Revolution Baby

Classes have ended, and thus my schedule has completely reverted to my seemingly natural, nocturnal state. What is going on with that? I am so comfortable at night, for the most obvious of psychological reasons, but I learned during conversation that the habit is generally emergent in those who are single. Several couples I’ve spoken to hop right on into bed around beddy-bye time and they wake like “normal” people adhering to normal hours of living. In any case, my nights are now occupied with studying for my first ever, accumulative exam. Accumulative means I have to re-study a bunch of material I’ve already studied, in conjunction with newer material. Pile it on, Teach. This is why I like the modern day art of film-making, because good film-makers sometimes inspire people to adjust their psychologies and fight. Not that studying for a mass accumulation of computer science material equates fighting, but this sounded like a good, analogous concept for a moment there.

I have a masterpiece of literature that I am bent on getting written, and follows directly after the book I am about to finish, though the plots have nothing to do with each other. What I want to say by this is that at one time, I didn’t write; I played piano and guitar…excessively. I went through such a traumatic situation with music: at age 27, I played Bach’s Brandenburgs from memory and I played Mozart for fellow students before class; I played and played till I fell asleep at the piano sometimes (hence the spilled matter on the music I was writing there). I did this all the while struggling to find a home and lingering around the campus until told to go away. I was faced with such financial problems at the college back then, and I was in such physical and psychological distress, that I was thunderstruck for the most part. After being essentially forced to drop out, and even further, being literally self/non-self-exiled, I began to lose out on piano time. After a while, the accuracy dissipated, and my fingers began to miss the notes until one day, after having worked at a janitorial job that led me to absolutely nowhere, I realized I had forgotten much of my piano playing skills. I was soooo….well, take a guess. I began keeping a journal, and I began working in a different context with some county folk of the likes that were unheard of from where I came from; perfect strangers helping me, and I found some pieces to pick up. But too little too late was the adage for me, and I found I had drifted a stretch too far from music, as sad as I was about this. Now, after all this time–years and years–I am exposed to the opportunity of working with piano, and my heart is torn; I can’t do the jack of all trades, and I have writing that needs to get done–a specifically important piece–so I hope my music instructor doesn’t suggest I major in music now when she realizes how much I know. My mind, my heart, my soul, is being stretched by all this, but at least I am able to contend much better these days with the emotions that come from the wellspring inside.

Ever watch a movie with headphones on? Great experience; sound teams bust their asses off on soundtracks, and Caligari is no exception as I learned last night. I am the inward gothic as everyone must know, and the Caligari is among the kings of goth film, but I like my faithful readers to know that my mind is vividly in tact with all forms of story-telling art, with special attention to the kind that inspires.

Even though I gave her a mediocre score on her literary skills that had my mind a little jarbled when I read Second Glance, I like to give writers all the credit they truly deserve with respect for their trade. My opinion of Picoult’s writing is excessively subjective, but I admire the intensity of her ability to cut forth sheer, gripping plots that leave none unscathed, and the movie version of My Sister’s Keeper is one among probably most of her books that do the gripping. I’m not even proud that I was able to hold back my watery eyes, though I felt them wanting to burst, but beyond that, the movie, the story, is one that falls in line with the will to think of others under the most painful circumstances (though most Picoult readers probably already know this by now). Me, I didn’t, but now I do. I have a collection of inspiring films that sit on a dedicated shelf to such, and I am thinking this movie may find its way onto that shelf. The story is one that viewers should not only say bravo to Jodi and the film-makers, but thank you as well. See what inspiration is all about when watching My Sister’s Keeper.

I’ve got a lot of finals to do, hopefully I can get back sooner than I actually may.

Cheers to everyone!

This entry was posted in life, personal, photos, Psychology, random, Uncategorized, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Revolution Baby

  1. noranoir says:

    I fall into the “normal people” category and I’m still nocturnal. Regardless of my somewhat average work schedule. I don’t adapt to my schedule. It adapts to me. And you definitely can’t chalk that up to singledom.
    I used to play piano. Too many years without one and my hand issues make it hard to play like I used to. My husband, despite our years without instruments, can still tickle the ivories like Liberace. I am a tad bit jealous, but he serenades me, so it’s all good. Weird thing is, I can read music better than I was ever used to.
    I am so intrigued by the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Have attempted to watch it 2-3 times and have always fallen asleep, not due to the movie, but more due to being too tired on the occasions on which I started it. I better give it another go. I love that word somnambulist.

    Good luck on your finals!

  2. LK says:

    Caligari is like psyyyychooooannaaaalyyyyysssiiisss…

    It’s heavy.

    I’m jealous of anyone who can play like Liberace, the man was a myth (he played a Beethoven Etude that altered my mind in a strange way). Your hubby must be really good.

    I was glad to get away from these darned terms for a moment at least, thank you, I do so need ALL the luck possible…

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