Junkyard for Sale

Today it feels like some old bones are waking up, some bones that are frozen are thawing, some that have been warm are burning and some are flitting away until it seems like there is more than one skeleton inside me; this generally is not a good time to be on the subway; it gets looks.  Not sexy looks.  Then again, on second thought, it does get looks.  Last night I laid in bed until 4:30 am awake as three people in a water polo match.  I know why too, which is good.  Not my pipes banging which they did but not like the awkward symphony I had last winter.  Heart matters and old things; all I know is that I remembered the title of my first music album the year that comes to pass.  It’s one of those nights where you have to stand toe to toe with what ails you and sift through your magic junkyard; people change and energy shifts and sometimes that is difficult and painful to accept.  Ah well. There’s a spice rack of joy somewhere to be emptied on hurts…today I saw a friend of mine playing cello in a Brooklyn Symphony concert. I like the conductor because he had the British accent and he actually spoke about Haydn’s arrangement of themes in number of measures and how unusual it was at five measures instead of the usual even number two or four or even eight.  I love that stuff.   They also played Brahms and I love Brahms because it expands the grandiosity of the color spectrum;  it’s easy to soar without a hangover afterwards.  My friend told me the piano player would get upset at himself in practice and even get vitriolic and I though Thank God!!!  Someone else who flips out at the piano like I did last night.  I am grappling with a Chopin Etude and have been for a while and when I sit down sometimes I can play every note and sometimes my hands move like they’ve been stuffed with novocaine. How similar to taking drugs; it’s all about your attitude ahead of time.  I have experience with both.   But to me I imagine Chopin sitting at a top of a million bowls of Colon Blow cereal (SNL commercial parody reference) looking down at me climbing and daring to not only master it but release it from mastery and recreate it.  That’s the dare.  Hear the notes between the music.

My dog is moaning for carrots, speaking of joyful addictions….

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