Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Up in the mornin'

GGGGG...It's so quiet around here with Glen on vacation. I guess I'll have to do a blog about our last road trip. Before the next one, anyway.
But not today, today is a schoolday. I'm taking the trombone concerto, we'll see what a pro thinks of it.
Well, I'll see anyway, what I let you see depends on what I think about what he thinks.

Had a dream about the bear this morning. Two eyes following me, glancing over the shoulder.
A frustration dream.
Most of 'em are.
Means I'm still workin' on The Big Problems
The thing I like best about frustration dreams is the point where you realize its futile and give up/wake up.
There must be some great life lesson in that.
Let go / Let God ?
Trust your inner child?
Suicide is a solution?
I suppose it's a matter of degree and what are ya gonna do about it, anyway?

My "retirement" only means that I don't bust my knuckles anymore.
Not that I'm doing nothing.
Theroretically, keeping up my rental properties is work.
I don't know if my composing should be considered work, but the word "OPUS" does mean just that.
In about an hour, I'll pop on the bus and head downtown.
Caffiene and carbs at Caffe Ladro, then maybe the jazz service at Plymouth, a quick jog up to broadway, then maybe some library time.


I don't know if it's better to blog in the morning while half asleep and I have nothing on my mind, or later in the day while twice awake, and I have too much.
Probably the morning is the more honest time.
But where has honesty ever gotten anyone?
Later could be more creative.
But more work....

Sic semper gloria mundi

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Blogger butch said...


I guess that "quiet" has been shattered to smithereens since I returned with both barrels blasting prose and comments like a rabid-ass gatling gun.

I assume that by now your teacher has not only heard the trombone concerto, but the tubatuba piece as well, right?

Man, where's my dream analysis textbook from college? Do you dream about "the bear" often? Bears, genus Ursus, actually are anthropoids you know,cousins to man; omnivores, mammels, capable of walking on their back legs for a few steps, and they are revered and feared by native Americans. We just had to watch, and will discuss two bear films, Werner Herzog's GRIZZLY MAN (2005), all about the blond faggot Timothy Treadwell, that camped out with the grizzlies in Alaska for 13 years before one attacked him, killed him, and ate him along with his girlfriend. They shot the bear and retrieved his body parts for burial; rather bizarre actually. The other movie is Lasse Hallstrom's AN UNFINISHED LIFE (2005) with Bart the Bear (II), Robert Redford, and Morgan Freeman, and JaLo, or is it JeLo?
Bear meat tastes like human flesh, and/or pork, kind of a sweet flesh. It freaked me as a kid to eat a bear steak that my grandfather, Pop, fried up. I thought it was a pork chop. He said, at first, that no it was a game warden.

I used to wonder about my lack of success as a professional actor. As well you remember, or know, I was more than amply talented, well-trained, a natural, and I had the personality and ego for it --and yet success eluded me. Psychics told me that I would only succeed when I "allowed myself" to succeed, that in fact we set up life scenarios that prevent us from succeeding sometimes. In my case, my higher self understood that by 50 years old I would be physically disabled and unable to continue to be an actor, so I fell into being a special education teacher working with the blind; a vocation that gets me off, that fills my heart with tremendous heat, a job worthy of all my energy, and a job I can do even though I can't climb a ladder, or swim, or mow a lawn, or walk a mile. Of course suicide is a choice, perhaps not much of a solution. Brian Keith killed himself with a shotgun a few years ago when he faced cancer. Some folks honor him for it. I am conflicted. Hemingway took that route. Is it the path of the machismo or the route of a coward? Both perhaps. Truth be told, and why not spread some around, everything we do, we learn, we witness, we process,we perceive --these are all life lessons, spiced up by the emotions that only us homo sapiens can conjure up, heartache, bliss, enlightenment, constipation.

Even though those last few years of your "working life", you owned your own garage, and worked for yourself, still in the final analysis you were "working for the man, the taxman, uncle Fed, all those overweight assholes that wear pinned striped suits, sweat a lot, pull huge rolls of cash clipped with a gold plated money clip, who smoke stogies, make rude jokes about women, minorities, and the mentally challenged. You know those guys, right?

And remember, Sir Savant, composing is not "work", it is, or it should be "a labor of love"; like my writing, like watching 5 movies in a day, like reading a 600 page book in one sitting.

As to when to blog, Christ, just do it whenever your fingers find the time.


2:26 PM  

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