(A Valentine's Day fairy-tale)



Once upon a time there was an alchemist. Older guy, balding, white fringe of hair 'round his head. A little doddering, a little insane and a little, well, out there. But he hadn't reanimated anything dangerous recently and was perfectly happy letting the end of his days wander their way around twisty forest paths and whatnot.

So he's in his laboratory, seeing what he can do with these various elemental forces, distilling this into that, and that into the other. What he ends up with is a beaker filled with a faintly shimmering pink liquid with flecks of gold and lavender floating, one clockwise, one anticlockwise. Picture a kaleidoscope squeezed into a coffee mug. Looked like that, but...transparent. And without the handle.

Oh, and the stuff smelled like hot cinnamon buns.

Problem is, he has no idea what it does or, for that matter, how to use it. So, being the scientist he is, he stages a few experiments.

First: he pours a third of the phial onto a white rose. It shimmers briefly, turns inside out and emerges red. Curious.

Second: he pours a third of the potion onto a slab of stone and watches as it shimmers briefly, turns inside out and emerges as a sparkling diamond.

Third: he fills a bowl with the remaining third and places it in front of a mongrel found on the streets, and watches as it shimmers, inverts and emerges as one of the sleekest, healthiest puppies he's ever seen.

And as he watches this, he realizes that he's created a potion whereby the target becomes the epitome of the fulfillment of man's desires.

And he crumbles, broken, when he realizes he has kept none of the potion for himself.

Did you know...

You blow me away.

Did you know...

You are what dreams are made from...

All the things we forgot that we loved...

They are all drenched in rain from your eyelashes...

Rain from your soul...

which I keep in silly bottles, with fancy, twirly stoppers...

Like a sailor's LADY...

leaning from her lighthouse...

may I be your lighthouse?...

May I call you

home...

I built you one, you know...

Somewhere beyond my reverent conscious...

And my voice, like moss and rust...

and roiling salted sea...

composed for you alone...

(which I imagine with a faint heart...)

A LOVERS LULLABY...

which painted you a photo...

and it looked just like love...

and she was dressed like rapture...

Wearing a gold and crimson silken sari....

and a veil over my eyes...

Because to see...

is to know you...

And to know you is to love you....

and did you know...

You blow me away....

And I....I have no lighthouse to bring me home.

So I gained 7 xp...I saw this upon logging in to write the day's disgressions, and suspected immediately, and this was confirmed by looking at the list of my writeups and their reputations, that I had been given a bunch of upvotes for my random rambling about music.

For quality reviewing? Doubtful. I get the impression there are some big fans of the Residents who saw this daylog and smiled knowingly to their computer, happy that one more mind had begun to be permanently warped by this excellent experimental rock music...and that amuses me greatly. "You're learning," they think....and I am. The more I listen even to the same second (PLURIBUS) disc of Our Tired, Our Poor, Our Huddled Masses that has dominated my listening for the past two days, the more I end up noticing their influence everywhere.

There are the realizations that some of what you're hearing sounds almost like some of the tapes you'd recorded into the night with your friends, a little Casio sampling keyboard that ran on five AA batteries and a Talkboy which ran on another four.....only of course, these tapes are lacking things like skill and proper equipment and a supply of children's books to influence your lyricism....things which the Residents actually do possess...

But hell, some of what we made up in our time sounded pretty damn interesting, and with decent microphones and some kind of multitrack recording device....slogging through unlabed 90 minute cassettes with no notes as to their contents....there was a lot of crap there of course. With other kinds of influences involved, anything that sounded cool at the minute would be recorded, often with long minutes of repetition...and the occasional random babbling for no apparent reason...

But to extract any worthwhile material....record it into the computer so I have additional ways to fuck with it. Although there is a certain charm to holding in the play and fast forward or rewind buttons on the talkboy and recording this sped-up (and often backwards) sound back into the sampling keyboard....and then the tape would be fast forwarded back to the blank space we hadn't reached yet....

Press record....stick the crappy microphone on the talkboy up to the speaker on the keyboard...try hitting the key once, and then repetitively somewhere in the middle...try the high and low ends of the keyboard, which weren't that far apart on a little battery powered thing like this...32 keys. Small ones. Can be hard to play with, but it's fun and incredibly portable....but yeah, then there was the loop button....all kinds of odd rhythms got created by holding down random keys with that, at the high end, then the low....sometimes, often, a few at once. The sound of snapping fingers not being picked up too well by the sampling mike could be transformed into bacon if done just right....keys together looping could get odd, though, the sampling on this jsut sped up and slowed down the sample, so it'd never synchronize up quite evenly, and from the bottom to the top, a sample that could take a full second to loop on the leftmost F key would come out as a little chirp at the rightmost C key....the advantage to this was that you could hold down a low key to get something rhythmic and tap out something resembling a melody with the other hand...


Alright, it's a big digression. But I hadn't fucked around with this stuff in so long and I had just been sent into a minor creativity frenzy on the talkboy and keyboard again tonight by listening to too much Residents, leaving me feeling musical....everything sounds musical lately. The steps and scuffs of my work boots on weekday evening concrete....buzzing sounds....the sound of machinery running around the UPS compound...walking through the building, thinking about composing music for several persons each sitting in a car and playing their one available note, the horn...now that I think about it, another sound of some kind could be made to play through the stereo system in each car, and the "drivers" could turn these up and down....and of course there is always revving the engine...they could possibly even drive back and forth over gravel or something....



....Completely lost in thought, ending daylog before it becomes any more babbley....

Epiphany:

I want to jump out of my skin and have a convulsion.

Tonight, I had the privledge to attend a talk that has opened my eyes about me. About one of my biggest insecurities, period. I found a part of me that's been missing for a long, long time.

You ready to hear it?

Okay, here goes....

I've learned that I need to "let go" and use my unique ability to be a friend to the people in my life, especially those who I get involved in business with. And KEEP and MAINTAIN the friendship.

I fear that people won't want to remain friends with me because of all the negative things I think about myself. I superimpose (or project) my feelings onto them. I think "they won't like me because_____________." when it's really myself disliking me that I'm talking about.

And I know how to fix me too. I got to ditch the little voice that spews all this insecure crap that says "Why would they want to be friends with you once they get to know you?? You aren't _________________ or _____________ and you don't have _________________ and don't act like ____________."

It's amazing how much lighter I feel- spiritually, mentally, emotionally... I've faced the truth, and it didn't hurt. Even better yet, writing it down has cemented it. If I had just kept it in, to myself, I would've reverted back to that insecure me. Now it's in my face, and I can't go back. And quite frankly, I don't want to.

~Cheers~

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