update from sparkleup

writing/on-music/redux.html

@@ -22,7 +22,9 @@
 <p>I would also love to tell you that the patterns in my dogs&rsquo; wet fur<q class="comment">background image of such</q></p>
 <p>or windswept snow<q class="comment">background image of such on orange fencing</q> that has melted and refrozen is the written form of that same language of angels that shows up in the everyday sounds of the world.</p>
 <p>There is a difference between music and a mood, though. Perhaps some composers hear the music in the everyday world, but I was never one of them. Moods, sure. Moods out the wazoo. I gain endless satisfaction on the perfect click of a switch, or a little thrill of excitement on hearing the three-phase converter&rsquo;s flywheel spinning up.</p>
+<p>Maybe John Corigliano felt that, &lsquo;cause like, that bit in <em>Circus Maximus</em> when all the brass and winds come down on this long glissando is supposed to be a siren or something, but all I can hear is the mood that goes along with my husband getting so fucking frustrated at his machines that he turns the converter off and stomps up the stairs and I&rsquo;m supposed to comfort him but I don&rsquo;t know how.</p>
 <p>The sound of wind coming down over the Flatirons in Boulder made me feel hollowed out &mdash; and I know that doesn&rsquo;t sound like an emotion, but I promise it was &mdash; like some sort of pipe in an organ, like the wind was blowing <em>through me</em>. It was not quite longing, not quite <em>saudade</em>. It was like if the unbidden thought of &ldquo;is astral projection just a wish with very visual imagery?&rdquo; were a mood. I would see myself, with my arms outstretched, borne away over the valley to the east of the Flatirons, looking down over the quiet and dark highway 93, past the cement factory, until I was set down amidst the wind turbine testing range, because wasn&rsquo;t that where the wind wanted to go?</p>
+<p>You know.</p>
 <p>Not music, but a feeling.</p>
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@@ -30,6 +32,7 @@ Topics
 
 * Source vs sink in music; signal path
 * The position of the voice; focusing sound into a ball of light, like that's where the rays all come together and from there explode outward
+* Once, I told Dr David "I know that formalism is a bad word, but I like process music" and he laughed and told me not to worry about the soviets, and I was busy thinking about how process music was sorta like inevitability in music form, like the next note could not help but be where it was, and I've always used the word 'evolute' wrong
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