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June 24th, 2005

checkmate

Today after a long day at work, I visited the Lewisville Chess Club, off I-35 at a Borders book store. The club was well attended, with friendly people who were quick to challenge one to a game. I began with an older opponent named Kenyon, then segued into an elementary school girl named Sara, and then played two games against another fellow older than myself named Dale. Four games, three opponents, four victories, a good time had by all. I marvel at how my lowly Philidor's Defense serves me so well--there is something to be said for playing what one knows. After the games, I bid everyone adieu, and went home to eat lo-fat hot dogs made from things not as hot-dogged as the usual.

Today my song "Bethany Lakes Park" got its first reviews, understandably focusing on the "this is not trance" and "too much static" line (I could not hear the static on my sound card, which leads me to conclude I have a cheap sound card or I am a non-assiduous listener. Still, I enjoy the process of feedback.

I uploaded my song "Robot Breakfast" and entered it into the industrial music category. Its first review was by someone who understood what I tried to do with it.
It is gratifying to have a listener who "gets" something, as so many people are not, for reasons entirely noble, into this kind of thing.

Of the 80 some-odd reviews I have done, 11 have been selected as "signature reviews" to be placed in a place of prominence by the artist. I did country-western reviews tonight. When I was a teen, I despised this genre, but now I rather like it.

Donkey feathers

I always think that Friday is a good time for a silly poll. Will you join me?

gone to the birdsCollapse )

that vision thing

"There is that in me-I do not know what it is-but I know it is in me … I do not know it-it is without name-it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol … Do you see O my brothers and sisters? It is not chaos or death-it is form, union, plan-it is eternal life-it is Happiness".--Walt Whitman

As I survey my spare room, which I called my "art room" until my artlessness came to me in a thunderclap of insight, I no longer see a room filled with things that would be better if they filled other places. I see serene long tables and chairs, suited for chess. I see dulcimers and autoharps, displayed attractively. I see intriguing things hanging on the walls, changed often but never failing to delight. Never mind that the things I see are now in my imagination only. I see them, and can make them real. I will draw up a set of goals for this room, and then I will fulfill them. When I am done, the result will make me glad. This music recording thing has focused me on how it is fun to play away from my strengths sometimes--this is the way to grow--but it is also good to focus on my strengths as well. I have things I do for which I gain the modest notice which I seek, and I want to do them with more vigour. But first I have promises to keep, and appointments to fulfill. I will not forget, though, that some of the promises worth keeping are those made to myself.