Classical Radio

This morning I heard a cello sonata as usual on the classical radio. I thought how they don't play tenor sax or bass clarinet sonatas, it is only logical because the music they play on the radio is from the 19 century or older. It is very rare you hear something from the 20th century. The wind instruments were very imperfect in the 19 century and older than that. There was no clarinet in Vivaldi's time. It was a new instrument in Mozart's time. The sax was very unpopular except for the great composers like Berlioz and Wagner that championed the instrument. Adolphe sax was a great friend of Berlioz. I was listening yesterday to the radio and they played Henry Cowell which was a contemporaneous with Charles Ives and died in the 60's. Paul Creston died in the 80's both have lots of saxophone, clarinet works, but one doesn't hear them on the radio for it is 20th century. These composers wrote music that is conventional too that could be played on the radio, but they don't. I heard one time on the radio john Cage In A Landscape, which sounded very peaceful, but they just don't ever play anything like that. I am at school now, and don't like listening with headphones, but I know of Last Fm ~ real nice. I just wanted to say the radio has something against 20th century! Someone told me that there are no American composers, that is wrong, the radio refuses to play them, there are hundreds, I can name 25! 20th century ones.

Kerouac's List of Essentials

Belief & Techniques For Modern Prose by Jack Kerouac
List of Essentials:
1. Scribbled secret notebooks, wild typewritten pages for yr own joy
2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
3. Try never get drunk outside yr own house
4. Be in love with your own life
5. Something that you feel will find its own form
6. Be crazy dumb saint of the mind
7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
8. Write what you want bottomless from the bottom of mind
9. The unspeakable vision of the individual
10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
12. In strange trance fixation dreaming of the object before you
13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibitions
14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in sea language & knowledge
19. Accept loss forever
20. Believe in the holy contours of life
21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exist intact in the mind
22. Don’t think of words when you stop but see the picture better
23. Keep track of every date emblazoned in your morning
24. No fear of shame in dignity of yr experience, language and knowledge
25. Write for the world to see yr exact picture of it
26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
27. In praise of Character in Bleak inhuman Loneliness
28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under,crazier the better
29. You’re a genius all the time.
30. Writer ~ Director of Earthly movie Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven


copied this from a book

A Day in Summer

Ever since I was young enough to read I got into world religions and Zen and Vedanta in particular. My music has flowed from these wellspring as it was greatly admired by Aldous Huxley and Christopher Isherwood and the Alan Watts which I read everything he wrote at one time. I am here at school with a few copies of American Poetry Review which I haven't been able to read for a while, but will shortly. It is summer now very hot in Florida and always in the news is the oil spill. I hope that I can go to the beach before any oil spill, for that is my year round fun on the beach especially in summer. In summer one always eats the summery cold salads, and sandwiches. My eating has always been around Zen and Yoga ideas. One fine tunes to the ukulele sound and the songs that pour forth into splashes of fountain pen colors. We take these roads where ever they take us and to me on paper it been fountain pen recollections or presences.

The Harpsichord

On the plastic bulletin on the wall of school
Inquiries were being done to sell her harpsichord?
She had stated to me, that she hated them, her last one
Given as a gift to the university, a handcrafted one costing her a bundle.
Looking toward the back room was her baby grand
With huge microphones coming to the metal wires, she would play
For her friends at a birthday luncheon.
The student there came out from the back
When she heard “mandolin” and said her father loved playing it
The harpsichord seller was a old stocky lady needing a violinist and
A very large pink birthday cake to place in her open dinning table.
The husband looked in a very anti festive mood and left slamming the door!
She had gone to the university making inquiries for a violinist
But there had been no talk of compensations, though knowing
More notes than the instrument can ever play?
She was very upset the pen she signed to sell her harpsichord
Wrote only in green and wished for a black which had quickly arrived!
I had told her that I was always been into Glen Gould
As she quickly rushed us to the door with a mighty clang.
The harpsichord stood there in the empty room,
As no glimmer of light enter from the enclose,
It stood silent for some person to play in lost reveries
In an open room full of light, thru inspiration of days.

From Stationary to Jewels

Well, when I am around here I don't do too much of my own writings, but I sure love reading around, very seldom do I like a blog, certainly not the long ones. I use brown or violet because that is my pen colors of Noodlers I use most.

I live thirty minutes from the beach but went this weekend to visit a friend who is retired who has been playing piano since she was fourteen. She looks graceful with her white hair and is so energetic. She use to be my high school music teacher. I never lost contact with her and had the phone always in my phonebook. She use to play cello and violin but has given it up and wants to sell her cello. Only has the piano over looking the window to the front garden. It is near Bal Harbor. I went there after I went to Mass at Father Alberto Curtie very near there. Then I went to Bal Harbor Shopping Center. I didn't see Jimmy Osternberg( Iggy Pop) lives around here. I didn't get to shop there, like I use to, for the Gap and Banana Republic aren't there, they want more expensive stores. For some time time have had goldfish in the pools that they didn't have before, which is a plus. The fountain pen, Stationary Store has been gone for almost a decade, things have changed since I use to come here during high school, there is mostly jewelry stores and guards, not many before. From stationary to jewels, rather have paper and pen. If one would have one or the other, couldn't select both, which would it be?(paper includes these computers)can't cheat and say, I will type it, I will type it too? no, it definitely be paper and pen for me( includes type) reminds me of King Midas.

An Act of Kindness

As I was leaving the University there was a girl who stopped her yellow Volkswagen Beetle and she was talking on the cellphone:a turtle was crossing the road and she wanted to remove it. Aimlessly, the others unconscious drivers passing it by underneath without smashing it. She was at removing it so I didn't go out too. I remember a day of great rain, flooding when a turtle came up to my room, brought it to the natural reserve, which I would go often at that time.

Laura Riding

The Poet's Corner


Here where the end of bone is no end of song
And the earth is bedecked with immortality
In what was poetry
And now is pride beside
And nationality,
Here is a battle with no bravery
But if the coward's tongue has gone
Swording his own lusty lung.
Listen if there is victory
Written into a library
Waving the books in banners
Soldierly at last, for the lines
Go marching on, delivered of the soul.

And happily may they rest beyond
Suspicion now, the incomprehensibles
Traitorous in such talking
As chattered over their countries' boundaries.
The graves are gardened and the whispering
Stops at the hedges, there is singing
Of it in the ranks, there is a hush
Where the ground has limits
And the rest is loveliness.

And loveliness?
Death has an understanding of it
Loyal to many flags
And is a silent ally of any country
Beset in its mortal heart
With immortal poetry.

Laura Riding, one of my favorites poetess