he found this amazing poem called You Are Jeff. I don't even know what to say. Poetry is hard for me to describe or analyze but I know when something hits me, when it moves me with it's beauty or power, or if it's raw or refined.

How should one evaluate a poem? Does it have to make any sort of sense? A poem has to be about something, right? But not in the same way as a book is about something - the plot or the information.

From P. B. Shelley's A Defence of Poetry:

Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be "the expression of the Imagination": and poetry is connate with the origin of man. Man is an instrument over which a series of external and internal impressions are driven, like the alternations of an ever-changing wind over an Aeolian lyre, which move it by their motion to ever-changing melody. But there is a principle within the human being, and perhaps within all sentient beings, which acts otherwise than in the lyre, and produces not melody alone, but harmony, by an internal adjustment of the sounds or motions thus excited to the impressions which excite them.

Man in society, with all his passions and his pleasures, next becomes the object of the passions and pleasures of man; and additional class of emotions produces an augmented treasure of expressions; and language, gesture and the imitative arts, become at once the representation and the medium, the pencil and the picture, the chisel and the statue, the chord and the harmony.

Their [poets] language is vitally metaphorical; that is, it marks the before unapprehended relations of things, and perpetuates their apprehension, until the words which represent them, become through time signs for portions or classes of thoughts instead of pictures of integral thoughts; and then if no new poets should arise to create afresh the associations which have been thus disorganized, language will be dead to all the nobler purposes of human intercourse.

In the infancy of society every author is necessarily a poet, because language itself is poetry; and to be a poet is to apprehend the true and the beautiful, in a word the good which exists in the relation, subsisting, first between existence and perception, and secondly between perception and expression.

Sounds as well as thoughts have relations, both between each other and towards that which they represent, and a perception of the order of those relations has always been found connected with a perception of the order of the relations of thoughts.

A Poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth. There is this difference between a story and a poem, that a story is a catalogue of detached facts, which have no other bond of connexion than time, place, circumstance, cause and effect; the other is the creation of actions according to the unchangeable forms of human nature, as existing in the mind of the creator, which is itself the image of all other minds. The one is partial, and applies only to a definite period of time, and a certain combination of events which can never again recur; the other is universal, and contains within itself the germ of a relation to whatever motives or actions have place in the possible varieties of human nature.

A Poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness, and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.

A Month of Living

According to my post on Skype, I have now been off of Facebook for a month (Sept. 15). I miss talking to a few people, most of whom I would probably hear back from if I messaged / wrote on their wall. A big thing is that Chris hardly gets on Skype, so I don't talk to him nearly as much these days. I have realized the difference between acquaintances / old friends and (active) friends. People drift apart; it doesn't mean the friendship and connection you had before was any less special. I realize the truth of those statements more and more as time passes and my group of active friends shrinks. And many of my 500 Facebook friends were only acquaintances that I never really developed a solid relationship with.

It's been a great year so far. I have dedicated myself to figuring out who I am, who I want to become, and how to get to that place where I'm happy. I'm reevaluating my dreams, my relationships with family and friends, and my habits. I outlined the kind of person I want to be in an earlier post: an independent, responsible, intelligent, loving, entertaining, creative man of God. To that end I have many ideas which I am trying to implement in my life.

Cutting myself off from brain numbing Facebook (I have struggled to ban TV completely) has allowed me to shake off this sedentary lifestyle, but I have a ways to go. Productive things here include buying my own health care policy and renewing my passport, albeit too late to go on the Vanderbilt Orchestra tour to China. (I'm extra upset about that because Garrett will be in China at the same time and is trying to meet up with friends!)

I have increased my reading ten-fold, and because I know that I have an especially poor memory, to really take something to heart I will have to reread things many times. I am studying Steinbeck's The Winter of Our Discontent through cutting it into a piece (forensics), although as an almost 300 page book I don't think I will be able to memorize something that long. I already have 7 pages typed out, plus the entirety of Chapter 3 copied and printed. The main point of this exercise is to be able to fully grasp the important themes and elements of the book and be able to talk about them intelligently. I doubt I'll ever run into a person who will know this particular book as well as I hope to, so there's also a kind of feeling that I'm making it my own. And I do so love the writing.

I love my friends. I don't think anyone would doubt that. But I have always had sort of an inferiority complex where I don't feel like an equal in the relationship. I try not to take offense when people don't return my messages or they say they are too busy to hang out, because I trust that they know what they are doing with their lives, and that if they had time they might make the effort to see me. I have struggled a lot with the feeling that I am 'dead weight.' So I think that I need to take some time to myself in order to find what I can bring to the table. If, as Mr. Rogers suggests, 'the greatest gift you can give is your honest self,' it's not selfish to try to make something of yourself. Something worth giving.

I wish I was funnier. I love comedy, and I love to make people laugh. Yet I am a horrendous story-teller and I really don't have any wild and crazy times to tell. My plan to become socially astute is two fold: Get used to my own voice (physically - by talking as much as possible); Find my creative voice (through music, art, poetry, and beliefs and opinions). Whenever I finish my latest poems, I'll kill two birds with one stone and memorize it for recitations. I don't plan on returning to Facebook until I complete five poems I am happy to share. I have gotten on Facebook briefly to find a picture for my Mom's digital frame and to find an e-mail address, and I'm not too thrilled with the new layout. Of course, I haven't had time to get used to it yet.

So I've read a few books this month. I could be doing so much more with my life. I am very glad to have rejuvenated this blog. This is my twelfth post since I disabled my Facebook. I'm not even sure if anyone reads this anymore, but writing and self-reflection makes me a self-aware and self-actualized person. It helps me absorb all that I read and experience. It stimulates creative self-expression. All of which hopefully will be noticed by those who love me enough to care.

Two final things remain in this analysis of the past month: A failure and a blessing.

Violin fell by the wayside this month. I am ashamed of my lack of effort and passion. My grand vision of putting in 400 practice hours by December was abandoned long ago. I'm still not sure what happened, but I have been a very lackluster student of music since my sophomore year at Vanderbilt. I'm not sure it's a coincidence that around that time I turned away from God.

I am trying to read the Bible again and actually went to church two weeks in a row. I really like this small Anglican church that meets on Saturdays. I mentioned running into the Robertsons, who were a real blessing in my teenage life. Maybe I should have tried harder to find my own way. Many people define themselves through their work, and have been guided by philosophy and the arts. But my experience has been that without a relationship with God, I have become incredibly apathetic, and that saying I felt 'lost' is a gross understatement.

A meaningful, joyful life starts at a spiritual level. A relationship with God should be the foundation for the rest of your life. The change I've experienced is just a start. I hope for ever more radical growth and for a fire to be lit under me as I come into my own.

Old Poems, part 2

Untitled. Feel free to suggest one if something good comes to mind. This poem was written back in high school.

Who is this 'me' we so admire

When all 'my' values seem for hire,

In this world where one man cheats

While another's child still cannot eat?

Look! Our faces are a facade

To hide beneath in the mock parade.

Are we to ignore what we create,

Thinking of Love when really we hate -

That filth that drags us to the pit -

Idly sinking, bit by bit?

How do we save ourselves, we ask?

Just accept the proffered flask

Of Life, from Him who has such grace

That He redeemed our fallen race.

In this quiet, dreary life I frown.

Should I take this sharp, thorned crown

Upon my brow, in hope that soon

The Sun will envelope the cold moon?

Or is such light a myth, that blinds

All eyes and minds that think they find

Everything in nothing? If such light

Is false, I choose it o'er black night,

Because, if dream be best, why wake

To no hope that we might make

Our lives better for now and after?

If this be true, we die with laughter.

But if truth and dream be one,

Cast moon away in favor of the Sun.

The Predators Game and Lindsey's Birthday

Yesterday was amazing! Anna was able to join me at the Preds game, which was a lot of fun. I had to leave church a few minutes early in order to meet her. We got one of the last parking spots, which I knew would mean trouble when we left. The game was great. I love hockey games, they are so entertaining. A fight went on for about 5 minutes. I was a bit surprised they let it drag on that long. They both got 5 for fighting. I started to remember a few chants. A big part of the fun of live hockey games is the fans.

There were two women, probably in their mid-30s, sitting a few rows ahead of Anna and me who were hilarious to watch. They would get up and dance at just about any random song, one woman began harmonizing during the National Anthem, and in the third period they came back with a tub of popcorn which they proceeded to toss in the air and attempt to catch in their mouths. And not just one piece at a time, fistfuls. They were throwing popcorn in front of them and behind them as well. It was ridiculous.

Unfortunately the Preds lost in a shootout, but it was still tons of fun. Getting out of the parking lot (we were on the 6th floor) was less fun. We tried to play Words with Friends on my phone but my battery was dying. I think it took us about 45 minutes to get back to Blair where I dropped Anna back off.

It was good timing when I showed up to Patterson House, though, because Lindsey and co. were told to come back later. I found them down the street at the Red Door Saloon, and we left as soon as I arrived. We goofed off and took pictures as we waited for a table. Julie, Laura Bouffard, Trey, and Matthew were all there.

In spite of spilling part of my first drink all over my pants, it was so fun. I had to take some time and drink some water back at Trey's house before I was fit to drive home (Matthew kindly drove my car back to Trey's. The two drinks I got were phenomenal: Monkey's Gland and I forget the 2nd... it was top of the Rum section, and had grenadine, which I love.

Lindsey looked stunning and did very well with her first serious heels. Julie bought something like 18 shirts during their shopping spree, which I got a kick out of. We tried each others' drinks and they were all very good. We are planning on bringing Kevin there for his 21st birthday. I think he'll start talking to the bartenders and take notes, haha.

I am so glad I was able to join them in celebration of Lindsey's 22nd birthday. What would I do without my friends?

Into the Wild

I ran out on an errand today and talked myself into stopping by Barnes and Noble. I spent at least 4 hours there reading. I talked myself out of buying anything, at least for the moment. There are so many books I have started in stores and bought, but never finished at home. I was so close to buying Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet.

But the majority of my time there today was spent reading Into the Wild, by Jon Krakauer. I read about half of the 200 page book. I will go back to finish it soon, or I might just buy it.

I plan on watching the movie as well, and if it's good / true to the book, I'll recommend it. The book is very good as well. Christopher McCandless graduated from Emory, donated all his savings to charity, and road tripped across the country. After leaving his car he hitchhiked and hopped on trains up the California coast and over to South Dakota, where he worked for a time to save money for his "great adventure" up to the Alaskan wilderness. He changed his name and broke contact with his family, and after two years criss-crossing the American West, he found his way to Alaska. He hitchhiked to the edge of Denali National Park and after almost 4 months he died of starvation.

Considering his willful lack of preparation and caution (he refused help when friends offered to buy him better gear, entering the park with only 10 lbs. of rice to eat, a .22 rifle and some other supplies) I try not to romanticize his story. His complete separation from his family is also bewildering and sad. But the very idea of finding yourself in nature is alluring. I don't think I have the guts to hitchhike, but nowadays I can't imagine you could get very far. I know I probably wouldn't pick up a hitchhiker.

I am big into survivalism, and while I try not to be a crazy prophet of doom, I could totally see scenarios playing out where everyday life as we know it in cities comes to a halt out of some natural disaster or riots. A related thought I hope to write more on is that I want to try to become more self-sufficient.

Is it unnatural to spend the majority of your day inside buildings rather than outside? If I couldn't go to the store and buy food, or if the electricity went out for a period of time, could I find food to eat and be able to heat my house? If I had to evacuate, what would I take with me?

There's nothing like getting lost in nature to put your life in perspective. I am fascinated by people who can live on the fringes of society. In the same way I love watching Discovery Channel and Animal Planet where sometimes they show other cultures. Yes, it's a more hand to mouth existence, but they avoid the traps of materialism, consumerism, and they live productive lives and are at least as happy as the Western world.

I wish I could just let everything go, like Alex Supertramp. Asceticism has always interested me. I'll write a more organized review of the book when I finish reading.

Old Poems, part 1

So today was great. I went up to Blair early because Dad and I couldn't work after it had rained. I got an okay amount of practicing done, but spent a good chunk of time working on my poems and trying to find someone to take to the Predator's game on Saturday. I have asked 10 people and everyone is either out of town or has a conflict that evening.

After rehearsal for Trey's piece, Soupir, Trey, Chris and I went to Jackson's for dinner and a drink. I didn't want to spend a lot and I knew the (I think spinach and artichoke) dip was a good size and delicious.

We went back to Trey's and talked. Chris had to meet Shelby for another rehearsal. I started a game of Syzygy with Trey, which was fun but slow and it took forever with just two people. If you don't know the game, it's basically like Bananagrams.

I read the poems I had been working on and Trey gave good feedback, as always. I really respect his opinion and was happy that he was impressed with certain lines of my poems. They aren't quite cohesive and parts seem contrived as I tried to combine my original lines of inspiration with a sort of framework. Those poems need to be finished, but I dug up some old poems to repost. Enjoy!

Here is my Ode to Wien, written the day before I left Vienna.

Oh Wien! The snow now crowns your buildings

In pure white sheets. Your graceful apartments,

Quaint stores, your hallowed museums - all things

Reveal themselves to me anew. Snow complements

The architecture of your halls, monuments of a time

Now lost, as if they were built for such a purpose.

O Wien! City of music! Always a song is upon the air,

And so every passing hour one can feel the sublime.

Your cafes and parks have offered repose

To many who knew of no city so fair.



Oh Wien! With your lopsided Dom and bright palaces,

Full of history and majesty, you indeed are a jewel

Set in your Ring. Your glory remains, not just chalices

Locked behind glass, though only a fool

Would deny their beauty is a testament to your might.

No sleeping giant, you are alive and well!

You have grown and continue to be a part

Of the modern world. Yet still, at night,

Walking home on cold streets I hear the bell

Of a church, and I know the peace in your heart.



Oh Wien! So swiftly your seasons came,

My time here has passed suddenly, I feel

Bewildered - like a dream I recall the same

Day I arrived. How could I know Time would steal

Away and slip through my fingers? The heat

Of summer gave way to cool autumn in one day!

Oh Wien! I knew you well for three seasons.

How I wish I could see your spring and meet

The new flowers as the frost melts away!

Why we must part now confounds my reason.



Oh Wien! Must I tomorrow fly to another land?

When shall I walk your streets and see

Your markets - Christmas and otherwise - and stand

Again before your palaces and halls and be

Once more enthralled by your beauty?

Not soon enough! But I shall return.

A new year for me was begun here,

I learned and loved. Now I must see

This is not the end. A light will burn

In my mind, recalling everything most dear.

Driving around aimfully

Today I went to my high school to visit teachers - since I don't know any students there any more. It was so nice catching up with Mrs. Montgomery (formerly Lovell), Mrs. Hall, Mrs. Bowen, and Ms. Miller. I also ran into Col. Bradford and Coach Compton in the hall for the first time in years.

I don't always stop in to see Mrs. Montgomery, but I was really glad that I did today. She told me I looked happy. She said my emotions show on my face clearly, which is true. That's one reason why I'm not good at poker.

Honestly, just last night I was hoping that as I get my life in order people would be able to tell a difference. The more I read, and the more I meditate and think about life, and most importantly, the more I am in tune with God and my spiritual life, the happier I'll be.

There are some key people in my life that I look to as examples of godly living. They aren't pious, though. There is something about them that I'm attracted to, and others are drawn to them as well. On Saturday I went to church with my Mom at the invitation of one of her old work friends. Our old friends the Robertsons are members of this Anglican Church, and it was so wonderful to see them. I used to go to their house about once a week for SALT talks, which was a Bible study for men. I guess I was about 15 at the time. It was wonderful fellowship and I really came to view Mr. Robertson as a father figure. He's not just a God fearing man, but he's incredibly funny.

There are some Christians I love and some that I can't stand, and I have yet to really discover why I feel that way, but that's a discussion for another day. I don't think it's because some are pious or fake or judgmental. When I went to the MasterWorks Festival I met some wonderful, loving, godly people, but I never felt quite at home there for some reason.

Well, like I told Mrs. Montgomery, I think that turning back to God has been a huge part of this period of self-discovery. I was surprised but so glad that she noticed that I was happy. I don't think I have been very happy the past few years, in general. Of course I love being with friends and going out and doing things, but I don't think I've been very happy with myself as a person when I'm at home alone. I think with God's guidance I'm starting to find the right path.

After I left school, I decided to go find a nice view in the Warner Parks and sit and write some poetry. I have tried going to the parks before but I never found the main entrances until today. It took a very long time, though. I drove all over the park, which was so beautiful with the leaves just starting to turn colors. I finally came out the main park entrance so I will hopefully remember how to get there. Then, for reasons I don't remember, I drove all the way down Old Hickory, just to see where it led. Tennessee really is an amazingly beautiful place to live. I will actually hike next time and will be sure to take some pictures.

Intuition

I have long been of the opinion that there are some things you just KNOW. Either you're born with it in your blood or you discover some passion that you can't ignore. For reasons unknown, we fall in love with one thing out of the many possibilities, and we know it's right for us to follow that dream.

And I most certainly was in love with music. I still am, but it's not the same somehow. In general, for some reason that is completely counter-intuitive, I have to trick myself into doing things that I KNOW that I love. I have spent many days wishing for something to do while continuously rejecting a checklist of things I know I like doing: practicing, reading, drawing, writing, cooking, listening to music, watching a movie, studying German, playing games. I end up wasting the entire day unless I simply force myself to start something.

How do we know who we are? Do we consciously create an identity for ourselves on a daily basis? I believe that we can change ourselves by identifying aspects of our lives we'd like to fix, eliminating our old negative tendencies and replacing them with positive habits and attitudes through conscious acts of the will.

Hence, I gave up Facebook and am trying to replace it with reading, blogging, and poetry. I am still trying to figure out the best way to reestablish my passion for music, but I have focused a lot on technical work that I never attended to previously. I desperately want to become an intelligent, charming (socially adept), independent, skilled artist and joyful, loving person. To those ends I hope to internalize knowledge by reading a lot (and rereading things I hold dear); become more comfortable in one-on-one social interactions through practicing speaking (public speaking skills) and finding my voice (creatively through my music, art, and poetry as well as through defining my beliefs and opinions); learn the art of living (paying bills, planning budgets of money / time, taking care of my body, mind, and spirit); and to rediscover my passion for living and finding friends to share that passion with.

And now I get to my original point of this post, which has become more of an afterthought. I am so glad I can express myself through writing, things become much clearer as I write them down because it forces me to put my thoughts into words. Anyway, I never dated throughout college and I was fine with that for the most part. I think it was wise of me to think that I should find myself before embarking on any serious relationship. An easy mistake to make is to think that you will find yourself in another person. Every relationship and true connection changes both / all parties, but we must know something of ourselves first, separate from all others (save God).

And so I waited for the right girl to cross my path. Certain I would KNOW when she came along, I was able to relax and focus on my own personal growth. Looking at my college years I'm not so sure how successful I was, though it's undeniable that I am a very different person than I was in high school. But, being aware that time flows faster than we think, I wonder if I will intuit when I'm ready for a relationship and who I will fall in love with. Do I know when I'm in love? The answer isn't as clear as it once was.

Part of me thinks I should take action, be proactive, go out and woo some fantastic girl. But the real romantic in me thinks that I should continue to wait, and the wooing will come naturally to the right person at the right time. "It'll happen, and it'll be magical."

Of course, no matter how you fall in love, Love is magical.

Red Pandas

I love Red Pandas. They are adorable, and I wish I could have one for a pet.

It's hard to get the face just right, but I am fairly happy with how my picture turned out. I think I will continue to draw them.

Last night I went to the symphony with Lindsey. I missed the first half of the concert because I was hoping to get a rush ticket but they were sold out by the time I got there. I walked up the pedestrian bridge over the Cumberland, which has a really nice view of the city. I got back in plenty of time and after finding Lindsey at intermission we went up and sat with Laura Bouffard and Audrey. All things considered it was a good night, and I feel that spending $20 for parking and $14 on wine was plenty so I'm glad I didn't pay for a ticket. If I recall I think rush tickets are $15-20, but it's been a long time since I've bought one. Immanuel Ax was great (he played Beethoven 2).

The 5th was Martha's birthday, so naturally I went over to babysit so that she could go out at night. After my lesson I went over to Trey's for the potluck, which was a lot of fun. I wish I could have stayed longer. Oh well, I left them laughing when I returned to claim my last Stella Artois. It was a much needed beer at the end of the night, too. Hopefully Trey, Lindsey, Kevin and I will go to Patterson House soon.

That's all for now, I think.

Small Talk

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am a writer, not a speaker. I will blog, e-mail, text, and message via Skype. Sure, sometimes I don't have anything interesting to say, and conversations stall. But if that happens, it's not really that awkward.

In person, I do not talk very much. I pride myself on being a good listener, but when it comes time to contribute and steer a normal, friendly conversation, I blank. What does one talk about? How do you make small talk? I don't usually DO anything worth telling someone about, and I am a very boring story teller. It's something I need to work on. I'm also trying to carve out some kind of life I can be proud about.

How can people get to know me better if during every conversation any thought I have falls out of my head while I frantically call out for help in the dark, reverberating, chamber of my mind? And if I manage to string together enough words to form a sentence, many times the thought trips on my tongue on the way out.

I have always lived on the principle that it is better to keep your mouth shut than say something stupid. "It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." ~ Ben Franklin.

To be sure, dumb things slip through my mental net from time to time, but not very often.

I am a left brained, practical minded person. It makes sense to me to talk about the things you know best, or about things that you've done or experienced. If you follow those guidelines, you will avoid talking out of your ass. Also, being considerate of who you are talking to, try to avoid subjects which they wouldn't find very interesting. (unless your passion and expertise for that topic is enough to make them interested)

Being a sort of "in-one-ear-and-out-the-other" type of person (perhaps Passive is the right word, although I'm trying to live actively) I don't do very much that I myself find interesting and would never think would interest a friend. So today I went to Barnes and Noble and read several books in the self help category before thinking about buying a collection of poetry by Wilfred Owen. That's not enough of a story and the only opinion I would share would be that I think self help books are mostly a crock. Why would I bother bringing it up in a conversation?

As for talking about what I know best, I'm finding more and more how little I know. At least in terms of what I can say about things. I know a great deal about music, but it's extremely frustrating just how little I can discuss intelligently with other musicians. I listen to music friends show me all the time, and when they ask, "well, what do you think?" my only reply is usually, "I like it." I love music but I couldn't tell you why. I couldn't compare one piece to another or even say much about the time period and contemporary style. If it's longer than 3 minutes, even if I know the piece "well" I couldn't say if the performers were in tune or if someone missed an entrance (unless it's a small ensemble, but no one makes professional recordings that badly). I couldn't compare the interpretation to others, because I don't remember.

I didn't mean to go on a tangent, but my bad memory bothers me so much. In general I think I am pretty mindless, but at a concert I listen intently, and one moment drives out memory of what happened 10 measures ago.

I despair when I think that I graduated high school and college without having learned anything I can talk about intelligently.

I think I am a pretty open-minded, objective guy. (I suppose all people envision themselves as being 'open-minded') Maybe I should have some more definite opinions about things. I don't keep up with the news because it depresses me. By reading a lot I hope to find things to think about and talk about. I can lay out ideas, but usually don't respond with strong feelings that translate into opinions. The Winter of Our Discontent is a wonderful book by Steinbeck, and I'm about halfway through reading it. It's about the loss of moral integrity in American culture. While I suppose that's a good springboard into my opinions on modern day morality (or the lack thereof) that's a pretty heavy topic, too serious to be small talk.

I'm serious about taking this gift of time to meditate, read, grow, and rediscover / recreate myself. And a big change I want to make is to learn how to have a fun, engaging, meaningful conversation with my friends, face to face.

Late Night Thoughts

I must go to bed. But I've been thinking, and I intend to write down more of my thoughts, in case they are of any value.

Today was lovely. I miss being with Lindsey and Kevin and Trey all the time. I am so excited for our Mayfield reunion party on Wednesday. We (not including Trey) snaked our way over to Frugal MacDougal's and got no small amount of liquor. Well, Kevin sat in the car. Also we forgot to stop at a bank beforehand, but when we stopped for dinner at Five Guys he paid me back at the ATM. Our Mayfield is so classy.

I am reading Steinbeck's last novel, The Winter of Our Discontent. It's lovely writing, as always, yet tends to drag on a bit, and meander, like he is prone to do. I'm not sure how to describe my thoughts on his writing style, but I think I like it. I tend to think that his plots are secondary to the scenes and characters he brings to life. It's almost too real, meaning the world he creates is too close to the one I know. Particularly his dialogue. I'll try to write up a real book review for once. I have a lot of books I want to read, though.

Steinbeck's writing reminds me of poetry. And when I read his work, I begin to view life as poetry in the same way. I wish I were a decent story teller. I suppose I don't get practice because my boring life is empty of stories people would tell at a party. I'm thinking of cutting The Winter of Our Discontent into a piece. I never actually performed a forensics piece before, but I recall my girlfriend at the time telling me, after I had prepared and competed in my first and only Lincoln-Douglas debate, how I had gained confidence as a speaker. It makes sense.

In the same vein I want to memorize a poem and write an Original Oratory. I started one in high school but never got around to finishing it. It was something about how love means vulnerability. I don't know why I thought I knew anything about love. I always thought I would just know the right girl and the proper moment to ask. That's probably naive, but regardless I never had a love life, mainly because I sensed the girls I liked didn't feel the same way about me.

But of late I wonder if I should just lay it all on the line. It's unromantic, but you get a straight answer. I hate the idea of it all as a game. You can't wait around forever for someone perfect.

Sunday

I spent so long fiddling with my blog template / appearance that I never got around to writing a post. It was a good day, in that I actually accomplished things. The important part is that THINGS is plural. I have to wake up at 8 for work, which is good for me.

Today I woke up too late to go to church, so I thought to check if my Uncle's church streams their services. He is a pastor out in California. With the time difference, I caught the end of the 8:30 service and watched the 9:45 service. It was nice. I haven't been to church in years, but I want to try to find a church where I feel like I can find a family.

Then I watched Verdi's La Traviata on DVD. That opera always gets me misty eyed.

The biggest accomplishment of the day was washing my dog, Beau. I don't usually wash him by myself but it didn't take quite as long as I feared.

I didn't practice much, maybe an hour tops. I should have done more but I started talking with Kevin about our Mayfield reunion party on Wednesday. I'm very excited. As for practicing, I have to step it up because I got the excerpts for the Huntsville Symphony Orchestra audition and they are pretty difficult to play well. I never really mastered Don Juan, and even though I have played Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra, it's a super hard piece.

Here's a picture of Beau. I will post more soon.