Reborn

I've been nestled snugly in the womb for 9 months, give or take. Fed through a regimented umbilical that ushers just enough sustenance to keep me floating gently in this home. The karma of my past life surges its aid gentle down the tube of my current existence. It's warm and comfortable here, curled beneath the right bosom of the queen. The date of my new birth is fast approaching. Three days more and I will be squeezed out into the land of my birth. Labored rolling down the long corridor, through the peace arch, and emerging, hot, burdened and ambitious to my new residence.
The angel is with me here in this warm safe place now; keeping me encapsulated, providing protection; like a buffer, both to me, and the inner lining of this native land from the pre-emergent kicking. She helps in plans for a comfortable future beyond the inevitable gate.
There is recently, of course, the standard clothes and miscellaneous items waiting patiently in a silent, otherwise empty room in my new home; the cost of which has become necessary but irrelevant. With any luck, the transition to this new world will not be too long and painful.
Like being slowly pushed, gasping toward a 300 mile cliff. All the schooling and past life experience has taught the soul to grow wings. The mother bird nudges me closer and closer to the edge of the nest, and I must flap vigorously and unwittingly as not to hit the cold hard pavement, trying to glide, awkwardly at first, then gently to the ground; before soaring to true flight. Surveying the landscape; gleaning the nature of the inhabitants in my new and intricate environment; avoiding predators with only my inherent skill and intuition to guide me along.
Seizing opportunity to thrive and achieve great heights.
But for now I remain hidden in this cave of solitude. The landlord power washes the stucco green building and cement patio. I must keep quiet in the natural sunlight of day, no matter how obscured by cloud. Sparsely using precious resources. Saving my trips to the exterior bathroom for necessary usages. Planning my well timed escape daily to avoid lines of sight, or remaining cocooned indoors.
Things are pristine here. Everything always goes relatively well. Standing around on Sunday waiting to see how the waffle batter turns out, and the tense banter about the correct timing of the recently inherited iron. Friendly recreational hikes to Hidden Lakes still covered with recent fallen snow at elevation in the high latitude spring mountains. Afternoon sushi and partially freindly skys'. Generally sheltered from the dangers of the world bellow. The world I will soon emerge.

My name has been considered as well.
.Au
The Alchemists symbol for gold was ☉
J☉

10,000 Hours I

It is said that to become an expert at something, 10,000 hours is required. The first time I heard this was on a show I remember watching a while back; more than 5 months, but not more that 16 months ago; on the Discovery channel, History channel, PBS, or some such educationally oriented station, whose main intentions are to mix the passive entertainment of "Actual Dramatizations", with supposed scientifically, or historically factual information, with a healthy dose of old photographs. The first example the program used involved the Beatles performance training in Liverpool England; They would play 8 hours a night, five days a week in a questionably erotic nightclub setting, often using improvisation as a norm after their regular repertoire would run out, rather than brief filler between songs or sets, as most bands have occurrence to allow. The Beatles performed in this way for 5 or 6 years I recall the narrator proclaiming, thereby achieving the magic number of 10,000 hours of practice to becoming Expert musicians, and consequently were able to use this knowledge, albeit combined with significant native talent and the element of fragile timing, to "Sweep the Nation" and generate hit after hit on the billboard charts on the way to strong, successful, and illustrious careers and infinite fame; propelling themselves to, I might dare to say, the likes of Shakespeare and Beethoven in notoriety and staying power; but only time will suss out the ultimate truth to my flagrant and presumptuous prediction... In fact, upon reflection during the roughly 24 hour period represented here directly by ellipses, I would imagine that the Beatles collection of music won't have such a rich following as my rather rash prediction denotes, but rather go the way of early blues or jazz musicians like Albert King or Sonny Rollins; who while innovators and wildly popular in their time, followed in current day only by much private coveting of originally and remastered editions, and slight obcurity. The fact that many of the original followers of the Beatles are still alive, noting that two of the original band members are still mucking about in the upper echelons of society, with varied notoriety, but ultimately even those McCartney and Starr are dislocated from the original body of work that they themselves created. So looking at the body of work itself, generated by what many argue were already experts, from roughly 1964- to 1972, it is still difficult to say their amount of fame or recognition in say 350 years; taking into account the still proudly worn Abbey Road t-shirts spotted by me personally in several malls and school zones by the enthralled youth of America on both coasts; I can not speak for the staying power on the island across the pond from hence they came. In addition accounting for the enormous radio play, along with Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin on countless classic rock stations. On the case against avoiding obscurity, enduring popular airtime, the movement and proliferation of music and sound generation has, in a one generation, become so widespread and simple throughout society, that to find one amongst millions of bands and artists is quite an imposing thought. When considering the shear amount of artists and albums, at a base level, the staggering amount of songs released for public consumption since 1972, one must consider if Beethoven would have stood out among one million other composers, despite being an originator or the size of his contribution. My digression could amble further, however my general point remains, that having this magic 10,000+ hours of "practice", that one or a group of one may achieve real consideration for infinitely preserved and intent study. That is to say, you can not undo The Beatles, no more than you can undo Edgar Allen Poe, or for that matter no one could ever undo Kid & Play, regardless of how much anyone would like to delete their contribution from the annals of our collective cultural history. However, for an artist to stay at a forefront of recognition in predominant social consciousness, to be studied in university, and to ultimately remain popular, even among a small subset of society, after a few centuries, is remarkably difficult. This show stuck in my consciousness. The idea of Expert, and more importantly, the lasting effect of the usage of expert knowledge and skill. Perhaps it was because it was first related to me with the example of the Beatles; a band I have much vested time in enjoying and contemplating, that made it so appealing to me, considering the breadth and depth of my musical understanding and collection.

10,000 Hours II

Often I consider the fact that I have been listening to music continuously from a very young age, and wonder just what impact it has had on my life; and whats more, since my first teenage years, I have taken a deep interest in listening to music and understanding styles and made great efforts to explore and seek out new and unique musical endeavors; Furthermore, I have sought out the early incarnations of musical styles throughout history, as well as sat on the edge of the digital age of music's crib and absorbed it's contribution. Scarcely has there been a day without music in my life. Even many years before the iPod, my focus has held intently on sonic introspection. I believe ultimately that music is one of the most important and powerful tools in conveying nearly any emotion, understanding, or information; and is ultimately crucial to existence. I believe that I have a greater adeptness, more than the casual listener or music fan who enjoys and embarks on a musical journey; that I have taken a serious non-negotiable interest in music and its cultural significance, its structure, and everything else that goes along with sound. I am not just interested in what is popular. Due to my devotion and the amount of time spent intently focused on the ingestion of music, I believe that 10,000 hours were breached several years ago; and therefore, I would proclaim myself an expert of music listening; for what ever that is worth. Taking into account for taste, predilection, and repetition, I can tell when something has "it", that magical something that makes a song, an artist or an album Good. That spark of life which can elicit a deeper reaction that sticks to the core of being that gives us all life. All peoples, societies, locations, and ages of man have had some form of musicality and rhythm. A primal essence hearkening back to a simple stick on a hollow rock, fast forward to the whisper of a computer generated hush completely devoid of beat. I believe that it is built in to our brains, hardwired. Needless to say i couldn't possibly understand everything that music has to offer, for to do so would take a lifetime, but i have put in the hours. Every day I am amazed at new sound. I believe the correct term is Audiophile.
Scientists have linked the reaction in brain chemistry due to audial stimuli, similar to euphoria associated with drug use. Music is my drug. Unfortunately I have thought long and hard to transpose this expert hobby to a fruitful, fulfilling and useful endeavor to no avail. The natural progression would be to begin to create my own music. I have in fact created sound projects before, mostly associated with video projects that I have done in the past, with much success mind you; I believe due to my ability to understand and critically observe my own creations to understand what "works" and what doesn't; However, with no formal training as a traditional musician, save for a vocal proclivity, this can not afford me the tools currently to delve deeper into my ultimate dream. So my thoughts move, in an effort to find fruitful endeavour capable of sustaining me, to my formal training and bachelors degree in English language. Despite my degree I would not yet say that I have nearly breached half of the 10,000 hours of writing and considering written language, and all of it's complexities that it would take to become an "Expert" writer. What would it take to become an Expert writer? How long would I have to write? How many words does that equal? If I continued typing here for the next 5 years at 8 hours a day would that make me an expert writer? Is there some equation combining the amount of WPM that I can type, times the complexity of thought and argumentation, divided by the syllabic conjugation of the root, would that equal expert? Would I have to get verification from an English professor PHD to confirm my expertise as a writer; capable of writing in any form, style, or genre', with any motive or intention; eloquent on every researched subject, with any level of simplicity or complicit understanding by the laws of language. Would my expertise implicitly give me the right and aptitude to create and use new words that are adapted and clearly understandable due to my expert usage and context? Would I even be able to write continuously for a long enough period of time, save for sleep and consumption of chocolate milk, chalk-dusted power bars and vegetable lasagna? What are the possibilities? Are there even that many things that one person could write about with purpose before it levels to incomprehensible drivel and uninterested readers. Conveying the complete history of my life; starting from now and working backwards, lavishly and in great depth, searching the annals of my memory to dig up every ounce and squeezing every last bit of innocuous detail out of my past. How long would it be until i got to the inner most depths of my soul? Divulging the darkest secrets of my past; excising the demons and skeletons in the closet? Expounding in great detail the weekend in Vegas with the Blonde waitress and the things that happened in the car on the way to the dive bar? How many pages would I have to write in order to create a clear picture of my best friends life; aptly generating the density of our situation the year we lived together, generating accurately the darkness, the atmosphere and complexities of the horror and joy we survived together? Would being an expert writer mean saying less with more? or saying more with less? Is there even such a way to accurately gauge what expert means when associated with writing? As a certainty Shakespeare is an expert in writing, considering his works lasting power. It is also conjectured with little debate that Stephen King is a great writer of our time, if only judged on monetary success, excluding consideration of the intricacies and poignancy of his prose. Questions also arise as to what good would all that writing do? What purpose would it serve? Could writing save lives; if in the form of a peace treaty? or drawing youth away from violence, to movie theaters were a film based on my writings on war is playing, instead of drawing up arms against one another? What would it all mean? Would it have any reason behind it to make a difference? Would it educate or inspire, or capture imagination? or would it all be for naught?; to die away in the annals of time, with a libraries cold stale air rushing forever over the binding, or worse, to sit stored on a blinking server in time somewhere, forever accessible by man or machine; the contents of my mind and expert creations, eternally logged in a data cloud, never to be activated or scanned over by the eyes of man, or scarcely done so if all; simply to exist as 0 1 strings in an underground warehouse as representations of my expertly crafted words?

10,000 Hours III

In considering my journey on the way to 10,000 hours expounding purposed writing, one thing stands out from my very first English Professor in college. During the first time i tried college that is, as an Engineering major in an mandatory English class. It was part of the universities attempt at generating diversity in a well rounded student. At the beginning of class he would give us ten minutes of free writing that we would just have to write for ten minutes straight with no express purpose or reasoning, as long as it made sense and it was continuous. He claimed that this was a process of clearing our minds so that we may focus more intently on our purposeful writing afterward. To expel the idle thought strewn up from the benign drudgery of daily life; to free up the mind to generate the really juicy gems of truth and knowledge and the information hidden underneath. I have experienced this as a helpful technique during my artistic dabblings; When I am intent on drawing a specific thing, I must always start on a different page in my journal and draw for 10 to 15 minutes in the beginning to get out the jibberish clogging my interpretive vision and to reacquaint my hand to the drawing process; as a way of orienting my brain to the understanding of the medium that I am working with, so that I act purposefully when the original intent is explored. I'm not at all certain that this is necessary for me any more when it comes to writing.
I have often thought that the mind is like a glass of water. Funny thing that is; I suppose that this thinking is derived from a line in an episode of "Married with Children" of all places; from my teen aged hours in front of the TV. It was a mindless joke, as they all were of course, about the stupidity of "Kelly" as was the general foible of Christina Applegate's character. It referred to the fact that only a certain amount of information could be stored in her tiny brain, and that when new information was added, the old information spilled out, like adding water to a full glass. My subconscious mind over the years extrapolated this humorous one liner to a deeper understanding of how the mind works. Isn't it strange how the mind works? I preserved the basic principal of the water in a glass idea with some exception; mainly that in order to write effectively and with strength, you must first ingest words through reading. In other words, it is imperative to read in order to write. Like you are adding words to a big fund raising ticker, and the more words you read, the more the marker drawn thermostat fills with red, and the higher the red marker is colored in, the better and more inspired the writing that comes out. The exception is that the human mind never becomes "full", at least over a long enough period of time; but the idea remains that the more one reads, or at least this is true for me; The more I read, no matter what it is, from Dr. Suess to Gary Indiana, or the morning Metro paper, my mind wants desperately to spill over with writing. Knowledge precipitates knowledge, even if there is an innate truth buried in each written word itself; like a hyroglyph embodies meaning, in even the most boring of syntax and word structure. Therefore, the less one reads, the less inclined one is to write. So to my ends. The most things that i "read" or ingest is music. I should therefore write about music to furtive ends. Therefore as an attempt to be fruitful, with the aim of achieving my mysterious 10,000 hours, I shall drive on in my writing. With a focus upon the highest level of intake, music shall be a main drive and inspiration. But also writing itself shall be written on in detail if i may be so bold to direct a path to expertise. Expounding on the structure of subject verb agreement, delving deep into the usage of "if" or "even if" as a pivotal tool in driving tension in plot driven writing; bending the rules of adjective conjunction; taking command of character development; Firmly grasping control of temporal fluidity in short stories.
Will my long sought "expert" writing skills allow me to create a clever enough jingle to sell millions of Mars Bars®, or have apt skills to write a haiku that would stun a Buddhist monk on Mt. Tateyama, or to write an epic play that would rival Titus Andronicus? Or even to understand fully the illusive coma and semi colon?; as it is clear here through my liberal usage that I do not.
What ever the ends, my means are clear.

I feel a note on the nature of my writing about music is needed. That is that due to the large amounts of production in a digital age, It would be impossible to be directly involved in the review and description of every new album and song that comes out on a timely basis, since I am only one person, not a major music magazine. With this in mind, I will review and write on music that may have been released only in Japan only last Tuesday, or have been released in 2001 on a Wednesday. I allow this temporal discrepancy with adequate forgiveness, since it is impossible that every music lover can even afford all the music that they might enjoy, and since there is a tendency in this day and age to be bombarded with new music before one has had a chance to find a gem of sonic resonance that has failed to resonate in public channels; I hardly believe that it matters how much time has past, as long as the musical contribution is significant.
Only time shall tell.

Posting from my email

Just testing to see if I can really post directly from my email. Over all, I am happy with Blogger so far:Some of the navigation is confusing; between the dashboard, to my profile, to my blog home- it's hard to know were all of the settings are, without clicking several pages around, but I think I will get the hang of it sooner or later. And the settings are nice because they are highly customizable, and hopefully the advantage of having my blog powered by google will make it way more searchable than blog sites like wordpress. I think it's really neat to post directly from your email so you can skip all that navigation all together.

Happy Blogging.

The Frog-Bank

The frog-bank has been turned upside down for two days now. It seems as though its soft round rubber door had become separated making it easier for its inhabitants to escape, if not for the fact this it was turned upside down. It lay there silent and still with it's bulging top set eyes digging into the light brown carpet. Outside the rain continued with patterns of spits and starts followed by downpour and quickly blue billowous skys' far on the horizon, inevitably followed by spits and drizzles. The reavolving weather was mostly due to the geographical situation here; half way between ocean and nestled up against mountain chained peaks. And the location had a lot to do with why the frog bank had been turned upside down in the first place.

It's not a far distance from the frog-bank to the nearest train station. In fact one could hop there in 10 to 15 minutes with little effort at all, and be slipped away as if sliding on slime covered lanes, to the heart of the city that lives mostly underground. Not today though. Not for the last 3 days in fact. The inhabitants of the frog-bank have been absolutely crucial in getting to the heart of Vancouver in this spring weather. The frog is not the only one, but is quiet crucially the available one, since the use of the pig just won't fly. Although the pig would work in a pinch if absolutely required, unfortunately it was built with no clear door, save a hammer, or a smooth flying arc through the air to its inevitable crash landing; spilling its guts; and no one wants pig guts on the floor, least of all me.
Although, as of late, the frog-bank's dwellers have been dwindling in numbers. They make their way out into the world, carried out one by one until inevitably slipping down narrow passageways and disappearing with a final bellowed groan as they clod down the roads.
My path is clear. I must wash off the filth and slime of these three days, and venture out into the fresh spring rain. The frog bank's inhabitants shall remain undisturbed in their cage, upside down on the living room carpet, instead of in the bus man's ticketing machine.