Monday 28th December 2009

on the fifteenth day of guy-love

the world was on fire
no one could save me but you
strange what desire will make foolish people do
i never dreamed that i'd meet somebody like you
and i never dreamed that i'd lose somebody like you

no, i don't want to fall in love
no, i don't want to fall in love
with hoth
with hoth

what a wicked game you play
to make me feel this way
what a wicked thing to do
to let me dream of you
what a wicked thing to say
you never felt this way
what a wicked thing to do
to make me dream of you
and i don't wanna fall in love
and i don't wanna fall in love
with hoth

world was on fire
no one could save me but you
strange what desire will make foolish people do
i never dreamed that i'd love somebody like you
i never dreamed that i'd lose somebody like you

no i don't wanna fall in love
no i don't wanna fall in love
with hoth

nobody loves no one


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Tuesday 15th December 2009

on the second day of guy-love

every night in my dreams
i see hoss
i feel hoss
that is how i know hoss goes on

far across the distance
and spaces between us
hoss has come to show hoss goes on

near, far, wherever hoss are
i believe that the heart does go on
once more hoss opens the door
and you're here in my heart
and my heart will go on and on

love can touch us one time
and last for a lifetime
and never go till we're gone

love was when i loved hoss
one true time i hold to
in my life we'll always go on

near, far, wherever hoss are
i believe that the heart does go on
once more hoss opens the door
and you're here in my heart
and my heart will go on and on

you're here, there's nothing i fear,
and i know that my heart will go on
we'll stay forever this way
hoss are safe in my heart
and my heart will go on and on


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Monday 14th December 2009

on the first day of guy-love

probably exactly one person in the world will appreciate this, or my next [small integer] posts. but that's okay; in fact that's rather the point.

ahem.


she was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene
i said don't mind, but what do you mean i am the one
who will dance on the floor in the round
she said i am the one, who will dance on the floor in the round

she told me her name was hoss reinsteen, as she caused a scene
then every head turned with eyes that dreamed of being the one
who will dance on the floor in the round

people always told me be careful of what you do
and don't go around breaking young girls' hearts
and mother always told me be careful of who you love
and be careful of what you do 'cause the lie becomes the truth

hoss reinsteen is not my lover
she's just a girl who claims that i am the one
but the kid is not my son
she says i am the one, but the kid is not my son

for forty days and for forty nights
the law was on her side
but who can stand when she's in demand
her schemes and plans
'cause we danced on the floor in the round
so take my strong advice, just remember to always think twice

she told my baby we'd danced till three, then she looked at me
then showed a photo my baby cried his eyes were like mine
'cause we danced on the floor in the round, baby

people always told me be careful of what you do
and don't go around breaking young girls' hearts
she came and stood right by me
then the smell of sweet perfume
this happened much too soon
she called me to her room

(chorus)


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Friday 13th November 2009

discretion

i beg you to follow me again down the rabbit-hole of my thoughtcrime. in this episode, i argue that at some point far in our future, original creative endeavor will have been exhausted simply because it's all been done.

to illustrate what i mean, take a piano. any piano. then pick a key on that piano and hit it with some amount of force, and hold the note for an arbitrary amount of time. there, you've composed a bit of music. a very simplistic bit of music, but it'll serve.

now repeat the experiment above, but this time adding another tone—either in parallel or in series—again arbitrarily. the complexity of our musical composition has increased by some factor due to the larger number of options (number of piano keys, plus the volume and duration of the incremental tone) we have added with the additional strike.

continue in this manner, evaluating with each additional strike of the keys whether the piece (a) continues to build toward, or (b) has achieved a "sufficiently artistic" (definition t.b.d.) end. if neither, alter something about what you've done or add a new note. if (a), repeat. if (b), halt. see? it's an algorithm.

you must agree with me that there is some theoretical maximum human endurance for absorption—four hours? ish?—of a single musical work, no matter its beauty, and given the limits of the number of keys available on a standard piano (most have just the eighty-eight), of human fingers both in quantity (most have just the ten) and in key-striking speed measured in notes per second (fifty at a sprint? shot in the dark). also, we must assume that to human ears there is neither an uncountably infinite spectrum of volumes (you can't tell the difference between 76.393 dB and 76.394 dB no matter who you are, you pretentious audiophile) nor an uncountably infinite spectrum of tone durations (ibid., 38.08 ms and 38.09 ms).

if you grant me my assumptions, it follows that the theoretical number of works of music that can be composed is countable, which is to say, given a sufficiently long amount of time and a sufficiently large amount of humans willing to slog through them, we'll write them all. sooner or later, any interesting tune you can hum will have already been composed, and you'll be in violation of someone's copyright.


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Saturday 30th May 2009

okay, not a greece post

i justify this entry by saying i discovered this while on the nine-hour leg between seattle and heathrow, courtesy of british airways' in-flight entertainment.

the empyrean, by john frusciante. if you can afford it, buy it; if not, beg/borrow/steal it.

this album is style with substance, effing sublime, and—as he claims—is best served loudly in a dark room.


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Thursday 14th May 2009

the pros and cons of everything

as usual i'll tell you what i'm talking about.

i have this thing—this … this condition, if you will—one of the symptoms of which is that i am not a big-picture person. i understand things by breaking them down into bits as small as possible, and comparing these smashed-up tiny bits against what i already know. it's quite an involved process and i'll spare you the details, mostly because i don't know them. save us both some time and just label me a deductive reasoner; it's a shortcut but it'll do for our purposes.

i'm getting to the point. the above-referenced album by my uncle roger is what they call a 'concept album,' and follows a meandering—and at times, apparently aimless—path, by assumption: it models the dreams of a married middle-aged man, in real time.

under this assumption, it's no surprise that the entire album is disjointed, incomprehensible, and apparently aimless. but only when you consider the parts, independently of the whole. seriously: read the lyrics for the entire album, and you'll see what i mean. but the whole! ah, the whole. as the last track clicked into place for the first time, i was actually close to crying. actually misty-eyed. for the first time, i saw the world as the other half saw it. and yes, i'm talking about you, you bizarre opaque inductive types.

i'm still getting to the point. as opposite as my brain and this album apparently are, i love it, and cannot get enough of it. everything i am, it is not, and vice versa. maybe this is a case of opposites attract? i can't figure it out.

the point is this: i have no bloody idea what the point is; i just want you to listen to the album, and maybe you'll understand me one quantum more.


p.s. the first ninety seconds of track two. i implore you, go forth, trusting me, into the musical bliss that awaits you.


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Tuesday 5th December 2006

second mondays

i now understand that a tuesday is an illusion. what we instead have is a failure of monday to cease—effectively a second monday.

this particular second monday started very early with a dream. in this particular dream i was a close personal friend of elliott smith.

elliott smith, it turns out, is a regular guy. i know this because i lived next door to him, and we were mates. he had legos on his bedroom floor, fantasy books on his shelves, an old home-built computer on the desk, a playstation under the television, outdated glasses. a card-carrying geek, if so unimaginative an epithet may be ascribed. he had a set of utterly loving parents and a cat who knew her name.

of course, elliott smith is no longer living in the strictest sense of the word, though this didn't keep him from speaking with me throughout the dream. and listen when i say that he's just like me. in fact, all throughout the dream, he didn't say a single thing that i myself wouldn't have said, were i in his position. the entire experience was eerily similar to talking to myself. i know what this is like because i do it most of the time.

i've long given up on the theory that dreams mean anything, but think about it this way: a good novel is one that lies to tell you the truth.

i'm trying to say something here, i just don't know what. it's been quite a long time since i wrote directly about a dream because it's a pretty cheap source of words, invariably flippant, ridiculous, meaningless, and meritless. it should, then, be regarded as a telling thing when it is about just such a dream that i now write, after such a long hiatus*. exactly why it is telling i leave as an exercise for the reader (hint: there are multiple solutions).

*hiatus n. period of laziness. see also: respite, suspension, you have become a boring person


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