Tuesday, March 05, 2002

mildly absurd. Once a week. Mildly absurd.
Should I be excercising discipline?
Hmph. Hmph I say.
After extensive outlining, I am ready to sink my incisors into Locke's attack on innate ideas.

So ready, in fact, that I've decided to give myself some

breathing | room.

reflectcelfer. clear my head.
Swam on my fingers through polytonal arhthyms, vague structureless musings that often occupy my lovemaking sessions with the piano and bass. Aside from a few loosely recurring motifs, I let my effusion remain transient. One day--soon--I will sit down and compose--soon--with structure and intention--soon--with direction--soon--with weight and meaning.
For now I am glad to return to them. I hadn't in too long. It now occurs to me that much of my drive toward music may derive from redirected sexual energy. The old no-sex-baseball hypothesis.Now for some casual attempt at a workout, a quick trip to the store, some food, and I'll have completed my tour of random structureless pleasures for the day. And I'll be ready. And I'll lay the smack down on Locke.