tristia

nec tamen, ut lauder, uigilo curamque futuri
nominis, utilius quod latuisset, ago.
detineo studiis animum falloque dolores,
experior curis et dare uerba meis.
quid potius facam desertis solus in urbe,
quamue malis aliam quærere coner opem?

—Ovid, Tristia, V. vii. 39–40.

I wish I had some such study tonight to drive myself to like distraction, that I would not now be sitting here brooding as I am, under full sway of this sad, sorrowful season's selection of spectres. This flu business hardly helps.

Last night, I lost myself in music, or my fumbling attempts thereat. As they did not turn out well—they seldom do—I do not wish to pursue the same fruitless path tonight. The goal, as with Ovid, is to forget my frustrations, not encourage them. Yet running through my options now, I'm coming to a dreary conclusion: everything I know how to do is an equal frustration.

Writing, art, music, any of it, all of it—equally flawed, equally disappointing. I'm tired of this; I need a new outlet.

Fazer uma obra e reconhecê-la má depois de feita é uma das tragédias da alma. Sobretudo é grande quando se reconhece que essa obra é a melhor que se podia fazer. Mas ao ir escrever uma obra, saber de antemão que ela tem de ser imperfeita e falhada; ao está-la escrevendo estar vendo que ela é imperfeita e falhada—isto é o máximo da tortura e da humilhação do espírito. Não se os versos que escrevo sinto que me não satisfazem, mas sei que os versos que estou para escrever me não satisfarão, também.

Por que escrevo então? [...] Tenho de escrever como cumprindo um castigo. E o maior castigo é o de saber que o que escrevo resulta inteiramente fútil, falhado e incerto.

—Pessoa, Livro do desassossego, 231

As it's said that "the truth is established" by "two witnesses", these two botcheries of last night's effort will be mine.

Ein Waltzer fis-Moll

The basic study of the intended melody, meant to be a throw-away piece, though it's perhaps the better of the two in the end.

Black Keys

A more elaborate work on the same melodic material, passing through a number of modulations into other tonal areas than the basic F# minor of the original, though beginning and ending with it.

Further work and revision has—perhaps, or hopefully—improved this latter work, so I have removed the earlier recording; the new incarnation has been premiered on the Facebook "fan" page, under the title "A Waltz in Winter".

He cometido el peor de los pecados
que un hombre puede cometer. No he sido
feliz. [...] Mi mente
se aplicó a las simétricas porfías
del arte, que entreteje naderías.
No me abandona. Siempre está a mi lado
la sombra de haber sido un desdichado.

—Borges, "El remordimiento"

“Der Gedanke an den Selbstmord ist ein starkes Trostmittel: mit ihm kommt man gut über manche böse Nacht hinweg.” — F. Nietzsche, Jenseits von Gut und Böse: Vorspiel einer Philosophie der Zukunft, Viertes Hauptstück: Sprüche und Zwischenspiele, 157.

Significance

Happy birthday... to me!

In case you've ever wondered what sort of cake I'd like... now you know.

Tagged, pt II

Tagged by Rob, while idling in a waiting area, I thought I'd give this a shot. The rules:

Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen albums you've heard that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.



So, where to begin?

• Dead Can Dance, The Serpent's Egg (MP3)

• Stu Hamm, Radio Free Albemuth

  I could, I suppose, just as easily list one of the two albums Randy Coven released through Guitar Magazine's label, or the release of Sheehan's The Talas Years in that same time period, as I discovered each of these around the same time period, all of which served to completely redo my conception of the possibilities of the electric bass, which has in turn had a long lasting effect on my own music with that instrument.

• Leonard Cohen, either Songs or Songs of Love & Hate

• Bauhaus, Swing the Heartache: The BBC Sessions

• David Bowie, Hunky Dory (MP3)

• Massive Attack, Mezzanine (MP3)

• Muddy Waters, King of the Electric Blues

• Lustmord, Metavoid

• Shearwater, Thieves (MP3)

• Edward Ka-Spel, Tanith & The Lion Tree (MP3 only)

• Current 93, Dogs Blood Rising (MP3), & Thunder, Perfect Mind (MP3)

• Coil, Horse Rotorvator

• Nick Cave, The Boatman's Call, No More Shall We Part (MP3)

• Swans, White Light from the Mouth of Infinity (MP3)

• Robert Shaw Festival Singers, Evocation of the Spirit

One caveat about this list: these shouldn't be considered my favorite albums, for while some are among them, several are not and simply represent discs that are very memorable to me for one reason or another. To take the last entry, the Shaw disc, as an example: there are some pieces on it that I don't care for at all, likewise for some of its composers. And yet that disc represents my first encounter with the works of Arvo Pärt and as such stands out strongly in my mind, for exposure to Pärt almost twenty years ago still exerts a major influence on my own compositions.

The original rules do suggest I tag others to do this as well—but I've never been much good at following rules, so I'll simply say this: if you're reading and wish to do it, consider yourself tagged.

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Related: Tagged

Korean Language Lesson

"From this point on, little children and pregnant women should not watch—because it won't be good for their education."

A book for all children

Just discovered this and had to share the marvel:

τετελεσται

Borges, "El laberinto" y "El suicida"

Zeus no podría desatar las redes
de piedra que me cercan. He olvidado
los hombres que antes fui; [...]
Sé que en la sombra hay Otro, cuya suerte
es fatigar las largas soledades
que tejen y destejen este Hades
y ansiar mi sangre y devorar mi muerte.
Nos buscamos los dos. Ojalá fuera
éste el último día de la espera.

No quedará en la noche una estrella.
No quedará la noche.
Moriré y conmigo la suma
Del intolerable universo.
Borraré las pirámides, las medallas,
Los continentes y las caras.
Borraré la acumulación del pasado.
Haré polvo la historia, polvo el polvo.
Estoy mirando el último poniente.
Oigo el último pájaro.
Lego la nada a nadie.

A fragment, inspired by the preceding Borges and named "Nada a Nadie" for the last line, which I once meant to complete. I no longer have such expectations and present here only the surviving trifle, so truly lego la "Nada a Nadie".

Angels...

...and their high opinion of the world, according to the Syrians if you can trust Voltaire.

Les Syriens imaginèrent que l'homme et la femme ayant été créés dans le quatrième ciel, ils s'avisèrent de manger d'une galette au lieu de l'ambroisie qui était leur mets naturel. L'ambroisie s'exhalait par les pores; mais, après avoir mangé de la galette, il fallait aller à la selle. L'homme et la femme prièrent un ange de leur enseigner où était la garde-robe. «Voyez-vous," leur dit l'ange, "cette petite planète, grande comme rien, qui est à quelque soixante millions de lieues d'ici, c'est là le privé de l'univers; allez-y au plus vite.» Ils y allèrent, on les y laissa; et c'est depuis ce temps que notre monde fut ce qu'il est.

From the "It's all good" (Bien (Tout est)) entry in the Dictionnaire Philosophique portatif, tome premier, the 1892 edition from the Oeuvres choisies de Voltaire edited by Georges Bengesco, pp. 65-66.

Myself, I'd be inclined to render it

The Syrians imagined that man and woman, having been created in the fourth heaven, decided to eat a pastry instead of the ambrosia that was their natural food. Whereas the ambrosia was exhaled through the pores, after eating the pastry they had to find a bathroom. The man and woman prayed an angel to tell them where to find the toilet. "You see," the angel said to them, "this tiny planet, hardly a speck, which is about sixty million miles from here, that is the privy of the universe; go there as quickly as possible." They went there; they were left there. And our world has been so ever since.

Having recently been rereading Dr. Dee's diaries from the 1580s, it seems some of his angels frequently had the same opinion of the Earth.

I confess, watching too much of the news these days, I begin to agree with them.

Are you a writer?

A few years ago I bought John Hodgman's The Areas of my Expertise, where he discussed "The Six Essentials" of being a writer. I'll quote the pertinent bit here:

Even once you have chosen a Dramatic Situation, however, writing a book can still be a tedious process. According to my own observation, every writer must have six essentials at his command. Some are born with them. Others must develop them over many years, or hire a professional to provide them.⁷ They are...

Figure 5: Can You Describe Capt. Thompson's Facial Hair?

empathy the willingness to endure solitude the belief that the world cares about what you have to say the ability to describe facial hair accurately a large desk in a quiet room of your own in which to chase your demons (preferably a circular room, so that the demons have no place to hide) special stationery with pictures of typewriters and/or quills on top

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7. This is most common for "empathy," and it is not unusual for even the finest novelists to hire a ghost empathizer for their third or fourth book.

While there are many today who test their writerly mettle by participating in things like NaNoWriMo, by Hodgman's standard the real test is in writing about this event! How do you fare? Are you a writer? As a quiz, can you describe this lot?

In other matters of pogonotrophy, today I also discovered this chart on "The Trustworthiness of Beards"—and discovered that according to this chart and my g/f, I'm something of a "questionable" sort! Pity for the gents in the above images, many of them don't seem to rate at all.

γῆρας, ὅ τ' αἰσχρὸν ὁμῶς καὶ καλὸν ἄνδρα τιθεῖ

Τίς δὲ βὶος, τί δὲ τερπνὸν ἄτερ χρυσέης Ἀφροδίτης;
τεθναίην, ὅτε μοὶ μηχέτι ταῦτα μέλοι,
χρυπταδίη φιλότης καὶ μείλιχα δῶρα καὶ εὐνή.
ἄνθεα τῆς ἥβης γίγνεται ἁρπαλέα
ἀνδράσιν ἠδὲ γυναιξίν· ἐπὴν δ' ὀδυνηρὸν ἐπέλθῃ
γῆρας, ὅ τ' αἰσχρὸν ὁμῶς καὶ καλὸν ἄνδρα τιθεῖ.
αἰεὶ μὲν φρένας ἀμφὶ κακαὶ τείρουσι μέριμναι,
οὐδ' αὐγας προσορῶν τέρπεται ἠελίου,
ἀλλ' ἐχθρὸς μὲν παισίν, ἀτίμαστος δὲ γυναιξίν.
οὕτως ἀργαλέον γῆρας ἔθηκε θεός.

—Mimnermus (c. 625 BCE), first fragment

What life or delight exists without love?
Let me die when I've no more interest
in quiet trysts, tender gifts or the marriage bed.
These are the alluring blossom of youth
for men and women, but when arduous age approaches,
which makes a man ugly and useless,
awful anxieties wear always on his mind:
he takes no delight in sunlight;
to children he's abhorrent; by women, scorned.
How grievous a thing has god made old age.

(2010/01/21)