NaJoPoMo '14 cactus chords
Posted Nov 3, 2014
OK. November 3rd. Hullo November 3rd! First two days on previous thread.
I'm exploring jazz chords on my piano, learning a new chord every day, see where it takes me. Plus other random topics. .
Doing this journal is already affecting my piano playing.
Last night I was so sick of the news, all the cruelty, killing and war and more war, I wanted to break with a grief to sharp to bear, and my link with the world felt like a collapsing bridge made of sharp steel pins.
So I went to my piano and slammed my hands on the keyboard and randomly played, out of which came chords to express this feeling.
I don't think they're in my book .
At first they sounded discordant and awful, but then gradually they started to link together, with sonic strands. And gradually the collapsing bridge became a suspension bridge, able to withstand pressure, all held together with these sonic strands.
Not sure what an engineer would make of it. I think the Clifton suspension bridge in Bristol is held up by more than sonic strands. I hope so anyway.
My chord for today is F major 9th. More recognisable, the familiarity is like warm golden honey with veins of sadness. I see my late father standing on a far horizon, laughing and waving, but then it fades to abstract gold.
Conclusion. Making chord shapes is like a meditation. They are sonic patterns, and the vibration from the sound opens up pictures in the brain.
I'm interested in the neuroscience of music, although I don't know much about it. I want to study more.
Saw a great documentary about James Randi last night! Ah, Randi, the great magician, and sceptic, debunker of spoon bending psychics and dodgy faith healers. . He doesn't like seeing people conned, which is great, and thinks that magic is for entertainment only, which is is.
But what do we do with the energy of faith, when it all falls apart?
I wish there were unexplained miracles, I love a mystery.
Perhaps miracle and mystery are still alive though. Chords are a miracle to me. And communication. And lots of things, many every day miracles. And I find faith when I realise that compassion and forgiveness and love are a totally massive powerful force, who needs to bend spoons.
Sort of thing.
Blimey, Nov 3rd a bit intense.
Posted Nov 2, 2014
(entry for 1st Nov)
Please wait for me, dear Lady November. I wish to share with you the absurd yet hopeful fragments of my life, every single day, unless you pay me to go away. I accept PayPal, Visa
and the November Pound.
We used to live in Totnes in Devon, England, they have their own money there, The Totnes Pound. I think it works like real money, but does it work in carpark machines and swimming pool lockers? I never did find out, because the local coins somehow avoided me. Or did I avoid them? I am poor in spirit, and must return to make amends.
I digress, back to grovelling to you, dear Lady November.
I wrote to you these words at 2.35 am, on the borderline of November 1st and 2nd. I wanted to tell you about jazz chords.
I have this book, see, called All The Jazz Chords You'll Ever Need. I've it for years, but never opened it, which explains why I can't play jazz piano.
And yet I love chords, they are pictures to me, and I'm going to open the book and play a chord on my electric piano for every single day of your thirty blessed days.
And tell you about it.
Except not day one, I've missed it, , it's the middle of the night, you'll have to wait till tomorrow.
Posted Aug 6, 2012
Inspired by Willem's dream journal, and other marvels of journal writing around here, I once again feel moved to present fragmented scraps of scruffy daydream...... which I sometimes describe as thoughts and wordpaintings from the Middle Way Cafe. . Not sure to whom the journal is addressed, when I write the word your, just abstract I think, writing to imaginary spirit guides. .
And somewhere between the silversparkle symphony of your smile, and the jagged scarlines around the edges of my uncertain yearning, I point my camera at the sun, and the dazzled lense reacts with a fractured purple light effect. I tell you that this is one of the most artistic mistakes I ever made. You say I should enter the photo in a competition, and smile that addictive silver smile of yours, and the jagged scarlines of my uncertain yearning begin to look almost poetic in the mirror.
Posted Jun 29, 2012
Dear Journal, Life and Times, and Some Other Things.
I'm offline for a couple of weeks, as from this weekend, so thought I had better present The Actor story, in all it's rough hewn almost-glory. heheh.
Have been mainly taking photos in funny lit up lightness, for the last week or so,
but tonight I managed to make some sense out of the absurd prose poetry that dances and spirals through my head, like some kind of 1960s shirt pattern. haha.
Who was The Actor? I wonder. I used to think he was a spirit guide or something, but in fact I think sometimes we can pick up on the atmospheres of others, and I think he was perhaps just a very quiet kind person. ?? Perhaps. This is based on a true story, slightly disguised. Like an Actor. heheh. hmm.
Now I have to change postings, for to print out the story ....
Posted Jun 12, 2012
The other night we watched this extraordinary documentary on BBC 4, written by, and featuring Nina Conti (daughter of actor Tom Conti), called A Ventriloquist's Story:Her Masters Voice.
Nina herself is a comedienne and ventriloquist. She inherited a collection of bizarre ventriloquist dolls from her mentor, Ken Campbell (the experimental theatre fellow, who himself was a bit of a genius)..
..and the programme follows her journey to the Vent Haven Museum in Kentucky, where bereaved ventriloquist dolls are laid to rest, because their owners have died. Owners is the wrong word. Hmm. More like their soulmates.
There is also a Ventriloquist Convention happens there, somewhere in Kentucky, near the Museum, or maybe in the Museum, I forgot, but trust me, this is one gloriously weird event. Gives me hope. .
The museum is totally bizarre. All the dolls are sitting there, they speak no more, and I would say that these dolls are spirits. Just sitting there.
There is a web site for Vent Haven Museum. If you are interested, you can find a sort of interactive facility on the website, where you can pan around, get a feel for the place. I can't do links very well, otherwise I would post it here.
It is weird, beware. Easy to get spooked by ventriloquist dolls. I think it is an actual phobia, fear of ventriloquist dolls. I can understand that, but I am fearfully fascinated. .
So what about ventriloquism then? Started as a religious ritual, something to do with the Oracle of Delphi. Later became entertainment.
One helluva way to confront the other selves and voices in the head, the alter ego, the inner demons, the shy inner actor, the imaginary friend.
Quite an art too, to throw the voice around like that.
I appreciate that ventiloquism might not be politically correct, (looking at some of the dolls in Vent Haven, makes you wonder), might be offensive in some way, I don't know, if it is, and I would be the first to object ...
(that's the disclaimer part of this posting) ...
but it was a fascinating programme indeed, like magic theatre revisited.
Well, there was this Actor I knew once ....at least, I called him the Actor ...
(next journal entry) .
Perhaps I should take up ventriloquism. Let the Actor speak to me.