Incarnated Standings Of Dream Towards Life (For Aaron Wegelin)


I am working on a “book”, an opus, of extended symphonic compositions for midi and piano. Each is firmly born from the 1970s expansion of keyboards from nerdiness to all out amazing and inspiring such as Klaus Schulze and Keith Emerson. Everything rises from their works, for me. Just getting used to working with an Akai MPD32 graciously loaned to me from Chewy Jarad Blanton, and Logic Pro which is sort of Garage Band with a hint of steroids. Since steroids have either helped or is destroying my life is yet to be seen. I pray, help.
So, Aaron is an old friend in food, music, talking and the soul of what is a friendship. We had a long talk yesterday, he’s a Ringo inspired drummer, so I played this with two separate percussion, you know the set up Ringo and Bill Buford style assembly. There’s a lot to say about this particularly inspired music as Art and Artist are not at all in two sets of existence, the sign and the signified are the same. Hegelian thing, if I may put it in philosophical theory. How we hear and how we compose, how we play and how we listen, with whom to share and those to keep it far away from by all possible means. Why? I just don’t want people who dig another singular form of music whereas I hear the world of music, of life, as being this amazing symphony. We just gather up the notes, like these autumn leaves fluttering around; and yeah, filling the gutters. Hard to count, to measure the time start to finish as inspired art to hours of engineering and editing, replaying, over and over till now. Is this final? Only the Holy Spirit can fathom, but in poetry, food, music, Catholicism, philosophy and dear friends who just love being friends. There has never been a need for friends to just randomly be mean or pull a lecture on public relations out when I have no idea who I insulted and why I am to be marginalized. A great insult was stated a couple of weeks back. It cut deep and was unnecessary. I was feeling the heaviness of August, the cruelest month, taking it’s time declawing me and drowning all I love far into September. Words are organic, they live. When one does not understand the living nature of language they are at their most negative while thinking what was spoken was some sort of revelation when for me it was a dull and useless set of words that are always the cheap shot someone takes at me when they have little else to say.
Here I am, in mirror to Thomas Merton on Catholicism and Buddhism, living with a Jew, hanging out with Artists and the like who left God long ago, staring into incense smoke, praying and thanking the Lord for every pain given me this life. My only real prejudice is against those who willingly harm others, gossips. . Pride of man.

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