The apparent simplicity of the piano itself combined with Glass' minimalist composition is...astounding. He is like the Hemingway of piano.
In this piece, for me, there is something so eery, but comforting. The beginning of the piece almost forces me to delve into memory. Nudges me...telling me to face pain from the past. But then the lighter notes weave in and out, presenting the light truth, the present, the future, and even transforming the weight of the hard memories. One may say it is a "metamorphosis" of memory...(I actually forgot that the name of this piece was metamorphosis for a second).
Anyway, I know I may be an overly emotional woman, as per usual, but something about the thoughts I woke up with this morning, the gray drizzle outside, the people flowing in and out of my scope, i sat back with my eyes closed and listened to this and couldn't help but get a lump in my throat. It's just so damn beautiful. And sometimes things are so beautiful that they fucking hurt. A lot.
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Mmmmmm, although I somewhat disagree with her rankings, this is yummy:
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Ron Hogan explains the effect of the publishing industry's layoffs on poetry:
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So it's April 11th. Taxes are due in 4 days. To be honest, I'm proud of myself for even remembering that, even though my friends gasped aloud last night when I mentioned that I haven't done anything with the forms yet. "You didn't send them to your tax guy?!"
First, I don't have a 'tax guy', I'm going to be handling this crap on my own. Secondly, I'm not even late (yet)! I have no idea what to do, but I think that today will be my 'let's do taxes' afternoon...or tomorrow.
One minor issue though. I remember getting some stuff in the mail late December...it hung out on my table for a while and then, if I recall correctly, I went on a cleaning spree one weekend and I am pretty sure I looked at those papers, let out a little "ehhh..." and tossed them into the trash. AHH!
It's ok, I'll figure it out. I want my money back!
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"My author is kind of Hunter S. Thompson-esque, do you ever publish works like that? What kind of books do you publish?"
"Well, we have three imprints and we primarily do nonfiction and serious, or literary fiction...bla bla bla"
"Ok, I see...what about romance novels?"
"Eh..maybe if it was along a literary vein, but we don't really do commercial fiction"
"Ok, ok, so like, nothing you'd find in Duane Reade"
"Exactly."
"Do you publish Erotica?"
"No."
I was pranked at work! I will get you back Mr. CS! I am seriously still laughing about that...good stuff. Once Ben revealed his true identity (literally about 10 min into the conversation) I think I yelled "YOU ASSHOLE!" loud enough for my entire building to hear me. Luckily it was 6pm on Good Friday and not too many people were in the office.
I'll have to devise something grand. Muwhahaaa
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When I told my mom that I got hit by a car the other day, she goes, "JULIA, you always have to look both ways, even when the walking signal is on". Sweet. Thanks for a) making me feel 4 yrs old again and b) not giving me the compassion I was seeking. Gee! Can't a girl get a lil' comfort?!
So about this Taxi (an SUV, no less) smacking into the side of my body on the drizzly Tuesday evening. I was waiting to cross Broadway, headed back to the 6 train...waiting for the walking signal to come on. It came up and then I EVEN waited a few extra seconds because in Manhattan, some driver(s) will inevitably see the yellow light and take it as a sign to speed up, thus whizzing through the intersection right when the walk sign illuminates. So, two cars speed through and the pedestrians begin walking. Now, because I walk at a ridiculously fast pace, I was already about 4 feet ahead of the pack and SMACK! Taxi comes out of nowhere and makes contact with my body. It didn't hurt and I wasn't even angry...just a little shocked. I think I just looked at the cab driver like, "are you serious?". It was weird and of course, made me think about how lucky I was that he wasn't going faster. I mean, what if he had really run into me...what if I broke bones? Or worse?
Strange.
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What ever happened to guys tossing stones at your window in the middle of the night? My high school boyfriend may have been wrong on many levels, but now that I look back at it, he understood women. Or, me. We had a bit of a tumultuous relationship surrounded by drama...he was dating my best friend, but in the midst of it, we fell for one another, he 'dumped her' for me, she therefore hated me (understandably so...bad call on my part), then another guy who was gay claimed to be madly in love with my boyfriend, who was bisexual, and it turned into this ridiculously crazy love triangle. Oh art school...
Anyway, my point is, aside from all of that weird stuff and the fact that he lied like it was his job, had an enormous ego, and was maybe a little bit gay, he got me when it came to matters of the heart.
We would fight all of the time. I would storm away from him, "and if you even TRY to call me tonight, this shit is OVER!". Which he knew, in Julia language, meant: "If you don't call me tonight, things are going to get bad." So he'd call, I wouldn't pick up..and around 2am I would hear little taps on my window. I was on the 3rd floor. I'd get up, look outside, and there he was...standing below with his arms open.
Cheesy and lame, you may say. This may be true. But I loved it.
He would write me poems from time to time, as well. One day, in the midst of another fight, I took his poems and ripped them up in front of him, saying "and I don't want any more of your poems!!!!" [I don't even remember why I was so mad now...]
later that night, I returned to my dorm room only to find it full of little pieces of paper...poems he had written throughout the past few months about me.
Wow, I actually haven't thought about this in a while. But I guess my point is, for all of his faults, at least he understood one sliver of who I am. An important sliver, at that.
This entire entry is jumbled and messed up. But...whatever.
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Tummy is grumbling. Breakfast time.
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