As I was attempting to fall asleep at approximately 1.00 in the morning, I was musing over the last piece of the album. It’s name is Reductive, since there is a many to one mapping from each of the other pieces to it. I have also decided to title the other Untitled piece Injective since all of its themes can be mapped exactly to one theme of the following piece, Fold. Well, actually, we’ll see about that name later.

So back to the purpose of this entry.

I was musing also during the morning hours about Reductive. It will be in 7/4. A single bassoon note will begin. All alone, it will paint the initial two measures. The bass will begin on the third beat of the third measure, playing a repeating pattern which lasts three beats. Well, much like this:

(Elegant elk?)
Layout    | * * * * * * * | * * * * * * * | * * * * * * * |
Bass      |     x x x     |     x x x     |     x x x     |
Rhodes    |         x x   |         x x   |         x x   |
Bassoon   | - - - - x - - | x - - x - - - | - x - - - x - |

The xs are the beats on which the instruments play. The *-*s in the case of the Bassoon are a continuous note, the xs being the places where the note changes. I’ll possibly keep this same rhythm, in the spirit of minimalism, throughout, though variegating the harmony. With regard to the name Reduction, one theme from each previous piece will be included, scaled down and most likely transformed.

I must name the album. I must do it now. So what shall the album’s name be? Hm. Well, what is the theme, exactly? We have which titles so far?

• Intersection
• Filter
• Cycle
• She Ain’t My Girl
• Union
• Untitled
• Fold
• Untitled

The obvious conclusion is to title the album something regarding sets. So, what does set theory come up with when typed into the mighty Google, Wikipedia and Thinkexist. The results are, respectively:

Hm. Well, actually, that did not work very well, so let’s attempt putting all of the song titles (including the untitled ones, just for amusement’s sake) simultaneously into google and see what happens.

Again, nothing.

My cupped palms have come up empty.

As I said in one dream I had as a child:

I have happily created a portion of a piece of art and can bask in this realization until it comes to pass that the itch must again be scratched and a following piece of art be produced.

I’ve successfully stuck with the minimalistic character of the piece that was evident in its inception as AcyBob and has carried itself through the parts and transformations therein. Part V contains a bastardization of the bastardization in Part III of the melody in Part I played on the bass and ‘bassoon’. The only other non-percussive instrument is the Mellotron. I am getting closer to the end of this. Each part is easier to write. Each contains more and more material which has already been written. Good for them.

And there is space!

It’s not space rock, but there is space. The piece definately needs space after parts two and three (there are more contrasts and lulls in part four, giving the initial exhalation after the relentless first three parts).

The next task is Part VI. I already have a sketch of it in my mind. It begins with the bassoon playing /e f ees/ e, /ees f e/ ees, /e f ees/ e, and /f ees e/ f. These are each repeated six times (making three measures of 4/4 each and following the triplety Part II ‘template’). On the final note of each small sequence, IE, on beats two and four, the rhodes will play F major7 and Bes major7 alternately. These chords will be accompanied by a bass note which is not necessarily related to the chord.

So, a film and then to sleep. Tomorrow (later today, yah) finds me on a short journey to Odessa and the dermatologist.

The backing of the part will be purely mellotron playing the chords two notes at a time, but not constantly! No no no! That would not be appropriate.

The spice of this part will be space

And since I have been listening to quite a bit of Space Music the last few days, I’ll make sure there are plenty of sweeps and gurgles accompanying the composed music. Layered on top, yes sir ee.

The chord progression, as I wrote, will be the same as in Part III, but it will be only run through once and at half the tempo. So, the lengths of the two parts will match exactly. Isn’t this an amusingly sterile way to create a piece of music? I think yeah, but it amuses me greatly, so I shall continue. So, on to the Mellotron part. I shall return shortly.

The collusion of contrasting ideas concerning the fifth part of Cycle are now in concert. The result, in my mind, anyhow, will debauch the easy and hypnotic feeling established during the final ostinato of part four.

So the first concern is the transition.

I know that before I wrote that I would not write proper transitions but instead let the music suddenly stumble from one frame to another with no harmonic warning or set up. I feel this must be an exception to this so-called rule I created for myself.

The ostinato that ends part four, as it is now, is rooted in Dm (with the additional bes c g that could be seen as a C7 atop the Dm). It will change this rooting thrice. Once to Ees major, then back to Dm, then to E major. The latter will lead easily into part five, which will retain the chord progression of part three, in order.

After a walk, I shall continue

Expert staff members working in the trenches aren’t always recognized as experts or paid accordingly!

This brings me back to 12 Snap. I may not have been an expert by the definition that many people have, but I was towering over most at that company in knowledge of the workings of the system. This is very much true of the so called managers, who, though some came from a technical background, were dollops of oozing slime beneath the iron of mine and Jenicek’s prowess. I recall one event where the bald-headed, short yet very overbearing manager named John Something would stand over Jenicek and take Jenicek into private conferences to criticize and demean. John did have a Java background, but was at a dead end creatively.

Not all expert staff want to end up as managers!

Now this point is beyond the comprehension of most existing management and for sure from any owners or marketing individuals. You see, anyone who is not climbing the ladder to financial success as quickly as possible is somehow not thinking correctly and certainly not directing his or her life in an intelligent manner. Why is it so difficult to accept that some do not want this, but are happy to flourish and grow in a role which will let them be much more creative and intellectually active (ie, a developer)?

Dreariness washes over me. Tomorrow morning, I shall drive to Austin if the powers that be let me rent a car with my flimsy little debit card. The limitations placed on people who are not wrapped in a shawl of financial success is the most prominent in the United States. In Europe, I had no problem doing and getting what I wanted without bizarre glances and constant suspicion. What causes this pall of paranoia which affects most humans in this country? How can I escape it?

The answer is simple and no matter how many times my parents try to emotionally blackmail me into staying with them, I must leave again. I was happier outside of the United States. Why should I stifle my happiness by staying? Why do people who insist they love you tie you to a rock at the edge of a lapping ocean at low tide? Why do they do this out of caring? It makes no sense. The adage if you love someone, let them free is certainly true, but so idealistic that I do not even break into the most menial smirk.

So, if the powers that be do rent me a vehicle, I shall be able to begin my sojourn away from this place one more time. Initially, it will be Austin. I’ll happily roost there for the time being. My freedom will be claimed because I shall be living with strangers affording me a clean slate and giving me a new start in a familiar place. The coincidence that one of the rooms I may choose is very near the house in which Acy and I once lived makes me smile. If I move in there, I’ll be very happy to walk those streets once more, possibly in a drunken stupor (though the reader must know at this time that I was never in any state but sober during the time I lived in that area of Austin). Maybe I’ll even try to find that old laundromat for nostalgic reasons. I wonder what I did there whilst washing clothing. Did I read? Did I sulk? All I recall is that the process of hauling the clothing there, cleansing them, and hauling them back was a chore which was not looked forward to. I am sure I recollect times when all that was left to wear was soiled and smelly from the stifling summer heat. It was the summer of 1990. There was no hot water. I took a cold shower each morning. My body became used to it. I did not mind. I never asked Acy if he did or didn’t. He never said anything to the best of my knowledge. Then there was Elke the pit bull. Yikes!

Listening to X In Search Of Space by Hawkwind reminds me of the Xmas I came back to Fort Stockton after first going to University in Austin in 1989. I had the lp and I played it on the rickety turntable in my room at that house which still haunts my dreams so many years later. (Oh - how childhood is the major force behind so many of the images in my dreams!) And, on the way to MAF on the aeroplane, I had Paradox from Hall of the Mountain Grill (and most likely the remainder of the album, as well) playing in my ears. This band was a big part of the soundtrack of 1989 - 1993, and contributed much to later years, as well. There is an entry in the possibly lost Elaborations journal I used to write on picard.tamu.edu which details an all-nighter at Microsoft in Redmond during which I was attempting to finish some sort of templating system in Java. I can still hear Church Of Hawkwind. I’m looking forward to getting to that album during this particular binge.

Tra la la.

The Hawkwind binge has begun. I’m four albums in if you count Hawklords. Specifically, I am listening to the live double I got at the oft frequented cd shop near Marienplatz in Munich. It is a live document of the tour supporting Choose Your Masques and reminds me greatly of April and May of 2000, especially living at the first hotel near Silberhornstrasse. I can still smell the oil I used for cooking in the tiny kitchen provided in my room in my mind. It was a scent which did not leave me or my clothing until I moved to the following residence provided by 12 Snap.

I listened to this cd often then on Thurk, my Toshiba which was so resilient that it once survived my ex-wife throwing it across the motel room in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I prefer the memory of Thurk sitting on the desk in that room. The balcony was to my left. Perhaps the door was cracked to let in the late spring breeze. There was a bottle of vodka swiped from the party that an employee of 12 Snap invited Jenicek and I to the night or two before. (Probably the night before, as I quickly downed the bottle.) During those sequence of instants, I let the alcohol suffuse my corporeal essence, listened to this cd (and this very song - Solitary Mind Games - which seems pertinent as it most likely also did back then), and transcribed pages from my Woodnotes journal (now long lost in a cellar outside of Munich) into Thurk. Now the only way to reread that book would be to recover the hard drive which sits to my left at this moment. I’d like to think it is possible to do so.

I also purchased another Hawkwind title at the aforementioned cd shop. It is queued on Amarok. It is another live document, but from earlier in their career, notably when Robert Calvert was still with them.

Snake. Fire. Anvil. Porcupine. Elegant. Tireless. Pointed. Fang. Tooth. Red. Lark. Pellucid. Tomahawk. Twelve. Charles. Penguin. Unfurl. Tweeze. Telephone. Rally. Baked. Unferth. Torn down like the rocket which flew from Baghdad to Trinidad and back again without getting its rocks off by exploding as a good rocket should explode. There are things passing from left to right in a circular fashion. I’d say they are bending out convexly from my eyes, though I may still hear them. The idea is to mute the sound slightly as it retreats from one ear to the apex between ears and then strengthen again as it approaches the other drum. Bang. Botch. Crackle. Toot of a horn. It is not a horn. It is a synthesizer. I am not fooled, though I am not perturbed. That decides it for me, unless I can quickly find an oboist and a bassoonist (or both combined into one, flesh-coloured object), sampled played by my fingers and sounded by my shittypie will suffice well enough for a gopher or perhaps a ground hog or even a prairie dog, none of which have yet been eaten by a Black Footed Ferret, which I’d rather refer to as Mustela Nigripes.

The dream world that you’ve found will one day drag you down.

Another (and the final) excerpt from my first pocketmod:

Thousands of pods lie dead beneath the trees. Within them are embryos which sit in stasis. Soon their period of life ends. They will dry and blow away on the West Texas winter breeze.

They were scattered under the boughs as I sat on the bench regarding them. They did not see me or even know anyone was observing. They did not even know that any of their comrades existed. Clones they were not. Individuals filled those pods. Instead of growing slowly old as they trekked through a life filled with illusory purpose and ambition, they begin green and supple, sway time and time again in the wind, remain in their pods for warmth, but inevitably fall to the ground with the thin and ill-designed stem which connects their pod to a far more sturdy branch snaps and the breeze which once rocked them into a lulling daze whips them to the ground. There they slowly dry in the baking desert sun. Withering, they do not think or have aspirations for anything other than the fate they have been sent along to. It is easy for them to accept the slow piddling out of their lives because they are not taught by some monochrome culture to claw their way up to something greater…

I am struck by intense lethargy. The first through is that the reason is because of an excess of food. It weighs. My digestive properties as an organism have taken over and excused my brain from anything but involuntary functionality. How shall I banish this feeling? My first thought is to pick up the book Pragmatic Thinking and begin it again. I had read about one third of it by the time I had left Austin a month ago. The time was spent in Barnes and Noble and Borders. Therefore, I was not given the luxury of actually owning the tome as I do now. Bizarre how enthusiastic I was about it at the time and now it just sits latently on the ‘bookshelf’ atop the chest o’ drawers. I’ll whip it out in a while. In fact, I’ll take it down now and put it on the bed beside me so I am less likely to create silent excuses later in the evening. I shall do the same with the keyboard so it sits at my side.

So, in my efforts, I have completed the music to Cycle part I. It is scant. It is minimal. I like it. And it will sound so much better with the drums. I look forward to my LMMS experience with it. I could actually do that this evening, but I am pretty sure I shall not. My lethargy is fading a tad. My impatience is growing. Hm.

The ideas for a ‘melody’ on part III came to me at one point either in the morning or during the middle of the night. The melody from part I will be reprised during parts III and V, skewed to the correct key. The melody is certainly fun, so I have no problem repeating it in other forms. I had also decided to have it as the vocal melody for the last track of the album (as yet unnamed), and I wonder how difficult it will be to use it, yet remain serene. The last track needs to be serene.

However, the last note of the last track will be a choked and missed glissando which fails to have a proper resolution. I’ll give it to one of the harsh key sounds I found earlier whilst exploring the programs in the qsynth default soundfont. Oouh, baby.

I was wrong. The lethargy is still oppressive.

This is from my first pocketmod:

I remember whilst I was young, possibly pre-10, I was watching a war movie on TV. During one part the survivors were making a very big deal about the one guy left alive up there and needing to go save him. I thought to myself, and I recall this clearly, It’s only one guy. What’s the big deal? What does this have to say about some fundamental part of my personality?

What, indeed, does it have to say? Christian always called me a sociopath. The definition of sociopath at the free dictionary is Now, this is pretty dire. So anyone who is an introvert is a sociopath, eh? Regardless, by this definition, I am certainly a sociopath, so perhaps Christian was correct.

My blatant misunderstanding of the importance of a human life could be seen by many as sociopathic (or psychotic) behaviour. I have considered this very natural feeling of mine exemplified by the brief episode when I was young described above many times. Another example is that I find most mammalian life just as important as human life on a one-for-one basis. I am unattached by blood. My importance of people in general is directly proportional to my mental connection with them. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t just as easily murder someone close to me as opposed to a stranger. The mental connection and its resulting importance just allows people to appear in my mind to be more pleasant to be around and easier to relate to.

This is also not to say that I would murder anyone, really.

So, in these regards, I am a sociopath.

And what’s wrong with it, really? Most deviants from a cultural or societal or even traditional norm are considered at one point or another sociopaths. I come back to a deal I made with myself over and over again at times in the past. Those who grate against the norm and blatantly fuck off the rules are by far the more interesting to get to know. Taking the easy path is rarely rewarding. Drifting into middle age makes one feel it is inevitable. What’s the use in trying so hard as years pass, after all? Hm. Perhaps the more difficult it is, the more important it is. And certainly the more rewarding it is.

Much has transpired since I last wrote. First of all, there is Cycle. Parts I, II and IV are pretty much compositionally complete and tonight I shall focus on part III. One must consider that part V is a reflection of part II, part VI is a reflection of part II, and part VII is a reflection of part I, so they may, in the possibly best (or possibly worst - details to follow) case, write themselves, in a sense.

But how could that be a bad thing?

In the worst case, the reflective parts writing themselves would exemplify laziness on my part. As I stroll or as I shower or as I fall asleep, I ponder arrangements of these reflective portions of the piece. Mostly I think of key changes. That would add a subtle tension to the proceedings and bat down the monotony a tad. Another idea could be unexpected chord jumps in the middle of seemingly safe territory. IE, in the middle of parts VI or VII. The last recitation of the first verse melody in a key other than F major may be a delight.

But part III awaits.

Coming from part II, there is the root progression of f e ees e. Over the final e, the ostinatos are a f e g e f e f and a bes /c e d/ bes a /f a g/. This leaves me with a vague ‘chord’ rooted in e. The first thought is to move the outer pitches a whole tone and the inner pitches a semitone, resulting in d e gis b - an E7 - and could begin a bluesy feel. I believe I shall stick with it. The progression can be E7 A7 B7. But I want to insert intermediary chords, but first, the ostinatos over each chord! For E7, I’ll go with gis a ais b ais a. For A7, the ‘root’ drops a half-step: g a ais b ais a. And B7 lets it flutter down one more for fis a ais b ais a.

The ais I use is what my ex-guitar instructor (whose name I forget, though I believe it to be John) termed the blue note. These were the only formal guitar lessons I ever took and I possibly learned more from this human than from any other musician I’ve ever cared to pay attention to. Perhaps that is an overstatement in hindsight (which cognitive bias is that, stupor-boy?), however. I savoured those lessons. I still owe the bloke 25 bucks. Heh.

Now, for the intermediary chords!

I shall only choose two of these. They will be stuck in here and there in a slipshod sort of manner so the whole shebang appears a tad random. (One must realize that this is the second time I am typing this paragraph. The dreaded accidentally drag the thumb across the ‘mouse’ and hit a key so everything disappears event occured.) The two chords are Bes major7 and Gm7. Notice that they both contain the blue note.

• E7 - 4 measures
• A7 - 2 measures
• E7 - 3 measures
• Gm7 - 1 measure
• B7 - 2 measures
• A7 - 1 measure
• Gm7 - 1 measure
• E7 - 4 measures
• Bes major7 - 2 measures
• A7 - 2 measures
• E7 - 2 measures
• Gm7 - 2 measures
• B7 - 4 measures
• Bes major7 - 2 measures
• A7 - 1 measure
• E7 - 2 measures

Repeat that 4 times.

Someone reading this may be wondering which ostinato I shall use when playing one of the intermediary chords. I choose right now for it to be the ostinato of the following non-intermediary chord. Yuppers. So, off to lilypond to see what we have.

So, it is done. Well, not done, but an idea has been written. The rhodes plays the chords on the chord changes as indicated in the above list. The bassoon does the ostinatos under the chords so there are continuous running eighth notes. The bass plays a stumbling and rolling game underneath the two of them. When the sequence is repeated twice, I believe it should transition into part IV. As I have written in a previous entry, the transitions will be sudden. Using timidity, I created a wav from the four midi files and will now listen to the whole thing strung together. The fun shall ensue.

Soon I shall order a M-Audio Oxygen 49 for a few different reasons:

(M-Audio Oxygen 49)

• I have no tangible instrument in Seminole.
• I am tired of figuring out melodies on the virtual keyboard, though it is, I admit, a useful tool.
• I don’t want to program every keyboard part of the songs I am working on. I’d like to actually play some of them, despite occasional (or even frequent) timing inaccuracies.

Ok. I have decided to work on Cycle after this entry has been done. Which part, you ask? Well, the second of the five parts I outlined yesterday, I reply. So let’s begin brainstorming, shall we? It begins with the f triplet ostinato. The electric piano ostinatos over this with an F major7 on beat one and a Bes 7 on beat two. High in the background are the keys playing a c, then a bes, then an a. We’ll see how that works. The electric piano continues its ostinato, but the bass moves down a half-step to e. Let’s let the keys part remain the same, as well.

When the f bass ostinato returns, the vocals begin with the melody I outlined yesterday. The second line of lyrics continue when the e ostinato appears. The third and final line (of verse one) sees the bass float down another semi-tone to ees but all else stay the same. The bass will traverse back to the e ostinato. Perhaps the whole thing repeats at that point. f e f e ees e. When King Lindorm by Guapo (a band whom everybody loves) completes its sonic manoeuvers in my ears, I shall map out this small but poignant idea in lilypond and listen to the results. I shall not, however, report back here this evening.

That is not being headstrong.

It is eloquent.

My father’s reflex reaction to me declaring that I have some sort of semi-spontaneous plan is Emotional Blackmail. He exhibits this tendency almost daily in differing quantities. Today, I am absolutely sure that he didn’t even have time to consider before his response was uttered.

It is their anniversary. Less than an hour before my announcement that I would have dinner with Sandy, my mother had stated that they would celebrate their 43rd in Ruidoso this weekend. We are all going to Ruidoso together. But, once I received the message from Sandy and opened the door to the garage where my parents were smoking to inform them of my evening plans, my father’s immediate response was something along the lines of “But we are going to do something tonight for our anniversery.” Now, of course there had been no plans I was aware of, and my mother had stated that their ‘celebration’ would be in Ruidoso this weekend, anyway. Why does he do this? Why does anyone? My first thought is that it is a gut reaction to his perception of a loss of control of a situation (though there wasn’t really a situation; it was concocted spontaneously in his mind).

The Emotional Blackmail page on Wikipedia lists four types of emotional blackmailers. My father pretty much falls in the first of these. They are:

(Emotional Blackmail)

• The punisher
• The self-punisher
• The sufferer
• The tantalizer

A punisher will, regardless of the situation, attempt to take control of the situation by emotionally manipulating its participants. Loss of control is their greatest fear. I’ve found that resisting this sort of blackmail is to not take the person seriously and even just laugh at their attempts at manipulation. Of course, this becomes more and more difficult proportionally to the size of the group involved, as one individual resisting becomes a weaker and weaker voice. Another defence (and a defence to any of the types of listed emotional blackmail) is apathy. Well, that is a defence to pretty much anything, correct? :)

I have been guilty of being the third type of emotional blackmailer many times in the past. Realizing this fault of mine again and again, however, I have done much to purge this ‘feature’ of my personality. Bastard upbringing. However, I am certainly not the only guilty party. Pretty much every girlfriend (and wife) I’ve had in the past have employed this method to some degree. And at times frequently and in a manner which was wholly unfair (yes, unfair in my perception, which is the one that counts in this case).

Soon I shall enter a vehicle and use it to transport myself to Andrews whereupon I’ll have dinner with Sandy. On the way, I shall listen to Guapo. Everyone loves Guapo.