If you didn't know what this photo was, you might think it was an interesting shape, possibly even pleasant. To me, it could be a distant shoreline of mountains, with the waves of the lake in the forefront. But once revealed (turned clockwise) as a human body, sideview, it becomes very much less than attractive, verging on repulsive.
Just a subtle shift of focus, but a huge effect. And there you have illustrated the work of life: overcoming the downward pull of everything.
PARAGRAPH
That was Friday night's rumination, leading to Saturday, June 9, 2012 (or Saturn's day, - the planet of S-L-O-W), during which (whose?) arrival occurs, not slowly, but in the speediest succession, even crazier dreams than before. Here, from last night, and by way of example, is the most CRAZY DREAM ever: A toilet bowl of my own shit, recently expelled, and imploring me, in a plaintiff child's voice, "Don't leave me". And then I talk back, and explain, in patient and loving parental tones, that I'm not really leaving (or somehow I make it that way), and the result of my soothing persuasion is that my shit goes down the toilet hole of its own volition, like a trained snake, without having to be flushed.
PARAGRAPH
NOW THAT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IS IN DIRECT CONTRAST TO THE DREAM OF THE NIGHT BEFORE (THE RUNAWAY BOAT - SEE LAST BLOG).
This is total control. And the nice thing about my head is that both dreams have happy endings. I won't list all the other dreams, only the one before waking, which had my mother, who had a knack for drawing, but with eight children, no time to pursue her talent, - she was happily working on a painting in the kitchen - a black and red oeuvre. Which puts me in mind of Stendhal's famous book, "Le Rouge et Le Noir", which I read in university. It also reminds me of Jacques Brel's reference to 'le rouge et le noir' getting married in his heart-rending song "Ne me Quitte pas", which means "Don't leave me", - a beautiful reprise of the pleas of my self-directed faeces, - a circle.
PARAGRAPH
It seems everything is as it should be, in spite of my current tendency to hand-wringing and worry about "What now?", and "Whither go I?", as my last gig fades into the past, and another year of self-directed life (including the shit) looms before me. "Steady on," say my dreams. "All is possible. Ride the mighty steed". And so I will begin today with some studio recording, thanks to the financial help of the Haliburton Folk Society, and to my talented and stalwart friends - all of them caught up in the crazy dream of music, music, music.
Monday, June 11, 2012
The Shape of Things
If you didn't know what this photo was, you might think it was an interesting shape, possibly even pleasant. To me, it could be a distant shoreline of mountains, with the waves of the lake in the forefront. But once revealed (turned clockwise) as a human body, sideview, it becomes very much less than attractive, verging on repulsive.
Just a subtle shift of focus, but a huge effect. And there you have illustrated the work of life: overcoming the downward pull of everything.
PARAGRAPH
That was Friday night's rumination, leading to Saturday, June 9, 2012 (or Saturn's day, - the planet of S-L-O-W), during which (whose?) arrival occurs, not slowly, but in the speediest succession, even crazier dreams than before. Here, from last night, and by way of example, is the most CRAZY DREAM ever: A toilet bowl of my own shit, recently expelled, and imploring me, in a plaintiff child's voice, "Don't leave me". And then I talk back, and explain, in patient and loving parental tones, that I'm not really leaving (or somehow I make it that way), and the result of my soothing persuasion is that my shit goes down the toilet hole of its own volition, like a trained snake, without having to be flushed.
PARAGRAPH
NOW THAT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IS IN DIRECT CONTRAST TO THE DREAM OF THE NIGHT BEFORE (THE RUNAWAY BOAT - SEE LAST BLOG).
This is total control. And the nice thing about my head is that both dreams have happy endings. I won't list all the other dreams, only the one before waking, which had my mother, who had a knack for drawing, but with eight children, no time to pursue her talent, - she was happily working on a painting in the kitchen - a black and red oeuvre. Which puts me in mind of Stendhal's famous book, "Le Rouge et Le Noir", which I read in university. It also reminds me of Jacques Brel's reference to 'le rouge et le noir' getting married in his heart-rending song "Ne me Quitte pas", which means "Don't leave me", - a beautiful reprise of the pleas of my self-directed faeces, - a circle.
PARAGRAPH
It seems everything is as it should be, in spite of my current tendency to hand-wringing and worry about "What now?", and "Whither go I?", as my last gig fades into the past, and another year of self-directed life (including the shit) looms before me. "Steady on," say my dreams. "All is possible. Ride the mighty steed". And so I will begin today with some studio recording, thanks to the financial help of the Haliburton Folk Society, and to my talented and stalwart friends - all of them caught up in the crazy dream of music, music, music.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment