h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Feet are cold this morning so I've put the fire on. I had some interesting music coming out, then the urge lifted and it's gone and I can't compose any more. SO frustrating, that. Oh well. It'll come back. It's the second movement of my Sonatina for Piano Quartet. I like it. It's atonal.

I hope Sethu doesn't want to do anything today. I'm not up to it.

Well I've been up all night, composing half the time. It's a good feeling to create music that works and speaks to you. Annoying when the ability to do so lifts and you're left without anything. But that's mind control for you.

Sunny out, but only 16 degrees at the Airport. I wonder when they're coming to install new windows...

I am OVER THE MOON at the music I wrote last night. It's better than the Variations. It seems I am best at writing atonal music. Never thought that would happen! Well! The opening paragraphs of the slow movement of the Sonatina is GENUINE slow music. Very difficult to compose. And I've got it just right, thanks to my Father who inspires me with the wisdom necessary to write music. It's like giving a prophecy; you write while the anointing lasts, and then suddenly it dries up and you have to wait for the anointing to come again.

Went out dressed up for a change, but I am now sopping wet with sweat. My shirt is sopping. I am pouring sweat. Yes, I know why, it'll pass. But it's really not very nice. Sopping wet.

Anyway, I've got the row for the first movement of the Sonatina and I know what the 1st subject is going to be, because I've already composed it.

Second subject will be a permutation of the row of the first I should think. Or some figure taken from the texture of the first subject.

I believe my Father is quickening to me the gift of writing music, furthermore, it is music of a kind I never thought I'd compose - it's accessible 12-tone music. I am overjoyed. Thrilled to bits.

Well Sethu is going out in her little black dress, I'm indisposed and not in the mood for loudness and oiks. So I'm staying at home. And she's expecting me to jump up and down because she's going out. I told her, I'm not in the mood. Take it as read. I think she appreciates that sort of directness, I get it from her plenty enough. Maintain, at all times, maintain control of your output transformers. The power stage must be constantly watched for overload and distortion. Adjust the variables. Keep the valves clean and free of dust. Oh talking of which, my amp isn't working properly. One of the valves isn't lit up. I ought to have a look at the circuit board but it's tucked away and there are so many wires, I don't like to touch it really. When the spare valves come, I'll swap it out, so we can see if it's the valve or not. Because it was glowing, before. It's out, now. I don't want to touch it in case I cause sparks of flashes of electricity. I ought to switch it off at the mains and fiddle with it and pull it out and put it back again. But that might just make things worse. I don't want to lose the sound I've got on that channel at the moment. That's why I'm waiting for the spares to arrive.

So I'll leave it for now. Some time I need to REALLY get a couple of cable tidies and have a jolly good go at that nest of wires down by my side.

Hey, have you heard the news? Jesus paid our ransom! Yay!
We're free!

God has allowed me to be prevented from the subjective enjoyment of his Spirit. I was having a really bad time mentally recently, and one of the things that happened was I was flowing in the Spirit just like when I was a little boy. It made me so happy. But that went quickly as my damaged mind shut down and the witch's spell took hold again, God forgive her. So I say, if I can't have any of it, how can you possibly expect me to go to church? It's cruelty. It's like going to a party and being locked in the airing cupboard while everyone else is having fun. That's what it's like. It's cruel to make me go to church.

But apparently it all adds up in the end AND my Father told me, I'll make it all up to you. Bless him. That will be nice. He says he'll wipe away all my tears. It's such a struggle. I don't listen to Christian radio any more because my particular infirmity has a catalytic effect on the people. And it's all very ironic and mirror games and so on, and although it's good intellectual fun, it's emotionally devastating. Which is why I don't listen. Helga was so, so sweet. I miss her very much. But I was wrong to put her on a pedestal like that. Pays to be sober even when all around you are losing their heads. Well I don't get a choice do I, except of course for the fog of cruel folly which descends even these days. That's horrible. But I'm assured I'm OK in eternity, it's just this vale of tears is such hard work. But I've already done so much in the Lord. I don't know what it is, but people know about it. Nepios eimi, in the etymological sense of the word. epos = word so I don't have words. No words to speak in the gate, the fool is silent in the gate. Oh how long, Lord, how long. Are we nearly there? Are we nearly there? Are we nearly there?

He has given me a Ferrari but it hasn't got a steering wheel so I can't drive it, I have to get out and push.

If one falls, but two are better. Oh it's Lynwen's mum on tonight. "You don't know what you're missing," she likes to tell us. Well that's a mercy isn't it, or I'd be really fycked.

Was it at that party when I freaked out? What did they do to me? Those girls. They ruined my whole life. They destroyed me. I can't even remember it because they practised magick on me. God Almighty it's hell it really isn't very nice sometimes. My brain has been divided into three. No, three thousand, no, three thousand thousand. Splitering with the shards of a broken mirror, shattered my mind with the sound of thousands of shattering sheets of glass. I think that I endure the subjectivity of the doomed who cannot return, like we read about in Hebrews. Jinxed I am. Cat's name so bloody apt.

But, it goes to show that God really doesn't need us, and that anything he gives us to do by way of ministry is like a favour, a concession to the paradoxes of our souls, rather than like he needs our help. Even so I was furious when Helga told me to "serve Christ properly". Has she ANY idea of just how inappropriate and downright insulting and just plain wrong on so many levels, that is? You see I don't think she has. I think she really believes a lot of the guff she reads in all those bloody Yank books. No critical faculty, no discipline of the mind at all, no theology - her mind and her heart remain strangers to each other. Which isn't good. No matter how you slice the pie.

But it's true. I derive a crumb of comfort whereas all my brothers and sisters they feast of swimming pools of love. I get a drop of water now and then. But I do whine, apparently. Which isn't good. Not at all.

Whingeing Pom.

Well I have to say I do appreciate my freedom. I am not related to the vibes in an obligation of necessity. Many are. Apart from the mad and the foolish.

I wrote about ALL this in my essay for Francesca.

Here I sit, the mind of a maniac and nothing to do. Lynwen is scared of me, apparently. So say the voices of the aethers. Scared hey? then my darling, you ain't perfected in love are you. Fear is a failure of faith.

I must have been dribbling the ball into the halls of irreality earlier on today, when I wrote that, for I have but little recollection of writing it. I had to edit it heavily for personalisms. I need to take my tablets with greater regularitie. I wonder if Lynwen still reads this. Or if she's been bored hence, or frightened awa', awa'. My brain is being poured into a bottle. So read the poem; and the poet doesn't lie. 'ani 'oheiv 'otakh. It's not as elegant and smoothly as the Latin, or as shining as the Greekic. But that's Israeli Hebrew, not Israelite Hebrew. The Modern tongue expresses itself thus. Of course in Classical Hebrew you might say 'ohaveikh which is far more typical of the essential compactness of the holy tongue. 'ohaveikh Lynwen libi, or meines Herzens as the High Germanic tongue insists. Du bist min, ich bin din, des solt du gewis sin. du bist beslozzen in minem herzen; verloren ist daz sluezzelin; du muost immer drinne sin. That's mediaeval German, of course. But easily comprehensible to any modern Heinrich or Dieter or Walther or Noribert or Ulf or Reinhold or Sabine. It might even make vague sense to an Afrikaans speaker. It depends on how aware she is of Germanic historical linguistics.

So, it's Sunday already. You know what, time passing by is a real awesome, awesome thing.

The above paragraph is a declaration of love, using Modern Hebrew, Classical Hebrew and Middle High German. That's about as explicit as I get, for an English-speaking reader.

What I will do, however, is dedicate the Sonatina to her. I must get it right, Lord, especially now if it's to be a declaration of the undying, you know. Maybe I'll have just one more night up and ask my Father if he wouldn't mind giving me at least to finish one movement of the piece. But I don't feel the anointing. I feel knackered. Heart-tired. Mind-tired. Body-tired. Do you think it's a lost cause? Another one? Of course my great handicap is that I've lost all interest in sex. Just not interested any more. I think my tablets have done for me, in that regard. Or if they haven't, then I've just bored me own bollocks off.