the way.

"What is really essential, really productive is the Way afterall; Becoming is superior to Being."

~ Goethe

mess in E♭ major.

So this has absolutely nothing to do with anything. At all. I was working on some song I came up with last night and my hand slipped. So I ended up playing a B♮ instead of a B♭. And I discovered the progression to a G♯minor chord from the E♭. And I all of a sudden heard this theme in my head the one that comes in just before the six-minute mark in the linked MP3 the change to the chromatic F♯chord and all and no I cannot believe it took me nearly six minutes to get to it. So in an instant I dropped the song I had been working on to hit RECORD in Logic and just made up apparently fourteen-some-odd minutes of music that has absolutely nothing to do with anything. At all. In the key of E♭ major.

And the linked file is here in case the embedded player does not work in some particular browser. And yes it is apparently over fourteen minutes long so I do not expect anyone to actually listen to it but this is the sort of thing that I hear and think that even an enormous concert grand Bechstein cannot contain for which I can hear a concerto with orchestra in my head and that I randomly came up with one Sunday evening.

the cube.

So while my parents were in from out of town over Christmas this year, Julian whipped out the instructions he drew up for me to teach me how to solve the Rubik's Cube to show Grandma. They were drawn up completely from his memory which I thought was fairly impressive. Since I have not dedicated the time to do it, I can only get through Step 2 (solving the green cross and corners–basically solving one side) by memory and then have to resort to this cheat sheet to solve the middle row and the last side.

But one day–thanks to these handy instructions–I will, too, be able to solve the Cube. Just probably not nearly as quickly as my nine-year old kid (who can also solve the 4x4 and 5x5 cubes).

this world of light and shadow and time.

"Our job is to record, each in his own way, this world of light and shadow and time that will never come again exactly as it is today."

~ Edward Abbey

Back in the fall of 2006 I met Jeff in Yosemite all geared up with my new Mamiya RB67 and twenty-plus rolls of Ilford FP4+ film and a few filters excited to shoot the iconic scenes of Yosemite in medium-format. I had not been there for nearly ten years and had only photographed there in 35mm the last time I visited.

So I did.

Then I developed the films. And aside from maybe this shot, that was it. I was done.

Shortly after then I printed that plate in my darkroom, promptly framed it with a gallery mat in a nice frame, wrapped it up and stuffed it in a box which lives in my basement.

Then I just took digital snapshots. I did not shoot medium-format film. I did not try to print anything. Nothing. My reasoning of course was logical to me: everything had already been photographed. A million times. Probably more. And others had done it better so why bother? I knew in the back of my head that it was because I had set out to shoot these iconic scenes - iconic for a reason in that they had been photographed. A billion times. Probably more. But it did not seem to matter or permeate the malaise of just feeling like fine art landscape photography had already been done and in it there was nothing new to create or capture. Oh well.

But I have been excited about it again of late - ironically, quite for the very reason at which I used to scoff. Digital. I have really enjoyed shooting this year with my Canon 20D that I picked up off craigslist back in April or something. And converting to black and white (although somewhat laboriously) and printing on an Epson printer. I have recently framed my first couple of black and white photographs taken and processed and printed completely digitally.

But this is not a shout out to digital or even a comparison between that and working with film in a darkroom which is magical all in and of itself. But I came across this quote at a friend's house reading one of her books and it hit home what Abbey (who is a wonderful writer) said and the picture he paints with his words. That it is not the fact a photograph of Zion Canyon or Cathedral Peak or Mount Rainier or the Grand Canyon or any other of the wonderful and incredibly beautiful natural icons we find on this planet called Earth has already been taken - it is important for us, regardless, to record it in our own way the light and shadow and time and it all everything. With a digital SLR. Or a camera phone. Or a slightly-rusty old 4x5 view camera. Or a beautiful cherished Hasselblad freshly dusted off and pulled out of a closet.

And I will look at that frame of Zion Canyon above and remember standing there shivering in the cold under layers of down and fleece gloves and hand-stitched wool hat pressing the shutter waiting for the timer to expose the sensor. Holding my breath while the shadows crept up the illuminated canyon walls as time inched forward. Taking another frame. Maybe one would turn out. Maybe not. But I just stood there in complete awe watching the light change in that place and I know now what he was saying.

Abbey was right.

exogenesis.

Nevermind the lame video. This is quite something else. Incredible, in fact. The description that fits perfectly ~

'Symphonic Rock'

Although personally I like 'Classical Rock' as well but it sounds too much like 'classic rock' which is, um, quite different. This can be taken to a whole new level of course but what Matthew Bellamy has done here is most excellent. This is clearly inspired by a bit of Rachmaninov (or possibly Chopin) and - quite obviously - Gershwin. I think I already have what I need from other composers (Rachmaninov included of course), but thank you much Muse for the inspiration.

And for the time being - this is symphonic rock at its best.

Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed, held on tight to Big Nutbrown Hare's very long ears.

He wanted to be sure that Big Nutbrown Hare was listening. "Guess how much I love you," he said. "Oh, I don't think I could guess that," said Big Nutbrown Hare.

"This much," said Little Nubrown Hare, stretching out his arms as wide as they could go. Big Nutbrown Hare had even longer arms. "But I love you this much," he said. Hmm, that is a lot, thought LIttle Nutbrown Hare.

"I love you as high as I can reach," said Little Nutbrown Hare. "I love you as high as I can reach," said Big Nutbrown Hare. That is very high, thought Little Nutbrown Hare. I wish I had arms like that.

Then Little Nutbrown Hare had a good idea. He tumbled upside down and reached up the tree trunk with his feet. "I love you all the way up to my toes!" he said. "And I love you all the way up to your toes," said Big Nutbrown Hare, swinging him up over his head.

"I love you as high as I can hop!" laughed Little Nutbrown Hare, bouncing up and down.

"But I love you as high as I can hop," smiled Big Nutbrown Hare–and he hopped so high that his ears touched the branches above.

That's good hopping, thought Little Nutbrown Hare. I wish I could hop like that.

"I love you all the way down the lane as far as the river," cried Little Nutbrown Hare. "I love you across the river and over the hills," said Big Nutbrown Hare.

That's very far, thought Little Nutbrown Hare. He was almost too sleepy to think anymore. Then he looked beyond the thornbushes, out into the big dark night. Nothing could be farther than the sky.

"I love you right up to the moon," he said, and closed his eyes. "Oh, that's far," said Big Nutbrown Hare. "That is very, very far." Big Nutbrown Hare settled Little Nutbrown Hare into his bed of leaves. He leaned over and kissed him good night.

Then he lay down close by and whispered with a smile, "I love you right up to the moon–and back."

speak in tongues.

Today's running song brought to me by Placebo ...

"We can build a new tomorrow today."