I have so much respect for people who can write music. So much. Music is a whole other language.
Sure, but it is a language. Think about it like this. Music is like when you are holding a monologue in your mind, and you have everything there. all the little *subtleties* of movement, the way you twitch your brow ever so slightly, smile, change your stance, LAUGH. You know how and when to make it CLIMAX, and you feel it in your body. You feel the very being of your words become you. They fill you with joy, they tear you apart with sorrow. Every. Single. Little. Thing, your monolouge does, you hold inside you. Music is like that. Each note- a little twitch, or maybe a change in inflection. You FEEL it the same way, the whole of it, the sorrow and joy, the climax and all the little subtlties. And so many people had this thing inside them to get out, this language, this elemental form of communication, that people figured out how to write it down.
That's all, its just a way to write all that down.
So is it that I have respect for people who can write the notes they hear in their head on a peice of paper? Or is it that I have the utmost respect, and envy even, for people who can FEEL all of that at once, and hold on to it for long enough to keep it.
Richard called while I was out with Mary Dougherty learning to drive, but my phone was at home, so I got this message:
"Hey, Mackenzie, this is your fake-dad calling. I am in Oregon, dancing away, contra and zydeco, and I've been dancing with this young woman, who is maybe, 1 or two years older than you, and I think you would totally fall in love with her if you had the chance to meet her. I told her the same about you. So, you can call me back if you want, and I can tell you more about her. Her name is Katie, she lives in Portland."
My order of thoughts went: 1) Why is he telling me this, this is so random, portland is far away. 2) Aww, thats sweet, he is actually acknowledging that I'm bi. That's kind of awesome. that makes him so much more worthy of fake fatherhood. 3) Why did I not know about this dance weekend? this sounds awesome! zydeco! 4) *visions of fun and dacing and zydeco.* It has been so long since I've been to a dace weekend.
I guess I might call him back. He might know what he is talking about. (I am reminded of cos)
IN OTHER NEWS:
Chapter 3: "Mackenzie drives on Sacramento" - Mary.
Mary has this habit of narrating when I do something awesome and new: Mackenzie drives stick shift and Mackenzie drives in third.
I drove home from North Berkeley Bart, and around in that neighborhood a bit, with signaling and shifting into 3rd a lot, and only turning on a windsheild wiper once, and stopping to find the horn to honk at a raven eating something out of the middle of the street (the raven, not me), and not hitting J-walking pedestrians, and giving ride of way and all sorts of nfty law-abiding. Stick-shift is a great way to be sure you are not exceeding the speed limit, to a degree.
I also did a smidgen of parallel parking, and actually did two three point turns on city streets.
I made one guys day by waiting for him to cross the parking lot before he even got out of a different crosswalk and over the barracade toward the next area. He was laughin up a storm quite amiably, and me, needing to respond somehow or another while sitting there, put my moose ear antlers up the apples of my cheeks and wiggled my fingers. He laughed harder, and said, "Thank you for making my day!" Mary and I were laghing up a storm too. She likes to laugh so we were laughing a lot of the time, at, things the WERE genuinely quite funny. Like honking at the raven. It didn't understand horn, mary said, maybe it understands car. It did. I inched up a foot and it fluttered away.
BUt hey, AWESOME!
p.s. the two of us are such nerds that we sing while we are driving. Mary matches the cars pitches, like a kid with a toy car (or she did when she was learning), and I make sound effects.
I have an ID now. A REAL one. good stuff. I am going to Santa Cruz tomorrow, driving to Burning man sunday, camping with foxy kokonaut. I am tired, was up late talking to a guy from fort awesome around the corner till, like 2 am.
NOra the cat is gorgeous and blinking up at my with pretty eyes, and emily is celloing upstairs.
I had a dream about singing and playing the harp and it was really really pretty. Like, gorgeous. I wish I remembered all the notes, I'd write it down. I think, in my dream, Yoshi was here, which added to the prettiness. I've been having a lot of gorgeous dreams lately, it is darn awesome. They are full of detail, like music, and visual prettiness, and taste (peach cobbler like my mom makes). They are happy dreams.
I am better now, I am happy. Cool air blows accross the hardwood floor, and my clean bare feet pick up the dirt and dust as I scamper up stairs smiling to myself- I am not tired.
Liquid floral emotions are leaking quickley from her cello, so many colors and tones, and it is made more intense by the large metal mute she was using to not wake me or Kevin.
I'm downstairs now, and I can still hear her. It is so beautiful.
Instead of napping, I read a story about a rabbi and his cat. This rabbi follows all the rules strictly, and has a lot of issue when his daughter marries a french man, and questions god, and all sorts of things happen, but on the last page the rabbi has returned home to algeria, and instead of a sermon, he tells his congregation of men that he doesn't see why they had to follow the torah if one could be quite happy without doing so. I really liked this, I can't explain why in a way to make anyone care. But the story refreshed my energy and happiness. Perhaps there was a message to not worry so much.
I've been thinking of life in terms of GO. I think of a situation in terms of making life. Visually, in the air in front of me, I see the placement of stones- two eyes. Thats all there is, two eyes. Perhaps it can expand from there, maybe not.
I can't explain why I make the connection. Perhaps it is that I am not sure there is every a purpose to anything; everything is in flux and stability seems so arbitrary.
Its about free will, perhaps. Everyone is just doing SOMETHING, because without that they'd be doing nothing. But why, and what? And then there is this need to survive that we have to take care of. We have to get a job, shelter, food. It hurts my brain- when I look at the picture it makes, it is so empty. So many peoples lives feel so empty to me. Run from job to job and raise a child, or sit on the street day after day to get some change, buy a burrito, and a 40, find a spot to lay down at night.
What bothers me is perhaps the lack of connection, like I could just leave at anytime, that anyone could.
What keeps coming up in my thoughts is a question, the age old question, what is the meaning of life. It feels so pointless. There are many things worth living for: Joy, Math, People, Investigating curiosities, the rest of the world and the people in my neighborhood. But what does that worth mean? What scale is that worth measured on?
So I keep going back to thinking of GO, in some incomprehensible way. I really don't know why.
Things I saw today, in reverse order:
A guy successfully picking up a girl, a short conversation: number first, then name, and the spelling of, and then a discussion of maybe meeting up tomorrow. Weird.
A christmas light plastic statue of a reindeer and sled sitting on a roof. The reindeer was laying on its side.
I met a bus driver who loves his job, absolutely and totally. He used to run a small buisness, and then worked for a company but was layed off when the dot com thing crashed? Apparently. The he went to work as a bus driver and absolutley loves it. We had a nice long conversation about doing the things one loves. He was hard to understand, but that was ok.
before she goes off to massachusetts *cry*
I'm still doing the symphony thing, apparently the concerts are the 8th and 9th, not the first. Its still really hard and exhausting, and I need to see people before they go back to school. I have a growing list, off the top of my head: Laura G, Freya, Megan, Janelle, Chantal, Riva... who else is going to unreachable in a month or two? I fully intend of visiting Davis people so they don't even count.
i'm kinda tired and need to finish this harp piece in two week, or less than, at this point two weeks is my birthday. (It crept up on me like rotten bananas)
Also, I am pissed that I am hungry. I just wont stop and is exahsting me. I'm tired of being hungry- I'm eating.
Rosie's Birthday is next saturday.
Also, We were announced on KQED.
My quartett will be playing at live oak park sometime after 2. There are a few other quartetts playing, statrting at 2. We might be on last, because i can't imagine hearing anything come after us.
Berkeley Arts Center, if you are interested, but I am not going to demand that you come. It does sound like it might be cool though. There is art work, and only the good quartetts from berkeley high were asked to come.
Anyhow, dude, announced on KQED.
So I was cleaning my room, at close to 11pm, and all of a sudden I am in a good mood.
OMG I love people.
I'm talking to Laura Gorrin online, and listening to music. I should obviously do both more.
Seriously, music as an auditory stimulant seems to be important. I would become depressed if I went deaf.
Mood wise I have been depressed, but calculus calms me and dancing makes me happy again for a while.
It was a good idea to go dancing, I was pulled out of a bad funk. Music, plodding my feet to the beat, and being silly.
However, I WAS happy for orchestra, being orchestra, it just didn't last long enough. And before that, I was content.
All things considered, its all right. I was very silly tonight, with yoshi. Both full of goof.
(On a side point, I wasn't very feminine tonight, and everything I did was for me, not to flirt.)
Riding home at night on my bike is amazing. There are only a few cars, and new air and stars and wonderfulness. I came accross ohlone park and stopped to climb a structure and watch my shadow. The structure was beautiful in its contrast with the dark sky- the street light light it up and gave it depth.
I enjoy having balance, and can just climb all over a wet slippery thing, as long as I feel safe I am.
As I continuead home, I coasted, and for a few blocks I drew hearts in the condensation of the windows of cars.
The night is beuatiful, godly gods.
"But music is everywhere Barb! You can't just assign it to paper!"
I imagine the air thick with it, like a moist, colored gas, or a powder. It is slippery and hard to capture.
Music, as a rare, wild bird.
To own them, you must tame them. Their feathers fall out and get icky from captivity. Eventually they get sick, so you breed them with you're own domestic birds of theory, and ink and paper, and get a new breed, beautiful in its own way but utterly different and tame. The bird of written music.
Some people prefer this bird, and think it is more beautiful, more developed, improved, the flaws bred out of it.
But I think, something of the spirit of it is compromised.