ie ream: An Object Lesson Involving the Alphabet

Monday, Monday
Comes after Sunday
Not such a fun day
Much better when done day



'A' will always be the first letter of the English alphabet and no other letter will ever be able to substitute. If you want to start at the beginning you must begin with 'A'. 'B' is not the beginning nor is any proceeding letter. If you find yourself commencing at 'G' you have missed several steps. And if you're treating 'G' as the first letter your alphabet is a lie. You've been deceived.

Somewhere between where i was and where i am, i got lost. I started at 'A', went to 'B' and then jumped to 'E'. I skipped two letters but i didn't notice until it came time to use them. I couldn't press on without them so, needless to say, i had to return to 'B' where i'm presently standing. And that m akes the next two transitions harder because i've already seen what's passed them. I know what's coming and i want to get there. I'm anxious. But i must be patient.

Upon reaching the end of my alphabet, the way it was, i would have had ie ream. I don't know what ie ream is but i can assure you it's nowhere near as good as ice cream.

And i don't want to miss out on ice cream.

So i'll stand here at 'B' until 'C' is ready to present itself. I want a complete and correct alphabet. A mature alphabet. No missing letters.

Adam, what the heck are you talking about? Well, this is a public blog and, as such, i don't post certain details of my life. There are pieces of myself that are reserved for a select few or one, or sometimes no one. But even in those situations i still like, and benefit from, writing things out. Rather than let the thoughts bounce around aimlessly upstairs, i bring them out so that i can see them, organize them, understand them (or at least try).

So it's okay if you don't understand. If you do, great. Otherwise, thanks for at least reading.

A Sunday Morning's Curiousity

Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 23 in F Minor, Op. 57


That may not mean much to you. It's a piano piece written by Ludwig himself, back in...yeah, back in. I don't know whether he was going deaf, or had already become so, when he was writing this but it's beautiful in an almost melancholy sort of way. I woke up with this piece in my head, and the specific instance when i first heard it used.

It's in "The Man Who Wasn't There", a Coen Brothers film. They interlace the film with several Beethoven pieces which coincide very well with the scenes they were chosen for. The above, for instance, layers the background with that melancholy while the main character ponders over a philosophical thought that struck him while driving. It plays while he stairs out his car window at people passing by, believing he's discovered something that puts him above them. That sets him outside the box they live in.

Carter Burwell, the composer for the original pieces used in the film, has a way of writing melancholy very well. A depressively pensive mix of tones and instruments. But not overly so. Not to a suicidal extent or even to a place that makes you want to shut yourself in a room for hours. It gets you thinking. Sometimes sadly, sometimes just deeply. Sometimes both.

I'm not listening to the soundtrack because i feel that way or because a curiously pondersome thought has found its way into the morning mix. I just enjoy it. It's a sunday morning and i've got church in a little less than an hour. On this particular morning i will be accompanied by m'lady who is, as i write, finishing up a shower. My brother is sleeping in his room, door closed, breathing audibly.

And i wonder...

What music do they hear? Does it accompany a particular emotion or thought? Because Alyssa is awake does she hear the music more clearly? Or is it disotorted by the day's unfolding curiousities? Does my brother not comprehend the dream's serenade that plays out in his subconscious? Or perhaps his music is untainted, less distracted. A pure song.

Our music is constantly varying, always adapting to the changes in life's tempo and time signature. Here a flowing waltz, there a jazzy tune in seven-quarter while yonder lies an upbeat four-quarter with soul. But you never know what's playing until you get there. Maybe there's no sheet to read and it's improvisational, made up on the spot in accordance with the moment's calling.

Enjoy it. It's life.

Seventy-Two Cents Worth

"It's a long way down," said Dave, peering over the edge.

Sam agreed with a nod of his head. He pulled some change out of his left pocket, sorted out a penny and tossed it over.

Dave counted silently. One...two...three...four...by fifteen it was too small to see and it still hadn't made a sound.

"Try a quarter," he suggested.

"Biggest thing i've got's a...oh hell," said Sam and he threw the whole handful.

Glistening silver and copper--seventy-two cents worth--descended like a sparatic school of fish until they could be seen no more. The sound of change bouncing off the rocks below barely made it back to their ears.

"'Bout twenty-three seconds?" asked Sam.

"Yeah...that's about what i got," said Dave. He checked his watch. Five o'clock. The sun was going down and Dave knew they hadn't much time. "This isn't getting us any closer to the car."

"Well unless you've materialized a really long rope in the last two minutes, i'd say we're stuck here for the night."

Meandering

A free-range mind
Following no paths
Adhering to no boundaries
Proceeding without rhyme or reason
Beyond the box

But damn
Will you shut up once in a while?