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I’ve been commissioned¹ to write a song for a friend’s upcoming wedding. As part of this, I’ve realized that I have really wanted to get some sort of way to have my computer automatically sing back the music I compose. I’ve had mixed feelings about this for ages.

After all, I have not hidden my general feeling that having performers is good. I’ve been clear that I don’t like AI. Why, then, am I so adamant about wanting computer to sing for me?

Also, I’m not sure if I’ve written about it here, but in general I am also opposed to the idea that the composer is the sole determinant in what the piece of music is in terms of notes and shapes. Making computer music is sort of the antithesis of this view.

In general, I’m realizing that it comes down to two main considerations: first, I like the digital samples that come from Musescore, and am willing to listen to those. Second, I don’t know that the music I write is worth being sung. Until I hear the words and melodies together, there’s a chance that I would waste my money and a choir’s time by having them sing it.

Third², I also don’t generally enjoy the process of producing. I recently got invited to a group and weekly discussion of musicians, and I realized that what I mean by making music and what they mean is so fundamentally different. Almost all of the discussion was on recordings of works, generally in what’s vaguely describable as singer-songwriter genre. Most of the music I’ve written is somewhat “classical”, for as much as I don’t love the term. Also, most of the works given were at least somewhat produced.

Production is always the part of music that I hate the most. When I took a digital music class, I found myself dreading the parts of the course that were most applicable to the work I would generally be doing in my current role as a musician: adjusting filters and plugins to slightly modify the sound of recorded audio. I don’t entirely know why I dislike it, other than the fact that it’s a digital skill that I’ve never needed or felt the need³ to learn. Unlike most manual skills, where I can at least understand that I don’t have the time at the exact moment to work on the skill, I have never found that sort of peace with really any digital skill.

All of this culminated in me purchasing a VST for choir on Thursday night. Yesterday, I was far too exhausted to do anything, and that’s a worrying trend.⁴ I think part of the exhaustion comes from the sense that I’m constantly running. The sense that I’m constantly running comes from not knowing my life ahead of time. The not knowing my life comes from not journaling. The not journaling...

Anyways, once I had purchased the application, I tried to download the music. It was⁵ a nearly 60 GB file⁶. For whatever reason, the creators of the software believe that it’s totally fine to require double the final storage space for downloading.⁷ So, on Thursday I managed to clean about 80 percent of the files I would need.

This morning, I decided to clean the remaining percentages. After mucking around on my computer for a little while, deleting files from hidden folders with abandon⁸ and uninstalling countless software, I decided to also shift to cloud storage for some files. Now, fervent readers of the blog may remember a previous time I attempted this⁹ cloud storage. At that time, I was running the code that became my dissertation locally, which involved¹⁰ generating and deleting tens of thousands of files a minute. Obviously, the sync was not happy with that, and so I disabled it.

When all was said and done here, however, I had just under the necessary storage, but had enough if I was able to use the “purgeable” storage. I quickly googled how to purge it, got the answer of generating an arbitrarily large file and then deleting it, and ran the code. What I forgot in doing that, however, is that the computer was also willing and able to pump everything off of my computer. So, bright side: I have more storage free on my computer than I had since probably the day I got it. Downside: literally nothing was local.

And, of course, the software still refused to install. I ended up finding a workaround¹¹, but that was very frustrating. I came here to start to write about that, and then realized I never posted my last post. I tried to post it, but of course, the blog folder was now in the cloud.

Github, for whatever strange reason, is not great at dealing with files that are not stored locally.¹² By this point, I was frustrated beyond normal¹³, and so I just did a hard reinstall of the blog.¹⁴

That’s where I’m at right now, but I can look at the bright sides. First, my computer is free of a lot of the random files I generally want to hoard but have no intention of using any time soon. Second, I have the software that I have wanted for a while, and I’m nearly positive that it’s even working at this point. Third, my blog works again, and I’m even blogging right now!¹⁵ Fourth, uhhhh this is something that I did, which is always an accomplishment.

However, the title of this post has computer in parentheses. Much of the problems that came up today happened because of prior events. Right now, I’m thinking about a soccer-based web novel I’m reading. One of the characters is asked why he isn’t mad when referees make bad calls, and his response is that if his team played perfectly, there wouldn’t be a chance for refs to make a mistake. That is, the thing he’s concerned about happened twelve moves earlier, when someone made a bad judgement or mistake.

That’s something that resonates with me right now. Most of the things that are not going according to how I’d like right now are entirely because I made previous bad decisions and have been doubling down on them. Why am I exhausted?

Primarily because I decided to suddenly go from waking up whenever to waking up at 630 to waking up at 5 am. While I do generally think that it would be best for me to be awake at 5 am, I have to modify other parts of my behavior first. For example, I need to make sure that I’m going to bed at a reasonable hour and getting enough sleep. Given the fact that yesterday and Thursday I came home and immediately fell into ninety minute naps, and that today I again slept for three extra hours when I gave myself the chance, that’s clearly not happening.

Of course, there’s far more to it than just the lack of sleep. I often live my life in phases of crash and run.

I’m not feeding myself emotionally and spiritually/mentally.¹⁶ This is evident in the fact that, upon waking, I still simply want to lie down and simply not have to think or move or experience. That’s a symptom of burnout, I’ve learned. Even though it’s hard to figure out where burnout ends and depression starts, I’ve got a few cues I’m using as general tells.

Chief among them is that, when depressed, I don’t want to do exactly nothing. I want to be watching bright pictures, or listening to something, or playing a dumb game. Something, that is, which takes just enough of my mind to keep me from thinking.

When feeling burnt, by contrast, I find that I really just want to lie and let time pass me by. Since I’m still feeling some of that, it might be a good time to take a break and go lie down until no longer bored. I’ve mentioned uninstalling games¹⁷ a few times, and that’s also been about storage needs.

It’s nominally, however, been about the recognition that I will sit and play some games for hours on end, leaving and feeling nothing so much as numb. I don’t like that, even if it is sometimes a necessary thing. My goal is to more and more find the things I can do that also let me let time pass by/recover from feeling too much mental energy gone without having nothing to show for it at the end.

I want to find the activities that actually restore me, rather than simply tide me by. It’s the unfortunate reality that the better things go, the better they keep going. When thinking about the plate spinning analogy, as I am right now for the first time in a while, that makes complete sense.

Spinning plates are at their most balanced when they’re spinning quickly. The hardest part is getting each plate to spin. So, not only is maintenance easier than starting, maintenance can be delayed a little bit without causing a plate to wobble too much. That’s something worth thinking about.

I’ve stopped eating oats most mornings, bringing my diet to a breakfast pastry, lunch¹⁸, and then rarely anything approaching a dinner. That’s not great, because I do think that at least two full meals a day is important for me. Of course, when I come home, I rarely feel like I have the energy to cook. Maybe I do need a microwave, because the idea of turning on my stove feels like too much sometimes. Worth thinking about, at least.

So, nearly two thousand words in, I’m realizing that the mistakes I made on my computer are, generally, symptomatic of the general mistakes I’m making right now. Rather than consider what I’m about to do hiding, I’m going to go recover as much as I can before working with a friend on one of the many tasks I have that aren’t essential but are good to have done.

kind of↩
yes, two is not the number here↩
we’re not getting into the difference now↩
I slept through multiple alarms today and missed a workout I had been scheduled for. I’m hopeful the fine isn’t too bad↩
is↩
which makes sense, given that it’s a bunch of uncompressed audio that should let me hit any note and any word↩
as someone who crashed a few servers by generating all files then deleting them, rather than sequentially, I understand why it’s easier. Doesn’t make it any less annoying↩
dear future me: sorry for the many things that I’m sure are now broken↩
or not, I’m unsure if I actually mused about it then. Ughhh I still need to come up with my new terminology↩
and, to be fair, still involves↩
open the DAW that they ship with the VST, download the audio files from there, then go to the software and check for updates↩
funny how that works↩
forgot to mention: even once all the files were downloaded, I couldn’t load the actual make words application, for whatever reason↩
so... if it looks wrong, that’s why↩
look at me, getting words on a page↩
is there a meaningful distinction? I’m not entirely sure.↩
maybe only in my analog diary↩
which, admittedly, is usually colorful, full of nutrients, and tasty, along with the fact that I get multiple, which means I’m also getting more calories↩
for my own posterity, mostly↩

On Pilates

Draft 1: 13 November 2025

I mentioned in a few recent posts that I’ve been starting to do Pilates. It’s definitely my favorite form of exercise to talk about. My brothers and I have on multiple occasions enjoyed joking about it.¹

I’ve absolutely enjoyed the few classes I’ve gone to, and wow have I learned that there are parts of me that do not want to move at all. Mostly, that’s my hips and legs. I’ve always known that I was tight, but I never realized quite how tight I am.

And, of course, my shoulders continue to ache when I hold them up for long periods of time. That being said, each of those is absolutely improving as I continue to go to the classes.

However, there’s a very fair question that could be asked: what do I like about Pilates?

I kind of joked to a friend that I like it because so much of the workout is done lying down. That’s not entirely untrue; I do appreciate the fact that I can be horizontal and supported, because it means that I can close my eyes and make the workout more mindful. Also, I’m officially reaching the age in my life that it’s probably best to start being concerned about my joints. Much as I do adore box jumps, my knees probably don’t as much. Doing slower and more controlled motions, even though they aren’t as fun, is probably better.

It is somewhat strange to see what parts of the workout is difficult for others versus myself. I very rarely have issues with moving smoothly or slowly, but lack the endurance to continue through entire sets. This is, so far as I can tell, the exact opposite of the normal experience in the classroom.

So, all this to say, I do really think that going to Pilates will be a good thing for me to continue doing.

Misc

I’ve recently started using a calligraphy pen, and wow it feathers so much, and also wow when I hold it right, everything I write looks absolutely gorgeous. It’s a hard practice to make sure that I am holding it correctly, though. For whatever reason, a part of me is unconsciously shifting my grip to keep the stroke width identical through the entire character or word.

1 mm is incredibly broad for what I tend to write, but that might help with the whole “I am gradually getting too much ink” thing that I complain about below. Also, doing a page a day of writing will probably serve me best there.²

partially the fact that the inventor was named Joseph Pilates, so Pilates is really just named after this guy Joe. Also he was German and the main instrument used in the practice is called a reformer, so I always say it’s making me more Lutheran.↩
I know that I calculated much more than that, but it’s about starting the trend, not getting all the way there at once!↩
for my own posterity, mostly↩

On One Year

Draft 2: 12 November 2025

My last post before the reflection on Music was in July. I know that I went home to see my mother the weekend before Labor Day. She felt ill again, and went to the hospital; internally I joked that I was a bad omen, since coming home had sent her to the hospital twice in a row.

Earlier this year, I introduced the idea of a weekly album club to the remaining members of my family. Despite the fact that we’re the entire Rebelsky family now, we do not use the chat we used to¹

I remember when I was in middle school choir. My mother mentioned that she could hear me singing, and refused to see why that wasn’t a good thing.

In the past year, I have not written here anywhere near as much as I would have liked. In the year coming, I hope that I will write closer to as much as I like. It’s been a year since the first post I made since my mother left my home for the last time.

One of my new work friends recently asked me if I have any new year’s resolutions incoming. Honestly, I have forgotten that time exists. I mentioned my previous, and likely abandoned, tradition of N for N.

So, I figure that this is as good a place as any. In the next year, I will grow. I will become more of the person my mother would want me to be.²

I’m an hour past when I should be asleep, and what better time is there to finish writing, tears drying on my cheek as my shoulders still shake from half-repressed shudders of sorrow and grief?

Draft 1: 12 November 2025

There are countless experiences that we are unable to express in words. Most of the time, we think of these experiences as the incredible, the awesome, the sublime. Sometimes, however, it’s the complete absence of difference that becomes notable.

Today I read through most of “On the Calculation of Volume”³, which is a piece of literary fiction about someone stuck in a time loop. Something about that is really resonating with me right now. There are words for time passing by too quickly, there are ways to express time when it drags like a sullen child. There do not seem to be, however, words for the way that time is when it doesn’t seem to exist.

I’m sure that my emotions must have changed from this time last year. We’re a year from the day of the first post I made in a world without my mother. How has it been so long?

How long can I make my posts about my mother before people will want me to move on? What does it mean to move on?

I’m terrified to read my father’s blog, because I know that he’s in a similar place. They say it’s good to face one’s fears; let’s see what he had to say recently. Wow there’s a special kind of sorrow in the dramatic irony of a post in time.

I don’t think that I’ve cried in a few months. As I just read my father’s three quarter year reflection, however, tears began spilling down my face. These emotions are definitely not new⁴, but I don’t think that I’ve let them be. Maybe that’s for the best.

The letter he wrote for their anniversary this year is somehow even more painful. When I was listening to Not Dead Yet, I was driving towards my final outreach talk as a graduate student. I had to pull over for a moment, the grief was so intense.⁵

At a little over eleven months, my father apparently came to terms with my mom’s absence. I absolutely have not yet; I still immediately think of her when I need to ask a question about medicine or have a thing to share about our Catholic faith.⁶ I do so strongly relate to my dad’s comment that it’s sad no longer being able to have the excitement that comes from knowing I’m going to get to share something with her. He mentions my Ph.D. defense there.

That’s such a hard thing for me to think about. That day, while we celebrated, one of the older members of the (astronomy) department came to ask my advisor what was happening. I don’t know quite why, but she shared that my mom had passed. The prof nodded, walked away. He came back later and congratulated my father.

I’m sure there’s something there, but the emotions have taken any possible story out of it.

“I was depressed, but not sad.” my dad writes in the eleven month reflection.

There’s something almost unfair about the way that depression and grief hit me so differently.

He reflects on the journeys they never got to take together. Like my father, I too mostly enjoy trips for the people I can share them with. I don’t know if my mother would have wanted to take a train trip, but I feel certain that she would have wanted me to travel after my defense.

It’s so sad to realize that a year has come and gone and I did my best to ignore it.

My father reflected on how his mother turned to the faith of her Fathers⁸ when her husband passed. Even though she, too, is now gone, my father was able to connect with her in finding faith in the midst of grief.

I wish I was as brave and strong as my father. I cannot handle the idea of sobbing daily, even if that’s the way I feel. The fact that he can let himself feel that is something I don’t have words for.⁹

“I typically assumed that things generally work out okay in the end.
I guess I was wrong.”

And this brings us to the thirteen month. I’m nearly positive that my maternal grandmother died on a Friday the Thirteenth. Something about that is so fitting, as she was always the most superstitious of those I knew.¹⁰

It feels almost like a betrayal to not do Thanksgiving at home this year. I know that we had many conversations about how little the traditions of Thanksgiving meant to any of us. Still, last year I felt connected to her as I made the one “family recipe” she insisted on every year: butter mushrooms.¹¹ This year, there’s none of her.

Last year I didn’t have her, but the wound was fresh. Every year before, I had her to come down and make conversation. In years where there would others, she would chide me for not offering coffee.¹² In years without them, she’d just sit with me and talk for a while.

“, look, here’s yet another form we had to have her sign. She could barely write her own name at that point”.

There is something so incredibly painful in remembering the way that she slowly faded away.

Her own mother went to the hospital on a Monday, sorted her affairs, and left the hospital on Friday. I think that my mom had wanted to go out like that.

Then again, she also said that she wasn’t ready to die just before I stop remember her being lucid. I still don’t know what the last words she said to me were, nor do I know what the last words she heard me say were. I remember waking up to my brother knocking on my door. I remember walking to the hospital, passing by the same person at the entry desk. Unlike every other time, I don’t think that she waved to us.

None of us had the words. We had the need to pray, however. I was the only one with the words of a prayer, and so we did the “Lux perpetua”, the one prayer I still find myself praying regularly.¹³

I didn’t realize that my dad had taken down my mom’s medical texts. Those books sat in an unreachable part of our home for my entire life. I guess that it makes sense we should get rid of them; many probably would find homes where they could be of use.

My dad thinks that we won’t associate any given book with him. I think that’s probably true, but I do also have the firm suspicion that there will be books I cannot separate from him in my mind. War for the Oaks I think will always be a book from my mother in my mind. Love and Knishes is a book from my dad’s mother. I didn’t think of these facts until recently forced to think of death, though, so who can say.

I truly hope that I don’t have to find an answer to that question for a long while yet.

Draft .8: 12 November 2025

I’ll be totally honest here:¹⁴ I have found that almost seven hundred words in to this, two full drafts later, I still don’t know what this musing will be about. I guess that there is something in the fact that mentally I always think of these creations as musings (per my father) or blogs (per the fact that they’re on the internet). Let’s take a minute¹⁵ and look at why I decided to call it a folly.

Perhaps because of the time of the year, perhaps because of the music I’m listening to, and perhaps because I just looked through the history of my posts here, but I find myself not quite sad, but certainly in a tearful emotion. It’s so strange to think about the way that I started 2024, completely unaware of the fact that I would end it in grief. Looking at my reflection at the start of the year, I barely mention my family at all. I knew that my mom was dying of cancer; somehow that didn’t make me decide to think about her.

Anyways, I want to look forward, I think? I think that this whole post might end up being posted as random musings, because I don’t know what to say here. That’s probably as good as it’ll get.

Draft 0.5: 12 November 2025

I often have trouble creating and maintaining routine. And, of course, I have the normal issue of wanting to fix every issue in my life at once, rather than as they come up. With that in mind, I’m going to try to start accepting that each week is about creating a new good habit or removing an old bad habit. Given that it’s working right now, I’m going to call this week’s habit “get up earlier”.

Every time in my life that I can consistently wake well before I’m needed somewhere, I adore it. So, then, why do I not keep it up? Because entropy is always the secret winner.

One morning will come, I’ll be incredibly tired from some event the night before, and so I will sleep in a little longer. After all, the habit should serve me, not the other way around. Then, more awake than I’m used to at night, I stay up late again. I sleep in again, and I’m suddenly waking just in time again.

So, how has resetting my sleep been going? Honestly, really well. The alarm has been set for half five since Monday.

Monday I slept again until 610. Tuesday I lay in bed until 550, despite having initially awoken a little before the alarm. Today I woke before the alarm again, and then started reading at 530. From there, I realized that I wanted to write, and so here I am.

In comparison to my previous flection about the month, there is a lot missing from this morning. I am not working on Celtic knotwork in the morning any of these days.¹⁶ I have made exactly zero progress with the different pieces I’m working on in regards to composition.¹⁷

Draft 0: 11 November 2025

This morning I woke up to find that it had snowed while I was sleeping. The snow, as it always is, was beautiful. The snow, as often happens to early snowfall, is gone now.

I’m realizing now that part of what’s kept me from understanding the passage of time this year is the fact that the weather has not followed the passage of time. It was in the fifties last week.¹⁸

Anyways, I’m not entirely sure what’s going to come out of today’s writing.

I’ve recently been reading more than before, and this evening I learned how to play bridge. I’ve also been working on an idea for a dear friend’s present, but I’m now wondering if it might not be best made in a medium other than embroidery.¹⁹ After nearly two hours of banging my head against a wall, I finally found the reason that I could not get my knots to line up. That’s nice and all, but it does leave a sour taste in my mouth.

Because I stayed late to play bridge, it’s already my bed time, and that’s something that I want to make real efforts towards respecting. So, I guess not every day ends up being a worthwhile post?

Hmmm, that’s not satisfying as a thing to post, though. Guess this will wait for tomorrow, when I can give more time to thinking about the framing for this?

Unimportant Family, whose last post came at the end of September before my mother died. We planned what we called “jailbreak”, or my mother going out into the world.↩
that is, more of who I am, unashamedly. More than that, though, someone who cares fro those who need caring for↩
book one↩
definitely is a word I’ve only recently obtained the spelling for. Every time I write it, I remember the story my mom used to tell about how her own mother could spell check her essays over the phone, because my mom always misspelled the same words↩
I didn’t actually, but emotionally I did, and there’s something to be said for non literal speech here. As my mother used to say, lies by omission are still lies. It only tracks, then, that emotional truths are truths just the same.↩
or, at least, what was our Catholic faith. Somehow, even as I find myself doubting so much else, the idea that she is in Heaven has not once entered my mind. Regardless of what the afterlife is, I know that she is in the best one.↩
is this among my first profanity here? I think so?↩
mothers?↩
wow, what a coincidence, given the theme of the day, I guess↩
I’m told she closed her eyes and held her breath whenever she drove over a bridge. Given how often she took the bridge from Iowa to Illinois, I really hope that isn’t true. The Mississippi is a big river↩
the recipe is more or less in the name. Basically just slowly simmer a bunch of mushrooms in butter for as long as you can.↩
I wonder what she’d think about my daily coffee drinking now?↩
every time that I pass by a graveyard or gravestone↩
at first this was a semi colon, but I think a colon is the correct punctuation. Also wow it’s a pain and a half switching between Mac and windows for typing.↩
me? procrastinate? never!↩
Though, I did figure out the main thing yesterday, and now I’m going to try to figure out a medium. I’m really leaning towards ribbon or rope for some reason↩
the same friend’s wedding also includes a trio singing a song, but the current arrangement is for a soloist over a trio. I just need to rewrite the harmony lines to make sure that there’s only a need for two. Well, may as well do that now.↩
I think↩
Right now I’m kind of thinking ribbon that’s looped into the knotwork↩
for my own posterity, mostly↩

Monthly Flection

Draft 3: 10 November 2025

I didn’t love quite how messy the last draft was in the context of this nominally being a flection.¹ With that in mind, let’s think about this month. My main goals are to become a functional adult.

August taught me to finish my degree. September taught me to stop being a grad student. October taught me to be a salary man. Now November lets me become my best self.

In general, the big goals I have for the month are a clean home and a song for the upcoming wedding. Next highest priority is the pattern and starting on the embroidery project, along with writing here. Following that, we have a decent sleep schedule and reading the² library books I checked out.

Draft 2: 10 November 2025

Well, I missed the chance to post this as a true proflection, and so instead we have a flection. Month is not quite over, but we’re about half way through it. So, what do I want to make of the month?

I really do want to write here more. I don’t entirely know what the barrier is³

Unlike the previous draft, though, I’m not as interested here in exploring exactly how much time I can and will allocate to different tasks. Instead, I hope to use this as a way of figuring out what’s important to me right now, and what I can and should be trying to push myself towards.

Clean home. Yesterday a friend expressed that they want to see my home before they finish graduate school. That should be a completely reasonable request, and so one goal I have is to have a home which is clean enough that I can have others visit.⁴ More than that, I like knowing where things are, I like having a home that doesn’t cause me visual or mental pain when I look at it. I just recently got a new shelving unit, and I do really truly believe that the biggest issue I had was a lack of storage space. Of course, if I had too little storage space, that does also imply that I have too much stuff. Nevertheless.

Exercise. I recently signed up for a pilates gym. Both to get use out of my spending and because exercise is good for me, I want to go to that more. I like Pilates because it’s done laying down a lot of the time. For whatever reason, the workout feels much better when I don’t have to be standing or sitting up.

Music. I don’t entirely know what I’m thinking here, but I guess there is a very limited amount of time left to write the piece for a friend’s wedding. I should probably start that tomorrow.⁵ Outside of that, I’ve been listening to a lot of music, and would like to keep doing that.

Celtic Knotwork. As I was thinking about how busy I feel despite having objectively more free time, I thought about how, while visiting college friends during my train trip, some of them asked if I was still drawing Celtic knots. They’re certainly an activity that i can do for ages, as evidenced by my constantly getting lost in them. However, a dear friend is also graduating soon, and so I would like to make an embroidered piece for them. This requires crafting a pattern first, which right now means both drawing out the knot and figuring out a way to have breaks that I like.⁶

Reading. I have checked out a number of books from the local library, and so I would very much like to read them so I can return them. That’s something that leads well into the next point.

Less screen time. I don’t like staring at my screen. I particularly don’t like staring at my screen and feeling like I have nothing going on in it. Reading is fun, and so is experiencing⁷ the world around me.

There are countless other things, but now let’s play the role of devil’s advocate.

I want to spend more time with friends, and that’s time that I can’t be writing here.

I realize that right now, my web novel feels less like something I want to do and more and more like a weight around my neck. I’ve had some ideas for more things I could write, but have felt like I can’t write them because I should instead be writing this web novel. Given that it’s something that I am doing entirely for fun, that’s nonsense. I can and should write other things.

In particular, I want to try some flash fiction, poetry again, and ideally some sort of novel thing.

Anyways, rather than continuing to make a wishlist, let’s think about ways to make the schedule more doable for me.

First, I’ve learned that there is no point to me getting to work before about 710. I really enjoy starting my morning with a pastry, and they don’t get put out until then.⁸ Since the Pilates morning class takes place at 6am, I need to be awake in time to reach that. It’s generally better, so I’m told, to have a self-similar sleep schedule. With that in mind, waking at half five feels like the new goal.

On days without Pilates⁹, that leaves me with an hour and change before I can go to work. That time is easily and well spent cleaning, reading, writing, or drawing. Realistically, I think that it’s probably best spent cleaning or reading because the drawing, embroidering, and writing can all suck my mind into them.

On days with Pilates, that’s obviously not going to happen. However, getting my body moving during what’s¹⁰ going to be a cold winter is definitely worth more than that.

As a consequence of getting to work earlier, I can then leave work earlier. That means that I have the time when others might be commuting home to instead work on the things which are important to me, such as writing this here site. Before bed is a great time for analog activities, such as embroidery and reading, or writing by hand, which is something that I’m enjoying.

I am eepy in the morning.¹¹ This both makes it hard to get up and makes me feel less well rested. Solution: going to bed earlier doesn’t really seem to help, because then I just wake up more in the night. I’m hoping that moving my electronics back out of the bedroom at night might help, and at worst may consider investing in an alarm clock that I keep outside of arm’s reach.

I’m weary when I come home from work. If I schedule meditation time right away, or some other activity that gives me energy, then that’s not as much of a problem, at least as I’m seeing right now.

I don’t entirely know what a clean home means. That’s probably not true, but it’s a convenient fiction for myself, right now at least. Realistically, I only need my home to be clean to the point that others will see it. Is that doable? Maybe.

I don’t know what to write. I think that might actually be one of the barriers, but realistically that’s nonsense. I’ve never once typed more than a hundred words and not had more to write.¹²

It’s easier to not do things than to do them. Steam games are really easy. For now, I think that does mean that I should uninstall steam and all its games from my computer. That is no longer an easy thing to do. I will, once the embroidery pattern is made, leave the embroidery out. That will also make it easier to do.

Part of me is considering leaving the writing site I use open as a rule when I close my computer. That will certainly make it easier to use, but the only question is if I’ll then just start getting rid of it immediately. Who can say?

Anyways, since spending time with friends is important to me, I’m off to do that.

Draft 1: 2 November 2025 (working title: Monthly Proflection)

Unlike most months, where my first post of the month is a reflection on the previous month, I figure that this month might better serve me as a forward facing. That is, rather than reflect where I was, I want to proflect¹³ on where I want to be at the next reflection. Light takes time to travel between a mirror and my eyes, and my own goals can too.

This month I want to be better about writing. I have spent this past weekend unsure of how I feel, other than bad. In large part, that was only possible because I let myself get away from writing. Where can I make time for writing in the every day?

In general, I’m told I should be working at least nine. That leaves seven hours.

If I drive to work, it’s about a ninety minute round trip, leaving five and a half. If I bus, instead, it’s about three total hours, but I do also get about two hours of reading time, leaving fourish.

I want to start doing cardio every day. Given that I should not do cardio just before bed¹⁴, that probably means that it’s a right after work activity. If I say half an hour for that, that leaves me with five or three and a half.

Reading is important to me, and I’d like to spend at least an hour a day reading. That is, five or still three and a half.

This month I want to find what the minimal amount of clutter or mess or chaos is sustainable in my own home. I have every faith that it’s much cleaner than I currently think, even if I don’t entirely know where, exactly, the line is.

I want to ask myself what things that I own do I actually want to keep. There are a lot of things in my home which I have solely because it feels somehow wrong to dispose of them. That is far from a good reason to keep a cord for a device I no longer own, and so I’m hoping to start spending time thinking about that.

I want to do NaNoWriMo, even if I’m not going to participate in the official version or even necessarily write a novel. I do, in theory, at least, want to get back into the web novel, and this is a good month to start doing the writing for it.¹⁵ Otherwise, I want to be hand writing in my journal, and I want to be doing these sorts of things on my site.

If I leave for the day at 645, I can get to work by 710 or so. If I want to spend twenty minutes doing hand writing before that, I need to start writing by 625. Since it takes me at least tenish minutes to get ready, that means that I should try setting my alarm for six fifteen tonight. It’s not quite 2100, and I did take a nap this afternoon, so that should be more than doable.

There is a big voice in my own head that thinks that I spend too much time in bed. That is, I think that if I gave myself less time to sleep, I would potentially not only sleep better, but feel more rested upon waking. Whether or not that’s true, it is something I want to try to explore this month.

I’ve also just today finished¹⁶ a book about how to organize my life given my neurotype.¹⁷ What I took from the book is that I should not be afraid to ask for help and that if there are services which can take care of tasks for me, I should follow through on doing them. Right now I feel like I’m generally eating ok, so probably not going to do grocery deliveries.

I don’t like the idea of a stranger in my home, so for now at least I’m going to try to have my home organized. I do think that part of the issue is a lack of storage, and so I have made steps towards fixing that. I do also need to get rid of possessions, which November is a great month for.

Eight hundred words later, I think that this is a good place to call it for the night. Time to prep a space for me to write tomorrow morning, and then hopefully force myself into the task!

not a reflection because not pointing back↩
admittedly excessive number of↩
clearly, as I am currently writing↩
of course, there’s the secondary issue that I don’t have seating in my home, but that’s solvable by buying some cushions.↩
because tonight is for this flection↩
in the previous Celtic embroidery, half the breaks look really pretty and the other half look ugggggly, at least to me↩
most of↩
no, I will not be accepting comments about not getting a pastry. They’re delicious and brighten my morning↩
read, at least two or three workdays and probably both weekends↩
with any luck↩
for the unknowing: eepy is slang for tired. I think it’s a shortening of sleepy↩
any previous evidence to the contrary is untrue, I’ve decided↩
yes, I am taking advantage of my doctoral right to coin new terms↩
according to the sleep people, at least↩
side note, I have no idea why, but right now my fingers really feel like they’re flying across the keys.↩
and more or less started↩
or, at least, given a neurotype I could have been assigned at the time that the book was written↩
for my own posterity, mostly↩

One Year

Draft 1

I’m sad that I can’t talk to you about my first few days at work. You would have laughed at how I forgot what meaningful use is.

The sunset on the lake was beautiful tonight; I’m sorry that you never got to sit on the dock and watch it like you wanted.

I’ve been generally doing well; I don’t tear up when the fact that you died comes up any more.

There’s a poem and accompanying textpost on tumblr about the way that men love. One that stuck out to me was the man who became a cobbler because his own mother was buried without shoes.

I am not an oncologist, and I could never be one; watching even one mother die like you did would break me forever. I will work with oncology; even though better charting wouldn’t have saved you, it still feels like what I can do.

So much still hurts. I don’t use purple or pink any more. I can’t listen to the Bible or Catechism in a Year; that was supposed to be something we did together. I can’t write my web novel; that was what you said helped during chemo.

The death certificate says that it’s been a year. Of course, the death certificate is right; the world exists as the bureaucracy says and no other way. Even though it’s been a year, it’s been more than a year since the last time you held me. It’s been more than a year since the last words you spoke.

I want to think that the last thing you heard me say was “I love you”. For my sake, I hope that I got to say goodbye, even if I only meant for the night.

I think that part of me will always be stuck in bed, waking up to the sound of my brother knocking on my door. Even without him saying anything, I knew.

Part of me will always be stuck at the side of your deathbed, saying the Lux Aeterna, since I was the only one who had a prayer ready.

Part of me will be at your deathbed before you died, when you said that you didn’t care about the funerary arrangements except that you wanted them to be Catholic. I haven’t been able to sing City of God in almost a year.

One friend who you never got to meet texted me today. I think you would have loved her.

I didn’t do as you asked; I graduated before [].² I hope that you wouldn’t be mad at me. It sucks so much that not only did I have a graduation that felt rushed, not only did I have to do it without you, but all the while I was doing it I knew deep in my heart and keenly in my mind that I was disobeying your last wishes.

You gave me a task related to both of my brothers. I don’t think that you gave them one related to me.

I haven’t had these great wracking sobs in months. I almost forgot what it felt like to have tears leaking down my face as each breath catches, regardless of what else is going on.

I haven’t had anyone message me or stop me in the street to say how much you meant to them in what feels like a decade; rationally I know it can’t have been more than seven months.

You told us not to stay at your bedside day in and day out. Does it make me a bad son to have listened?

I look at the last photos we took as a family, and I hardly recognize you. When the friend asked me if I remembered your face, I could only think of the photo you used for everything; I think that it was at least fifteen years old by the time that you retired it.

At the wake, I had to walk away and sit alone. Despite everyone knowing that I was doing that to be alone, I still had a number of people stop in. I scrolled through my voice messages, knowing that I had never deleted any.

I’m sad that, in the over a year we had planning for your death, I never had you send me a message simply saying “I love you”.

The weekend I came back to Madison, or at least what feels like it, I went to a club with a friend for her birthday. While waiting outside the bathroom for a friend, I met another mother dying of cancer; she had no idea how to tell her children. I was able to tell her that I appreciated everything you did for us, and that I made it through.

It’s been a year, and yet part of me still feels like I should have covered mirrors. It feels wrong to realize that I wore a white shirt today of all days. Today was too beautiful of a day to be a reminder that you’re gone forever.

Today was far too lacking in beauty to be a reminder of the day your pain stopped.

How do I tell the people around me that the reason I don’t mention you when talking about what my family does isn’t estrangement? I guess it’s the most permanent form of estrangement, so I suppose they understand.

maybe if I say that one more time, or one time more, it will tell my heart that it can heal.

I try really hard not to swear on this blog, and I think that this might actually be the first profanity↩
I never use identifying names for my family, but it feels wrong to say my brother here, when I’m referring to one in particular↩

Review of Musicking

Draft 1: 6 October 2025

I am not irregularly asked what my favorite book is. There are any number of ways to answer it. I tend to lean on one of a few answers: the books I can read the most often, the books I have read the most, the books that have most inspired me, the books that most changed the way I move through the world, the books that I think will most impress the asker. It is the penultimate of these which concerns Christopher Small’s Musicking.

I’ve written here before about the semester I spent on an independent study focused on what it means to listen to music. I was assigned any number of readings and listenings, and many of them were great. The one that changed me most, however, was an article by Small also called Musicking. My biggest takeaway from that article was that anyone involved in the creation of music, down to the person selling tickets at the window or the movers who put the piano on stage, is a musician.

The book takes a similar, if more in depth¹ look at the question: what is music?

Small’s major argument is that music is not a noun, it is a verb. Musicking is the act we do, which is full of the different relationships we have to each other, the repertoire, and so on. This book also makes clear just how strange the modern orchestral concert is in the grand scheme of the world. Small takes aim at Platonism, pointing out the ridiculousness of an abstract perfect form. His take on music is best summed up on page 218: “just as there is no such thing as music, neither is there such a thing as beauty.” That is, although things can be beautiful, beauty is not a thing which exists independent of the experience. Likewise, music exists solely as performance and interrelation.

While reading the book, I was reminded of just how much I truly am unlearned in musical literature. I had vague notions of many of the points he hit about masculine and feminine subjects, semiotics, and the like. However, I would not have anywhere near the ability to write about the subjects² that he treated as mere set dressing.

Also in the book were some beautiful lines and thought provoking ideas. I have scattered notes, which I’m tempted to present as is³. I’m also tempted to simply say “read it yourself”. I’ll take a middle ground, however, and point to some portions I found particularly moving or thought provoking.

One of the chief points Small comes back to again and again is the idea of ritual. All music, he argues, has ritual significance. The ritual of listening to a walkman⁴, though different than the ritual of going to a theatre, is still one in itself. Similarly, there is an argument that the modern orchestral hall is sacred in the classic meaning of the word; it cannot be used for the day to day practical, and is only useful for its dedicated purpose.

Small, like I love to, attacks equal temperament briefly. Equal temperament is mathematical and abstract, completely divorced from what a human would naturally come to, much like modern society. I tend to dislike equal temperament for how it makes each key the same, which is part of his argument as well. It’s only a short portion of the book, almost an aside.

At least twice he brings up the fact that no pre-modern music was written with the idea that we would listen to it again and again. Orchestras were by and large written to be performed at a specific event, and then never again. Even those which were composed for replaying require an orchestra. Before modern recording technology, that put a hard limit on the number of times we could listen to Eroica.

Finally, I’d like to list a few quotations that for whatever reason I felt compelled to stop and write down. There are some quotes I said “find on page X”, but those are clearly less powerful to me.

124: “Those who talk of delayed gratification ought to be made to sit through all of the Terminator movies, followed perhaps by the Die Hard series. No delayed gratification there either; they grip, as they are meant to grip, from the first frame.” This quote comes from a section about how the development of the Western canon is about delaying gratification more and more.

197: “relationships between performers and listeners may be close, intimate, and even loving, as when the lover or the suitor sings or plays to the beloved or the sought.” I don’t know what about this quote struck me so hard, but something in it is just so beautiful to me that I cannot but rewrite it. I think it might be the repetition of love in loving, lover beloved?

202: “like all wind instruments it is animated into life by the breath from his body, the most intimate relationship one can have with a musical instrument”. I disagreed with this take, because I find that something like a cello can be more intimate, even if I cannot express quite why. Something about holding it and embracing, maybe?

also 202: “Simple it may be in its construction, but primitive it is not”. This, like the above quote, is about a hand-carved flute. He points out that the modern conveniences like slides and valves make playing far easier. That’s such a great point, and I am honestly kind of surprised that he didn’t tie in the whole “because the shepherd can make more microadjustments, his music is more free”,⁵ or something about the constraints the modern instrument cause for the modern composer.

212: “in my opinion any music teacher caught ... using the epithet tone-deaf of a pupil should be sacked on the spot.” I too agree that there are few who are tone deaf, and that the teacher should serve as an encourager, not a discourager.

213: “all musicking is ultimately a political act”. It’s important to remember that everything is political. By definition, the relationships we create have political meaning.

220: John Cage used to respond to interview questions he didn’t like “I don’t find that a very interesting question”. There’s a kind of power in that.

Also, Mozart apparently stopped practicing at the age of 7, because his day to day music work was enough for him to stay in musical shape.

All in all, this book was incredibly fun to read, powerful, and relatively easy, though very deep. I would highly recommend that others read it, and I have every intention of reading it again.

Draft 0: 17 September 2025

Before I start this review, I just have to say that it is wild to me how much books from the late nineteen hundreds feel both like they just happened and happened centuries ago. Small, for instance,

Draft -1: 16 September 2025

Ok so technically I haven’t finished Musicking yet, but I’m optimistic. I do find it interesting that Small frames the entire book through the lens of an orchestral concert. I was assigned an article about it back when I was doing an independent study on listening to music. It was absolutely one of the most influential writings that I’ve ever encountered, if only for how it makes me think of music.

Small’s key argument is that music is not a thing but an action. When we music, we are listeners or performers or dancers or stage hands.

I love this take because it helps me to deal with that most fundamental urge of the scientist in me: labeling what is and isn’t music and who is and isn’t a musician. Music is what we make of it, and musicians are those that make it.

I enjoyed greatly the aside on Cartesian dualism and especially the way that Small makes a point that so much of the industrialization we live and think under is like the water a fish has no name for. I hadn’t considered the mind matter dualism really at all, especially in the context of music.

Daily Reflection: 6 October 2025

as one might hope, given that it is a full book↩
hah, get it, because subject is a thing in music but it was also a subject of the book↩
the reader is welcome to request them↩
dating the author↩
not direct quote, to be clear↩
new today↩
for my own posterity, mostly↩

Monthly Reflection

Draft 1: 5 October 2025

Wild, last month I posted and wrote on the 4th. This month I do so on the 5th. Hopefully this is not a trend which will continue. I’d like to get back into daily postings, but who can say if that’s doable. Still, today is the last day before I become a company man, which means that it’s a perfect time to think about the past month and my past life.

Reflecting on last month, daily follies didn’t really end up happening, nor did finding a better term for them than follies. Dictionary of terms started to happen, but only very briefly. Have yet to really start making up terms, which is a bit of a shame.

I rebound my web novel, but only read the first fifteen or so of three hundred some chapters. This month, I think that it might be more productive to instead plot out the rest of the series. I just today watched a video on plotting, which suggested that the story should be seen as a series of arcs, each of which feeds into the next, which is slightly more intense, until the very end, at which point obviously the plot peaks. There’s probably an element of that which would be good to do. At the very least, I think that it could be good to remind myself where the series is supposed to end, and then figure out how to get there. Since it’s been long enough since I wrote anything for it, I don’t think that pantsing it¹ is going to work for me. Next month is NaNo though, so there’s something to be said about waiting to start writing until that starts.

I did not write the song for the wedding, and I have only gotten about halfway through Musicking. Binding books went generally well, and that was fun. I didn’t bring yarn, but I did bring embroidery ingredients, and did not use them.

Didn’t stretch much, and do still note that I am often tight.² I did just recently come into a massage gun, and it is wild how it actually works to improve flexibility.³ Shoulder didn’t seem to be my issue this past month, nor did it feel like the issue today. Then again, I’m still not doing my historic shoulder stretches, so maybe I’m just deluding myself.

I read very little of the books that I said I would get. I ended up buying a few along the journey, so in a way I read negative of the books I brought. That being said, I have finished one of the new buys, and that is certainly something to talk about in the future.

Meditation and prayer weren’t going great, and still aren’t. I’ve recently started reading a book about Autistic Burnout, and there’s something really interesting in it. Or, more accurately, there’s a lot that’s really interesting, but one that felt immediately actionable.

When people are depressed, they don’t want to do anything, and the cure is doing something. When autistic people are burning out, they don’t want to do anything, and the cure is doing nothing. I’m trying to let myself not do anything, and I am taking a lot of naps these past few days, which isn’t something I can really keep going for much longer. However, there’s something mindful about letting myself stop for a little bit.

I did do some meditation/prayer on the trip, but actively doing the rote prayer from my past still hurts a lot, and I don’t really know why. I’ll make time to try that this month.

I did buy a sketchbook, because the part of me that wants to draw when I have nothing else going on did in fact rear its head.

NaNoWriMo term for writing without plotting↩
let’s take a quick ten to stretch right now↩
I did the very scientific stretch both legs, massage gun one, then stretch both again and noticed that the one I gunned was notably looser↩

On MoMA

Draft 1: 25 September 2025

Lasterday I went to the New York Museum of Modern Art. As I had known, but never articulated, I have a favorite kind of art: non-representational art with phyiscally meaningful texture. That is, I want to be able tosee the paint as paint, even if it is also acting as something else.¹ While looking at a Rothko, I was inspired to write a poem.² That seemed like as good of a way to consider the best arts I liked.

1:³
In the soft and subtle shading, as blue fades to deeper blue
A source of light unseen, unmentioned, seems to frame the vicious shape
These blues unseen in nature seem primed to bleed off the deep red sea
consume and so be consumed, the painting draws me in.

2:⁴
Grasping hands and wailing mouths
eyes as from a fog
Some heaven-seen corrupted
by mortal misery
That blood-pure blue cuts through the clouds,
Where Adam should be reaching out
But Adam is gone, Creator too
what’s left but bloody blue?

3:
If Rothko screams in single shades
What is this apple’s song?
One stroke of green, on deepest red
A mirror symmetry

4:⁵
An oil slick of global south
Metallic and contrived
yet strokes of brush still visible
As textures slowly wind
Or is it more auroral?
The Dancing night-time light?
Which reminds us of the dance we’re on.
When borders fin’ly cease

5:⁶
What weight can any color hold
When gravity exists?
What bloody martyrs’ final cris
Would echo on this painted shroud?
There’s something in the sunrise scheme (scene? screen?)
Which brings me to my sobbing, weakened knees.
3 necks are bound like shirts or murdered men.
3 times I must review this
3 times, 3 views, 3 forms

6:⁷
Soemthing in the martyr’s red on black
The highlight it implies
Or in the white of careless folds
Which frame on further pause
I could not but stop and stare

7:⁸
the concrete does not speak to me
too fixed in vapid form.
To swim, to dance, a gambling lifetime chance
A body broken, bent

8:⁹
What suffering countless centuries have seen
caused rudely (hah) by the sacrifice, which suffering was meant to cease
9:¹⁰
Fifteen by seven, pinned neatly in a grid
Fifteen by seven sketches of man, bread,¹¹
Fifteen by seven, so Fifty some left out
Fifteen by seven shades of life and living
Fifteen by seven by one
Fifteen by seven, once alive, now butterflies, hung.

10:¹²
The tears creation wept
The tans of toxic waste
the figure of a little boy
pulled to the cage of the sky

11:¹³
The threnody of misery
THe sextet of dispair
The chains of dying broken men
The gears of war spin ever and forever on without cease
A plane may crash
And more will die

12:¹⁴
This tryptich soon will haunt my dreams
Forms caged in static line
Yet closer inspection quickly uncovers
The forms are broken fragments
held, preserved in gem and love

13:¹⁵
It’s rudely crude, a relic from a long-held past
An animation of a woman forced
Art from numbers, tabbed and punched in cards into machine

14:¹⁶
I want to come another time
To see the mark I’ve left
in uncured light consuming
In magnetic holding up

15:¹⁷
Monuments to a fallen king
Made by his own two hands
The shape, though fixed, is rough and mixed
No two of six the same
Is man unable to imagine
Some great work not made of iron?
Or like the blood that others shed
Or like the callused worker’s hands
Or Or like the song of hammerblow?
16:¹⁸
I wish my life was just this perfect
Clean lines to be defined with popped out text

Well, fun to see that I did very much get caught on metaphor, and fun to see the way that they shifted as I kept writing. Even though this is the order I wrote the poems, it’s not the order that I approached the works. I ceased returning to the initial works after 12, because I was very lost, so 13–16¹⁹ are from the memory and terrible photo of the pieces I have. 12 was the first of the paintings written about that I saw.

Daily Reflection: 25 September 2025

yeah, of course I like rothko↩
not a good one, to be fair.↩
On Rothko’s 37 and 19↩
On Dorothea Tanning’s “Dogs of Cythera”↩
On Frank Bowing’s “Raining Down South”↩
On Sam Gilliam’s “10/27/69” (bonus fact, this one is the only one I cried at)↩
On Kay WalkingStick’s “Teepee Form Drawing”↩
On Giacomo Balla’s “Swifts: Paths of Movement + Dynamic Sequence”↩
On Judith Lauland’s “Concrete 61”↩
On Christopher Cozier’s “Tropical Night”↩
new line break added here bc feels appropriate↩
On Joan Miro’s “The Birth of the World”↩
On Jose Clemente Orozco’s “Dive Bomber and Tank”↩
On Morris Grave’s “English Nightfall Piece”, “French Nightfall Piece”, “Roman Nightfall Piece”↩
On Rebecca Allen’s “Girl Lifts Skirt”↩
On Lotus L. Kang’s “Molt (Toronto-Chicago-Woodridge-New York-Los Angeles-)”↩
On Richard Serra’s “Equal”↩
On Mel Bochner’s “Measurement Room”↩
happy, those who care about dashes?↩
for my own posterity, mostly. I should really start noting which pen is which.....↩

On Speed

Draft 1: 23 September 2025

Last night I went to dinner with some college friends. It was a wonderful time, and as may be unsurprising, we eventually got ontot he topic of media we consume. I mentioned that I consume my media at multiples of the nominally intended speed, and they expressed potential interest in it. Of course, I have also received any number of objections to this method from others in my life.

The most salient objection I can think of is that the speed something plays does a lot to communicate. Humor is reliant on timing, and so on. For whatever reason, I find this only to be true for me in musical terms; a song or musical interlude played faster or slower feels fundamentally different in a way that speech faster or slower does not. Perhaps this is because speed is relative in most vocalizations but absolute in music.

Regardless, I think that the point of creator’s intent is a reasonable objection to my consumption. Of course, there’s much to be said for the fact that I consume almost nothing as it was originally intended. All music written before the 1900s was intended to be played and enjoyed live. Any music outside of the Western canon is and was meant to be enjoyed actively, whether via dance, participation, or verbal appreciation.¹

When I read a book, there is almost no chance that I read the book at the exact pace an author assumes. Then again, as an author, I do not think that I have a pace that I intend my book to be read. There’s an inherent serial nature to much of this writing, and especially my web serial. That being said, given that many serialized fiction is presented and resold as a single compendium, it’s clear that’s not important either.

Do directors and creators of film and television intend for shows to be at the speed they are?

I am reminded of the finale of Game of Thrones, which is now infamously mocked for having absolutely atrocious lighting. Audio in general these days is poorly mixed and recorded, and much of the art of the process has been lost. If I am watching something where craft was not a major part of the process, how much should I respect the craft?

When we talk about the way that nothing lasts, part of it is due to intentionally planned obselescence. However, there is also the inherently craftless nature of what we produce. Few people I know can or would willingly create something intentionally subpar. It is only in this current economic and industrial model, where creation is so fundamentally removed from human touch, that planned obselescence can be possible, or that clothing which disintigrates upon washing can exist.

This is not to say that I think premodern society was better than our current one. This is to say, however, that consuming modern media at speeds outside of those the director may have designed does not feel wrong to me.

Taking it even one step further, I think about the fact that music has been almost completely subsumed in the craft of film. Music does not exist for anything except for the emotional responses we have been trained to have to it. Society² rails against Muzak, and so I see nothing wrong with railing against the emotionally manipulative nature of music in television and film.

Again, though, I can consier older works, where lighting and sound were considered. They would never have imagined me watching on a computer screen. Should I also not watch it like that?

Daily Reflection: 23 September 2025

is it clear I’m reading about music right now?↩
rightly, I’d argue↩
for my own posterity, mostly↩

On Emptiness

Draft 2: 22 September 2025

Is it an absence? The absence of my mother weighs on me daily. The absence of food in my stomach or water in my system cries out to be sated.

Is it a void? Atoms in the interstellar medium can go centuries or millenia without encountering another. On days when I feel most alone, I feel like one of those atoms.

Is it clarity? Only by emptying the space between viewer and object can the object be seen. To empty oneself of doubt and fear is a power spiritual experience.

Is it calmness? In the modern society, life is defined by motion and excess. To stop, then, and simply be, feels as though it carries with it a sense of emptiness.

What does it mean to be empty? Where is the line between numbness and emotional stability? What are the words I can use to express the feeling of depression, where the weight of some unknowable and uncaring burden drags each motion. Unlike the suffering of the martyr, there is no sense of purpose.

What does it mean to rest? Is rest another form of emptiness? Should I think of it as laying down the burdens I carry? Should I think of it as a way to refill myself after carrying a heavy load?

When I write to the point no more words are there, have I created an emptiness? I often refer to the feeling as having run my well dry. Have I not, rather, filled the page and my mind with the ideas in the writing?

Thermodynamics assures that energy cannot be created nor destroyed. Relativity assures that matter and energy can be interchanged. In order to empty one location, another must be filled.

Is it possible to empty a space without filling another? What about the void of space? As space itself grows, the distances between stars grows as well. Is that emptiness?

Draft 1: 22 September 2025

I don’t entirely know what my goal is here. Yesterday I started reading “Bluets”, a reflection on the color blue and a semi-memoir, at the recommendation of the bookseller.¹ Near the beginning, it mentions that there was a French author² who, upon coming to athiesm, started referring to the sky as the blue, rather than the heavens.³ I thought about that, and the fact that I too find the use of words more meaningful than they may at first seem. Does English’s general usage of sky rather than heavens point to the general athiesm of modern Anglophone culture?

Then, I got on a train. During the train ride, I did not reflect, I did not muse, I did not craft follies. Instead, I played a new video game I got.⁴ While playing, the hours did pass away. However, rather than ending the game feeling accomplished, or even satisfied, I mostly felt numb.

I went for a short walk after reading the opening 50 pages of “Bluets”, and I reflected on my own emotions.⁵ I recalled that, when depressed, there’s a painful sense of emptiness. When I feel strong emotions, it can be tempting to say that I would rather feel nothing. Remembering the words I used while feeling nothing, however, I am able to take the emotions more easily.

I do not think that I could write a long exploration of the color blue. I think that, if I was to write a color-memoir, I would use the color red.

As someone who frequently forgets to eat or drink, there exists the immediate physical meaning. My stomach growls, my throat gets parched, and my body tells me that there is a void to be filled.

When I am able to meditate, or wake up from a blissful sleep, I find that my mind has nothing within it. Unlike the negative emptiness of unmet physical needs, this is an emptiness of negatives.

When I finished playing the game yesterday, my mind was empty in a neutral to negative way. The emptiness inside was not because I had only vague senses of positive sentiment, but because everything had been pushed down.

I think that emptiness is a hard word, because to me it feels connotatively neutral. That’s good, insofar as like often we want a neutral word to describe both the positive and negative ways to have an absence.

After all, in order for something to be clearly seen, it cannot have obstructions in its way.

What’s the term for a person who works at a bookstore↩
Stefane Mallarme↩
literally l’azul, la ciel↩
spellcrafter university↩
opening section has a lot about blue and sorrow or whatnot↩
for my own posterity, mostly↩

Musings

I'm just copying my father