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writing/index.html
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<li><a href="poetry/numeno.html">Numeno</a></li> <li><a href="poetry/numeno.html">Numeno</a></li>
<li><a href="poetry/misc.html">Misc</a></li> <li><a href="poetry/misc.html">Misc</a></li>
<li><a href="poetry/fossils.html">Fossils</a></li> <li><a href="poetry/fossils.html">Fossils</a></li>
<li><a href="poetry/ekstasis.html">Ekstasis (WT)</a></li>
</ul> </ul>
<h2 id="individual-shorter-works">Individual shorter works</h2> <h2 id="individual-shorter-works">Individual shorter works</h2>
<ul> <ul>
@ -81,7 +82,7 @@
</ul> </ul>
</article> </article>
<footer> <footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-10-23</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-11-13</p>
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</main> </main>
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<!doctype html>
<html>
<head>
<title>Zk | Ekstasis (WT)</title>
<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
<meta charset="utf-8" />
</head>
<body>
<main>
<header>
<h1>Zk | Ekstasis (WT)</h1>
</header>
<article class="content">
<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">poetry</span> <span class="tag">haiku</span></p>
<p>99 stanza poem about spiritual ecstasy in the style of <em>renga</em> (alternating 5-7-5 and 7-7). Keep the volta in the 5-7-5 verse</p>
<h2 id="arriving">Arriving</h2>
<div class="verse">The low rush of wind,
lights flash above, to the sides,
hum of wheels on road.
A car ride of long held breaths,
anticipation overwhelms.</div>
<h2 id="gate-and-warden">Gate and warden</h2>
<h2 id="welcoming">Welcoming</h2>
<h2 id="offering">Offering</h2>
<h2 id="connection">Connection</h2>
<h2 id="induction">Induction</h2>
<h2 id="isolation">Isolation</h2>
<h2 id="ecstasy">Ecstasy</h2>
<h2 id="bidding-farewell">Bidding farewell</h2>
<h2 id="gate">Gate</h2>
<h2 id="ritual-drop">Ritual drop</h2>
</article>
<footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-11-15</p>
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@ -77,9 +77,129 @@ among the fir trees.
Drink deep of death-thoughts Drink deep of death-thoughts
as the day dies with a yawn &mdash; as the day dies with a yawn &mdash;
the year starts to fade.</div> the year starts to fade.</div>
<hr />
<p>2020-11-06</p>
<div class="verse">To hear you speaking
Is to lose oneself in song:
Your words are drumbeats.
The rain on the grass provides
A soft accompaniment.
Restless nights arise
And I must pace to meet them:
I can&rsquo;t help but move.
Fingers tracing perfect arcs,
I walk backwards into dreams.
I bow before you.
Your luster leaves me breathless,
Yet I risk a glance.
Who gave you leave to thrill me?
Who gave the birds flight and song?</div>
<hr />
<p>Pale she &mdash; 2020-11-15</p>
<div class="verse">The eye turns inward,
vision dims and movement stills &mdash;
winter has claimed her.
Thoughts like leaves fall slow,
hesitate, drift, rustle, sigh.
Frost-rimed remnants rot.
Some paler she asks: <br />
do you see the sky through me?
Do I shake in gusts?
That pale she lacks words.
She does not speak, cannot speak
without the wind&rsquo;s hum.
Still she asks, all breath,
am I invisible yet?
Does snow blend with sky?
Her breath is gone now.
Dark branches write on the clouds:
Summer is a dream.
Paler still, she cracks.
Dreams, also, of ax and fire,
false springs to thaw hands.
Silent now, demands:
there must be an end, there must be.
Spring and life, or fire.
No one answers her.
She stands stark against flat skies,
frost claims bark, claims wood.
Darkness comes, sight black.
Sleep for now, sleep forever,
midwinter cares not.
Neither does coarse bark.
How could sweet wood think of whens?
Of thaws and green things?
The sun may promise:
Melting snow will feed your roots,
Seasons imply change.
She&rsquo;s not listening.
Pale she does not believe him:
Brother sun&rsquo;s too quick.
Brother sun tells time,
and pale she has no more need
for hours with seasons.
Brother sun&rsquo;s movements
are breaths: cycles far too short
when spring is a dream.
Sister moon speaks up:
follow me, set time by me &mdash;
my months are guideposts.
Pale she can but sleep.
She cares not now if she wakes.
Endless winter calms.
She welcomes the cold.
Water, crystallized, freezes;
cells lyse, dye in droves.
If spring never comes,
pale she supposes, that&rsquo;s fine.
In winter, she&rsquo;ll dream.
She&rsquo;ll dream, or she won&rsquo;t.
Fatalism waxes fast,
cold claims her heartwood.
No one perceives her.
She becomes mere terrain.
Sleeps, and does not wake.
Would she wake for saws?
For axes with keen-edged blades?
Would she even care?
And still the sun sets.
And still the moon waxes, wanes.
And still seasons change.
Should pale she not wake,
so be it, her mute demise.
Cut her down, cord her.
A new life in fire,
for even life must winter.
Pale she born anew.</div>
</article> </article>
<footer> <footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-06-24</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-11-15</p>
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@ -339,7 +339,7 @@ Should we forget the wheat, the rye, the tree?
Perhaps this, too, is meaningless.</div> Perhaps this, too, is meaningless.</div>
</article> </article>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-06-24</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-11-13</p>
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<p>Either way, it did not last, and by the time singing had taken over, he had ceased to exist in any way meaningful to me. As I flowed into choir, he flowed out of my life and, as far as I can tell, slipped between the atoms of this world and passed from being. It did not matter.</p> <p>Either way, it did not last, and by the time singing had taken over, he had ceased to exist in any way meaningful to me. As I flowed into choir, he flowed out of my life and, as far as I can tell, slipped between the atoms of this world and passed from being. It did not matter.</p>
</article> </article>
<footer> <footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-10-23</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-11-01</p>
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<!doctype html>
<html>
<head>
<title>Zk | higdon-sue</title>
<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
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<header>
<h1>Zk | higdon-sue</h1>
</header>
<article class="content">
<p>And this was the point I understood that composition as a business was a frightening prospect</p>
</article>
<footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-11-13</p>
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<!doctype html>
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<title>Zk | improv-vs-composing</title>
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<h1>Zk | improv-vs-composing</h1>
</header>
<article class="content">
<p>On how people expect composers work when they don&rsquo;t know anything about it.</p>
</article>
<footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-11-11</p>
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<p>Another stab at writing a novel in sonata form.</p> <p>Another stab at writing a novel in sonata form.</p>
<ul> <ul>
<li>Introduction<ul> <li>Introduction<ul>
<li>Theme A in the tonic: on music</li> <li>Theme A in the tonic: on performance</li>
<li>Theme B in the dominant: on movement</li> <li>Theme B in the dominant: on composition</li>
</ul> </ul>
</li> </li>
<li>Development<ul> <li>Development<ul>
@ -30,7 +30,7 @@
<li>Theme B in the tonic: movement dissolving into chaos only literally this time</li> <li>Theme B in the tonic: movement dissolving into chaos only literally this time</li>
</ul> </ul>
</li> </li>
<li>Coda<ul> <li>Coda?<ul>
<li>Remembering the faintness of heart that went with the decision not to walk and how similar that was with accepting losing one&rsquo;s body and maybe I do hear music in the everyday and getting away from it is as hopeless as getting away from movement.</li> <li>Remembering the faintness of heart that went with the decision not to walk and how similar that was with accepting losing one&rsquo;s body and maybe I do hear music in the everyday and getting away from it is as hopeless as getting away from movement.</li>
</ul> </ul>
</li> </li>
@ -45,38 +45,32 @@
<li class="done2"> <a href="why-sax.html">Why am I playing saxophone?</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="why-sax.html">Why am I playing saxophone?</a></li>
<li class="done2"> <a href="oboes.html">The oboe is a metaphor for taking ownership over one&rsquo;s own life</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="oboes.html">The oboe is a metaphor for taking ownership over one&rsquo;s own life</a></li>
<li class="done2"> <a href="choir.html">Wow omigosh choir</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="choir.html">Wow omigosh choir</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="sibelius.html">And then my dad bought me Sibelius</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="music-ed.html">Music education is a cop-out</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Development<ul>
<li class="done0"> <a href="walking-while-composing.html">At some point I started walking while composing</a></li>
<li class="done2"> <a href="when-we-sang.html">When we sang, they lifted into the air with such grace as would make an albatross envious</a></li>
<li class="done2"> <a href="magic-in-music.html">It was at that point that I started to recognize the power of music</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="magic-in-music.html">It was at that point that I started to recognize the power of music</a></li>
</ul> </ul>
</li> </li>
<li>Recapitulation</li> <li>Development<ul>
<li class="done0"> <a href="music-ed.html">Music education is a cop-out</a></li>
<li class="done0"> My dad took me to a NIN concert and smoked weed with the kids sitting two rows up from us and left me alone to watch Trent Rezner smash his keyboardist&rsquo;s instrument to the ground on stage. </li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Recapitulation<ul>
<li class="done2"> <a href="when-we-sang.html">When we sang, they lifted into the air with such grace as would make an albatross envious</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Coda</li> <li>Coda</li>
</ul> </ul>
<h3 id="theme-b">Theme B</h3> <h3 id="theme-b">Theme B</h3>
<ul> <ul>
<li>Introduction<ul> <li>Introduction<ul>
<li class="done1"> <a href="folly-research.html">The folly of doing your own damn research</a></li> <li class="done1"> <a href="sibelius.html">And then my dad bought me Sibelius</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="important-research.html">The importance of doing your own damn research</a></li> <li class="done0"> <a href="dr-wohl.html">It is a hollow victory to get the chair of a department fired when you only wish to major in their subject</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="rocking.html">Rocking out vs just rocking</a> (thinking &ldquo;gosh, at least I don&rsquo;t have that&rdquo; as I saw the guy in the car behind me rocking out thinking about TD)</li> <li class="done0"> <a href="improv-vs-composing.html">Jazz improv is the only form of composition people think there is</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="hands-vs-head.html">Are my hands moving? Is my head moving?</a> (at bconnected)</li> <li class="done0"> <a href="maslanka-interview.html">David Maslanka told me I should give up music</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="saying-no.html">Saying no on an ongoing basis</a> (tic at bconnected getting frustrating)</li> <li class="done0"> <a href="higdon-sue.html">Jennifer Higdon threatened to sue the composition students for giving their music out for free</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="leaving.html">Going where no one knows your name</a> (leaving bconnected for canonical) </li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Development<ul>
<li>(some other stuff here)</li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="composing-while-walking.html">At some point I started composing while walking</a> (introducing akathisia)</li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="productivity-as-identity.html">The dangers of tying your identity directly to your productivity</a></li>
</ul> </ul>
</li> </li>
<li>Development</li>
<li>Recapitulation</li> <li>Recapitulation</li>
<li>Coda</li>
</ul> </ul>
<h3 id="notes">Notes</h3> <h3 id="notes">Notes</h3>
<ul> <ul>
@ -84,7 +78,7 @@
</ul> </ul>
</article> </article>
<footer> <footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-10-25</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-11-13</p>
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<title>Zk | sibelius</title>
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<h1>Zk | sibelius</h1>
</header>
<article class="content">
<p>My dad picked up early on that I was into computers. Or perhaps he decided that I should be into computers and then ensured that that was the case. Either way, it worked well enough for him and he encouraged that. There was the family computer, and I remember us going to Circuit City, god rest its weary soul, to get our very first CD-ROM drive. It was a big deal.</p>
<p>Using the family computer soon graduated to me using my own computer, which then graduated to me using my own computer and managing a small server for the house &mdash; one running NT, hosting a webpage, hosting a MUCK &mdash; in my little basement bedroom. Falling asleep to the whirring of fans, my desk a hollow-core door on top of four stacks of cinder blocks, the dark wood paneling and smoke-stained yellow né tan carpet. What a sight it must&rsquo;ve been.</p>
<p>Dad was perpetually afraid &mdash; or at least pretended to be so &mdash; that I would do something horrifyingly illegal. &ldquo;I keep expecting the FBI to knock on our door,&rdquo; he&rsquo;d say. &ldquo;They&rsquo;d ask for you because you were pirating music or learning to build a bomb or something.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;d deflect. I was pirating music, of course. Gigs and gigs worth. By then, however, I was also downloading sheet music. PDF after PDF of madrigals, chants, anything free (and some things that likely weren&rsquo;t).</p>
<p>I&rsquo;d steal the school&rsquo;s printer to print them out. I&rsquo;d log in remotely to the student-run Linux server and print them out there so that I could pick them up in the morning.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t honestly care if you print out whatever you want,&rdquo; the typing teacher said. He sounded tired and amused, rather than upset in any way. &ldquo;Other than the fact that it&rsquo;s my head on the line if the administration caught on to how much paper and ink you&rsquo;ve been using.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yeah, sorry.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He just shrugged, and I just gave up on printing any more music out.</p>
<p>At some point, my dad must have caught on, though. It&rsquo;s not that he was ignorant of my involvement in choir. Of course he wouldn&rsquo;t be. He came to a few of the concerts, those he could make. But he must have caught onto the depths of my interest and the sheer amount of time I spent engaged with it, as one day he left a box on my desk containing some music notation software. Sibelius, it was called. </p>
<p>Prior to this point, I had found myself with a free copy of NoteWorthy Composer and yet for some reason had never thought much about composing any original music for myself, and yet here I was, starting to write. Something about this, about being handed software from my dad, felt like implicit permission to do so. I don&rsquo;t know if he intended for such, but that is what I took out of it.</p>
<p>I started with an arrangement or two, and perhaps a few dumb pieces of my own. I say dumb because they <em>were</em> dumb. They were dumb as hell.</p>
<p>I wrote a few pieces for piano that were likely impossible.</p>
<p>I decided that, while I loved requiem masses, they were too sacred, so I tried to write a secular choral piece for the dead.</p>
<p>I was briefly obsessed with chant, while simultaneously being obsessed with Tuvan throat singing, so I wrote a chant that incorporated kargyraa.</p>
<p>I was not good at what I was doing, and I probably thought I was better than I actually was, but I was also learning as best I could. How could I not? I kept trying to be something I wasn&rsquo;t. I kept trying to be more than I was. How could I not try and outdo who I used to be?</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-11-02</p>
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