Vague, pseudo-poetry that needs a shitload of editing

(Or to be discarded as self-indulgent, masturbatory, wallowing-in-the-mire crap, but I'm behind on posting, and this is what I spent the better part of the evening working on, so, here goes.)

Lovers embrace.
He, wrapping his arms about her.
She, enfolding, accepting,
Entwining her own arms about him.
As though arms can create some symbol of infinity.
We hope that when we pull away,
Fate will be a failed magician
And the circles will hold –
Infinite, bound inextricably.
But, like the illusionist’s rings,
The idea of an unending caress is an apparition.
Once the magic hour has passed,
After she has moaned and gasped,
And whispered secret vows in the glow thereafter,
The smoke clears, the mirrors realign,
And therein, he sees more clearly than ever
That the spell that bound her to him,
(And him to her, for that matter)
Has broken,
Leaving shattered fragments about them both.
There is no reason to remain at her side,
But to leave is to slice one’s feet to bits.
(Spell-binding and -breaking does have its price.)
Without an inch of flesh or of soul touching the other,
They sit and stare at a point neither distant nor near.
The question hangs in the air,
Unspoken,
Perhaps the last thought communicated
In that silent language between lovers:
“Which of us will be the first to leave?”

Book review gems -- And general snark.

So, after attending a performance that featured John Adams’s “Strange and Sacred Noise” on the program, I was rather curious about the place of noise in the more conventional and academic evolution of music. Tonight, using my astounding link-clicking and google-searching capacities, I ran across Adams’s website. It seems he has written a book. I like books, so I glanced through the reviews that he has chosen to feature in praise of his work.

Soon thereafter, I began to wonder: why are these writers employed, and why am I not?
(Aside from a reluctance to submit work for publication and a lack of belief in even the most basic of deadlines, that is.)

"Adams' writing is clear and bright and lucid; it fascinates and illumines. This is the best music book I've read for a long time."

– Rupert Loydell, Tangents

Ok, I get it, Rupe, you like light – but 3+ references to light in just one sentence? And you do know that clear and lucid are synonyms, right? Even I think that’s overkill. Also, illumines isn’t exactly a word that just falls off the tongue, particularly when it’s preceded by a word that ends in “-nates.” I understand that you probably avoided rhyming intentionally, so as not to sound trite, but since that battle has long since been lost, at least let the sentence have the cadence that it wants. (Seriously, you’re reviewing a book about music, and about percussive arts in particular. Pay attention to cadence.) Finally, you read this book for a long time, did you? Perhaps your mind kept wandering away after light-tangents, as opposed to engaging with the material.

"Adams writes like a poet; his words evocating the same spare landscape that he captures in his music..."

– Sequenza 21

And you, sir or madam from Sequenza 21, write like a college student trying to bullshit his way through a freshman composition course. Perhaps you were debating between using “evoke” and “are evocative of,” and didn’t have time to proofread. Maybe you’re pretentious enough to think that “evocating” is a more obscure form of either of the two aforementioned phrases, and that anyone who would use the word “evoke” is a plebeian who hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about. Either way, I’m not impressed. Finally, I’m curious as to what exactly you think a “spare landscape” is. If you know your vocabulary and etymology, the word does actually work to paint a frugally unforgiving landscape, but it’s hardly as descriptive as a “sparse landscape,” which I am sure is what you meant. Read what you write!

As for me, I do intend to write (and read) more about noise, and the state of music in academia, on Monday.

A Statement of Intent

And so, it all comes back to this…

“I consider it a necessary sacrifice to make a beginning and forget about it, while I try to write something better.” Ayn Rand, in regards to her play, The Night of January 16th.

I never thought I’d have occasion to quote Rand again, but her work does represent, for me, a point from which to launch. I could use a launch pad these days; I’ve been idling for far too long. I’ve been writing silly little stories since I could lift a pen, but I rarely finish them these days, and I haven’t once polished a single project for publication. I made a vow at the end of last year to devote a certain amount of time, each day of this year, to writing something, anything, even if it’s only to hone one sentence. (And yes, I can spend an hour agonizing over a sentence – quite easily, thank you very much.)

I didn’t start this year by keeping that vow, and I made another one to someone else with regards to my writing, though I never got the opportunity to keep that one. Still, all this vow-making and breaking has made all the more apparent to me the sort of woman that I’m becoming, and I want to fight against that demoness with all the power I can summon forth for battle. She doesn’t seem all that bad, at first glance. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued, brilliant, impulsive, bound to no one and no thing – but, in that last descriptor, we see her evil. She promises everything and delivers nothing.

I want to deliver something.

So, that brings us to the statement of intent. I have two projects that I am working on simultaneously, but I’m flighty enough that I need something to quell me when I become absolutely enamored with a new idea. That’s where this blog comes into play. Over the course of my week, I will, on a daily basis scribble down whatever occurs to me in a small journal, and then, at least once weekly, likely on Sunday or Monday evenings, I will expound on those scribbles in this forum. Perhaps they will be of use to me, or to you, or perhaps I just need to put something to death on paper every once in a while. We shall see what the case may be.