I sit here in a daze at the events in my life.
I haven’t written in awhile. Even now as I write I can’t seem to get it in my head that this is for me, not for another. This blog is for me, not for grade. This blog is for me, not for a status, an approving nod from a professor, or the hope of a brighter future.
This blog is for me.
Or so I would like to think.
But now I am coming to realize that I’m thinking about my dad while I am writing, somewhere in the back of my head. What will he think? Will he notice the parallelism..
My audience-what will they think? Do I have anything of importance in my work, in my thoughts, in my music?
What will they think
What will they think
What. will. they. think.
Maybe the day will come when I’ll be free from this hell
Maybe the day will come when I’ll decide to take a step off the stage. I have lived on the stage my entire life now. I decided to stop. And recently I felt in my heart a sadness that I have never quite felt before.
This aching. Oh God, it’s miserable. But why? This is not me. I don’t ache. I am passion and fury. Hard work, blood sweat and tears.
Sonata form, recapitulation, stand, clap, take a bow–smile, they are watching. STAND straight, they are watching. Pronounce your name with confidence, they are watching. Play the music, Greta, they are watching.
They are listening.
My work is my equivalent, when my work is bad I too am unfortunate. But recently found, when my work is good I am still unfortunate.
Maybe if I can understand the theory of it I will be able to write two voices–maybe something grand will come of it, this fugue. Maybe I can capture what we are looking for. If music can’t , then there must not be an answer- small planet filled with death, rage and fury.
And then there is that ache again–shit. This is not me.
I am passion. I am fury. I am passion..
Sonata form–for the hundredth time
For a moment I thought I found it.
I don’t know. At this point I can’t tell the passion from the ache-or maybe they’re one in the same.
I am passion. I am fury, but honestly . I am in pain. Just like you are, just like he is. Sometimes you just ache.