Thursday, October 24, 2013

One Meaningful Day in the Past

The night of Independence Day was blissfully warm, with a slight breeze feathering my hair so it tickled my cheek. We had just returned from a free show at the Music Pier and had with us about a dozen close friends and fans who wanted to celebrate the night with us. Plenty of fireworks, plenty of people.

With me I had a friend whom I had known for quite some time now. His tender smile was reflecting the moonlight toward me, and I tried to meet its warmth. This was almost impossible.

We returned to my home to find my mother had just left, but my father was still there. He looked at us, knew our plans, and so waved his hand in dismissing approval, shaking his head with a smirk. We laughed and proceeded to bring out snacks, order pizza and organize lawn chairs on the boardwalk behind the house. After all was prepared, I told my friend I would be back in a moment, and walked up to the balcony.

My father walked onto its white stone surface soon after, looking at me with a slight smile.

"So, is that him?"
"Hehe, yeah."

He leaned next to me on the rail, looking down at our friends, no doubt searching for him. After finding him and studying him for some time, he spoke:

"A bit wild, but I approve."

My face began to blush.
"Haha dad, it's not like that, we're just friends."

His head turned toward me, and he was looking at me with a crooked look of curiosity.
"Just friends?"
"Yeah, at least for now. Not yet."
"Why not???"

I wondered why. I wondered what was keeping me from just saying something.

We now live at a far distance from each other, and he and his girlfriend's second anniversary is drawing near. I guess time told its intent, and I'm okay with it.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Why Original Thoughts Don't Exist

Because every sign of race leads to King.

Because every sign of totalitarianism leads to Orwell.

Because every sign of love leads to Romeo.

Because every sign of love leads to Juliet.

Because every sign of peace leads to God.

Because every sign of sin leads to Satan.

Because every sign of battle leads to Tzu.

Because every sign of intelligence leads to Einstein.

Because every sign of rhyme leads to Seuss.

Because every sign of poetry leads to Shakespeare. (It's wrong anyway.)

Because every sign of fear leads to Roosevelt. (It's wrong anyway.)

Because every sign of hate leads to Gandhi. (It's wrong anyway.)

Because every sign of determination leads to Edison. (It's wrong anyway.)

Because every sign of socialism leads to Hitler. (It's wrong anyway.)

Because every sign of originality...

Leads to Frost.

Well aren't you wrong and an idiot for saying that?

Original thoughts don't exist because everybody is so tempted to quote, to reference, to cite, to prove their vast knowledge of all things that we had hammered into our brains before the age of 18.

And not a single person cares.

And not a single university discourages it.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Marketing

For those that aren't aware, I record music occasionally. Most of it is orchestral piano/violin music (with some other added goodies from guests).

Recently I passed out some samples of my upcoming album (WIP) to my friends and family to see what everybody thought. My sister Serena, step-brother Sebastian and best friends Nick and Mykala told me I should start marketing my music; selling the albums on iTunes, looking for advertisement, etc.

Being a 20 year old college student, this is attractive at first thought. I could use extra money for tuition, a car, an apartment, food, clothes, music equipment, books, you name it.

But I always wonder about marketing. My music is good. Whether or not it's good enough to make money and fame is a different question, but it's an irrelevant question.

I don't want it to be anyway.

The world needs music as much as it needs literature in the form of a physical book (you'll find I'm avidly opposed to eBooks) or as much as it needs grass. If I can give the world music without it costing a cent, then I feel every obligation to do so.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Wow You're a Hypocrite

I'm talking to myself in the title.

I had a dream last night, where a young girl (as I supposed by their voice) without a face or any discernible features aside from a single hole in the center of her face appeared to me. She called herself "Ulaen".

We sat in a cafeteria eating lunch as the janitorial staff cleaned the tables and prepared for the next rush, which would be at dinner time. Ulaen looked (I think) off into a lounge area and watched one of the women wipe a table clean. I looked too, but then she asked me something:

"Why is that woman talking to herself?"

I noticed that indeed, the woman was talking to herself. From her face, I could tell she most likely had Down's Syndrome.

"I think she's mentally impaired."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, seeming surprised at my assumption.

"Well, based on the fact that she's talking to herself, and the way her face is sort of shrunken in, which is typical of people who have Down's."

Ulaen tilted her head. I didn't know I was in for an interesting conversation.

"Don't you talk to yourself?"

"Well, yeah, I think all people do sometimes, but not extensively or in public."

"So, based on the fact that she looks different, and because she talks to herself with less restraint than you do, you think she's mentally deficient?"

"Well," I sighed, "I get what you're saying, but there are other characteristics that go with it. Sometimes they can only perform simple tasks, and sometimes they're only really capable of comprehending complex thoughts."

Ulaen made a noise that sounded like a smirk.

"So, because she looks different, talks to herself without restraint, and thinks in a different way, she's mentally impaired. That's what you're saying?"

I looked at her with regret. "Okay, fine, you've made your point."

But she didn't. I got up to throw my trash, waving for Ulaen to follow, but she didn't. She stayed at the table and didn't move. Soon, the woman we were having our discussion about was at our table, cleaning it.

Ulaen turned to her, "Hello, how are you ma'am?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you. How are you?" the woman replied.

"Great, thank you." Ulaen replied with a smile.

She walked away and led me out of the food court. "She doesn't seem mentally deficient."

We continued outside into a plaza, but she still wasn't done. She began waving to random people, saying the same general thing each time: "Hello, how are you?" "Hi, how are you doing?"

Nobody gave her a response.

"Look, Ulaen," I said, feeling as though I hadn't explained properly, "there are things anatomically that would explain what I'm trying to tell you about that woman, but I just don't know enough about it to explain it in a way you would understand."

"So," Ulaen replied, "what you have just told me is that even though you don't know enough about her supposed ailment to make a proper, objective judgment, you have deemed her to be 'mentally impaired' because she looks different, thinks different, and talks to herself without restraint."

My eyes cast down.

"Do other people make the same prejudgments based on the same factors?"

They do Ulaen. They do.