November 19th, 2003

abstract butterfly

simple chords

"The Autoharp encourages the musical effort of the person who is least musical, and will respond with a harmonious chord to the touch of anybody".--1895 advertisement, Alfred Dolge & Son

I have a friend who hates the sound of the hammered dulcimer.
Somehow I see this as some metaphor, although it is a matter of extremely personal taste. I love the sound of a hammered dulcimer, and even the sound of the simpler "mountain" dulcimer, with its zithery stringpluckthalism, played with a feather. When the plinking of a mountain dulcimer somehow converts itself to song, I see a face moving across the waters,making something new. Reading that last sentence, though, I amend to say merely that I like it.

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    bang a drum
abstract butterfly

Phone Post: charleston across the cyberverse (nearly a transcription)

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“When I was a boy, I lived in the center of the universe. Never mind that it was a universe with but 2,000 souls in it. Universes are about quality, not numbers. A certain hazy splendor enfolded us all, and it was not just the DDT truck spraying for mosquitos in the Summer. I remember collecting bottles to turn in for deposit, in a time when fortunes were counted in dimes. I remember listening to kids in grade school talking about how many squirrels they shot at dawn. My school had excused absences for deer hunting.

Sometimes now I wonder if I transported to a distant nebula. A bit like the Horsehead Nebula that neighs in Orion, only less like a horse, less like a head, more nebulous.
But this nebula, too, feels like the center of something--if not quite the universe, then
at least some workable snippet of something.

But isn't it just that kind of thinking that defines this weblog preoccupation? One's mind cries out--"I am here, I exist", and the evidences are there in oh-so-many words and in the creakling sound of a voice one would prefer to donate to a rummage sale.

Yet I think it's too easy to berate oneself for wanting to be heard. It may be that this is one of those dance marathons, which I'll see as quaint in some future decade. But play the damn music, for now, and give me some clear space to dance.”

Transcribed by: gurdonark