For a week now, Praha has been a welcoming force. I sit in the office which was once mine and is mine once again. There is an air of greetings in everything I encounter. Yes, a portion of this is nostalgia, but my uplifted spirits (*perpetually*) have not fluttered yet even close to the dusty floor. I trust they will at some point, but again waft upwards, for there is always that which brings simpers to my lips in the city I call home. ...
#### And now for some stochastic composition. w a v e c a s o m o r p h i n s o r b o d y t h e t a n s s i m p l i c i u s u n c h a i n e d u p t h e c i t y y o u r t i m e s t a r t s n o w c o l l i d e r h e a v e n h e a t h c r o w h m z e l e c t r i c c o u n t e r p o i n t t w o s l o w o n t h e r o a d t o j o l i e t f a l l i n g s n o w s h e s g o t a b o y f r i e n d c o r p o r a l c l e g g p a t c h e n p o l y k a c k a n o z u h i g h l y s t r u...
The *Dorian Spanky Mode* is the normal *Dorian* with an added flat 6th. Therefore: d e f g a bes b c It is, obviously an eight note scale. Now, it is your task to write a melody using it. Ready? **GO**. ...
I am affected by a grave state of lethargy today. In this state, I wander aimlessly second by second towards my grave. I feel every missed moment is a tragedy, yet I cannot lift a hand to create. *Well, besides this drivel.* My mind stirred a few minutes ago whilst listening to **The Only Unforgivable Thing** by *Marillion* and urged me to awaken from my malaise, fire up *Ardour* and dredge from my right brain at least a sound collage. Instead, for whatever reason, the result is this collage of words, ins...
I'm in *bed*. Yes, in *bed* in Seminole, Texas, at my parents' place. Austin is no more. It is the ex-Austin. I fled it Sunday -- two days prior to now. And now I am in *bed*. The snaky feeling which tingles in the backs of the thighs is less tangible during my middle-aged languor. It used to excite to the extent that I had to defecate four times daily. The bowels were very stimulated by that feeling. Now, however, it is fleeting. I wish it were again as strong as it used to be. I called it **Sweet Entro...
I have just come across this in the book I am currently reading: > This, I have come to think, is a very American reaction, rewarding eccentric effort with scorn and violence. The book is one that **Christopher** got me for *X*mas, titled *Fresh Air Fiend* by **Paul Theroux**. I agree with him that it is a typical American reaction. But I'll go even further. It is the reaction of any *peasant* to unknown or unintelligible behaviour. I have been greeted, as has many a human I have known, by such upon nume...
I dare not spill the Sweet Leaf tea onto the blankets where I shall later sleep. I create enough wet spots as it is with my voluminous drooling. Tonight is the night that I shall attempt to record all of **my** parts of the piece I have mentioned several times in this blog: *Reduction*. Instead of the synthesized bassoon, an acoustic guitar shall play the eternal melody first sketched in *Intersection*, which begins the still unnamed album**\***. The melody is this: > *c d bes c g a bes g f* It is playi...
> The invented reminiscence of "the way that guy or gal used to be in the good ol' days" has a cozy quaintness and seems harmless enough, but the element of self-deception in it can lead one badly astray. I am reminded of Lee. Yes, *Lee*, the guy who no longer exists and the fact that he no longer exists is most likely a fortunate thing for all who knew him and would have otherwise known him. I say this not out of bitterness, but from the result of much contemplation of the topic. His self-destructive beha...
Having neglected this apparatus for a while, I shall try to write at length. Most of last week was alloted to **recording**, and Tony and I performed relatively well in this respect. Beginning with a lost improv, Monday hooked us up by the armpits after drowning us in equipment failure. In specific, Tony's N-Track machine died. The details of its repair and eventual failure again (resulting in the loss of our improv) is not important. The improv began with an oscillator droning along the lines of *Vegkore...
In the cafe, the voices of people sound murky. They are commingling with the music murmuring from hidden speakers. It all combines to be a muddy slush flowing into my ears. I removed my headphones and it washed sluggishly over me. My mind moves more and more slowly. I shall leave. ...
I'm at Diner 24. That, in itself, is not surprising, since I was hungry after seraching for the **Steve Reich** boxed set called *Phases*. Searching for good music makes my tummy rumble and always has. I used to sift through the cd stores in New York City (Greenwich Village) for hours. I was faint from the effort. Once, Natascha had to pretty much carry me to the diner across the street and feed me forkfull by forkfull until I had regained my strength. Yes, those were the days. I just ordered *Phases*. I ...
