This is the second post of the new blog. I decided not to edit the blog any more, which I don't usually do at all other than basic spelling and grammar to maintain a certain semblance of integrity. Or so I think.
It has stopped raining now and I'm listening to Graham Patzner's 'The Greatest Flood', the chorus tells me as I struggle for the name. I notice there is a chill in the room, now that it has cooled off and the vapors of the fresh rain have seeped into the room. I gaze out the window and gaze upon an open gate to a Kelley green field, blooming Japanese maple and cherry blossom trees. A small shed off in the distance, a saddle on a fence, a eucalyptus-lined skyline and the faintest periwinkle trying ever so hard to break though the clouds.
The music is over, colder still. Time to play something else and turn on the heater. It reminds me of when I used to automatically write in an effort to literally interpret the landscape as much as possible. That anything less what false. Now, I'm not sure exactly where I am but I do know that I...need some music. Pause. 'Brother Jim', the next song plays. It reminds me of something but I'm not sure if this is because I am repeating the album I just listened to, because I know the song or because of the feelings it evokes. "I said: take everything from me". There's that chill, that one felt like a blend of cold and psychic chilling. Everything is a blend, even these words. I am compelled to sing. Oh how good it would feel I imagine to have everything taken from me. I recognize that this is the mind of someone who holds freedom above all else. The desire of the human spirit to be, at any cost, truly free.
Wow, wow...this next one's loud. Assertive in a I feel the need to stand up for myself kind of way. I stand up to turn it down because I cannot hear my own mind. It's better quiet-I can hear the words. Like a Dylan-Lennon hybrid. It sounds like it is time for me to make some music or dance. I will torture you no more with this tracing of this album, landscape, place in time. The moment is good and the mind fulfilled. Thank you kind reader for taking the time to entertain the thoughts in my mind. If anything, they are at attempt at communicating my experience in the most honest way I know how. Head lifts to the espresso machine and the organic neighborhood blood oranges I have cut for myself. Back to the heater and then again the music, a violin being plucked. Such are we. It could be any place in any time and the rhythm of the mind and the music would never change. They are the constants which ground and sustain us like the food we eat. I am reminded that writing is therapeutic for me. I hope it is for you too.
With gratitude,
Tara
It has stopped raining now and I'm listening to Graham Patzner's 'The Greatest Flood', the chorus tells me as I struggle for the name. I notice there is a chill in the room, now that it has cooled off and the vapors of the fresh rain have seeped into the room. I gaze out the window and gaze upon an open gate to a Kelley green field, blooming Japanese maple and cherry blossom trees. A small shed off in the distance, a saddle on a fence, a eucalyptus-lined skyline and the faintest periwinkle trying ever so hard to break though the clouds.
The music is over, colder still. Time to play something else and turn on the heater. It reminds me of when I used to automatically write in an effort to literally interpret the landscape as much as possible. That anything less what false. Now, I'm not sure exactly where I am but I do know that I...need some music. Pause. 'Brother Jim', the next song plays. It reminds me of something but I'm not sure if this is because I am repeating the album I just listened to, because I know the song or because of the feelings it evokes. "I said: take everything from me". There's that chill, that one felt like a blend of cold and psychic chilling. Everything is a blend, even these words. I am compelled to sing. Oh how good it would feel I imagine to have everything taken from me. I recognize that this is the mind of someone who holds freedom above all else. The desire of the human spirit to be, at any cost, truly free.
Wow, wow...this next one's loud. Assertive in a I feel the need to stand up for myself kind of way. I stand up to turn it down because I cannot hear my own mind. It's better quiet-I can hear the words. Like a Dylan-Lennon hybrid. It sounds like it is time for me to make some music or dance. I will torture you no more with this tracing of this album, landscape, place in time. The moment is good and the mind fulfilled. Thank you kind reader for taking the time to entertain the thoughts in my mind. If anything, they are at attempt at communicating my experience in the most honest way I know how. Head lifts to the espresso machine and the organic neighborhood blood oranges I have cut for myself. Back to the heater and then again the music, a violin being plucked. Such are we. It could be any place in any time and the rhythm of the mind and the music would never change. They are the constants which ground and sustain us like the food we eat. I am reminded that writing is therapeutic for me. I hope it is for you too.
With gratitude,
Tara
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