The melody came out like this:
a (down to) e f d
(up to) b (down to) e f d
(down to) b (up to) d f# g#
I was pleased when I first invented it, but feel like it could grow a bit stale over time without suitable variation. I’ll let it spin round my head a bit longer. The melody will undoubtedly be used later as the basis for one of the ‘songs’ (ie, vocal portions of the piece) with many subtle changes showing up, but I suspect the root notes will remain the same. Therefore, that second b (the low one) may be inappropriate.

Shit, I really want to record something this weekend.

I got an email from Tone-tone this morning expressing interest (which, admittedly, comes intermittently anyway) in musicking together. I am to set up a way to share files. This is a fascinating concept, for sure, but time constraints (or is it possibly just laziness) have seen me balking every time in the past. This balking surrounds the creation of new groovy tunes, as well.

Perhaps these will help:

• Start out writing simple things.
• Make them short.
• Two to three parts only.
• Allow them to be recorded (my parts, anyway) within a day.
• Get one done before moving to another.
• Send results to Tone (or the fileshare).

I have a simple idea (which shall, of course, become part of my Seven Draperies hodgepodge) which involves 11 notes – a simple melody in A melodic minor. This arresting (!) melody shall be played on mandolin and accompanied by a bass guitar which throughout a few simple variations will match the mandolin’s rhythm 70% of the time (though the bass notes shall be counterpoint). At one point there will be an ostinato during which the mandolin will play the melody repeatedly.

In the background I envision sustained electric guitar notes.

This seems like a simple beginning. I just gotta write the fucker and teach myself to play it flawlessly. I suppose my adherence to mandolin practise shall assist with this.

My workmates scratch themselves. The sound flits into my ears from my front, from my back, and from my left side. Three scratching workmates. The one behind me cracks his knuckles then emits an overly forced sounding cough while the one before me sneezes, covering his distorted maw just in time with cupped hands. The keys of my laptop click in unison with my thoughts. It’s a simple day full of sensory input usually ignored. The small click of the joints on my glasses as I straighten them even sounds monstrous to me.

I am floating in a haze. The mist is thicker from where I have come and thinning en route to my destination. Destination or Way Station. A percentage of me is already gone and this portion annexes more and more of my persona day by day. I like it.

There are no footprints left in the fog.

The bus wheels me into another day. Apathy suffuses me. I need inspiration! I need to scrape off my skin and once again soar.

Why should anyone have to deal with regular bashing of his/her personality? Is it masachism or phlegmatism which keeps many in such positions? It is absurd to remain in the presence of people who beat you down to make themselves feel better.

Last night I watched ‘Match Point’, a film I knew absolutely nothing about before popping it into the DVD drive. I soon found it that Woody Allen directed it. Well, I thought, at least there is that. He usually injects a bit of depth into his films. The story turned out to be quite unexpected. I was happily surprised.

The protagonist, in the end, chooses a life which is more comfortable over a life which is unstable but arguably makes him much more happy/satisfied. The film does not take any sides on this issue. It does not judge his actions. It is just a statement of what is. And I believe what Allen is trying to portray is that most people, being put in the shoes of the protagonist, would choose the same.

Another point the film makes is that it is damn near impossible to pry yourself out of a complex life – just walk away from it – without your whole world turning on its head, even though doing so would make you more happy in the end. It’s the transitional phase that would suck. Badly.

I never want to choose what is comfortable over what would ultimately be more satisfying. Another reason for the upcoming change.

When I was in Praha two weeks ago, I told Michal all about Lucía. Well, probably not ALL about, but a good deal, anyway. We were rather blasted at the time, for sure. Since then (and prior, to an extent) the feeling has washed over me that it is finally time. Of course, I have written drivel similar to that sentence a multitude of times in the past, so it may not be immediately believed. Still, the feeling floods. The floorboards of my mind are sodden. The rafters will soon be entombed in the deluge.

I have never been one to be held at bay.

I mentioned in an email to Lucía yesterday (or was it the day before?) something concerning rent in Buenos Aires. She did not reply. Only during our short discussion today via Skype was the subject breached. One of her initial questions was ‘Are you serious this time?’ I suppose it was warrented. The last year has been rather jangly concerning the rusted, decrepit chains which hold me in Brno. I suppose the Rubicon has been crossed – at least mentally. No going back now.

Michal also expressed the desire to traverse the atlantic in early summer. A joint journey could be fruitful (not to mention pretty fucking big fun) but he’d be returning alone.

Sweet Entropy, are you listening? Is it time yet?

I haven’t seen this film in over 15 years. My opinions shall follow.

I’d like to make some sort of intelligent commentary on this film, but I seem unable to be coherent at the moment. So how is that for meta-tagging the entry? The feeling, from the beginning, is fucking intense. What a great start! What do you think, my elegant reader? I stopped the film just now. I was going to register something — mayhap here, mayhap in yon journal, but it has escaped me. Shit.

Definately, this film burns like Acy’s blowtorch to the leg of my cardtable back in 1991. You can feel the tension from the start. I am just to the point now where Jasper takes Faron to his place. They are about to smoke weed and listen to Radiohead. I remember so much. Fuck, that is a good idea. Oouh baby.

Another interesting point is that the version of ‘Goodbye Ruby Tuesday’ is sung by Franco Battiato. What the fuck kind of coincidence is that, my fine, feathered friend?

I wonder when it is time to feel old. I think my parents insist that it should be soon. It was only last year that my mother mentioned to me that I should be passing into middle age soon. Stereotypes are fun, eh?

The conversation with Mike in early 1994 is important. There are people (like, as he said, Miles, who would grow old naturally and happily) who grow old and people who are damned to be young for the rest of their existence. That reminds me: I’d be good to get in touch with him sometime soon, not only for nostalgic’s sake.

I think a large portion of the film is about forgetting people who are important. Well, perhaps that is just an ironic point of view. Ach Jo. What scratching impulse does one have when all one’s friends have been murdered because of some absurd political reason?

So I am going to watch the remainder of the film and sadden myself because of its inhumanty. I gotta figure out how to translate this to fucksheep zitra, for sure. FUCK.

I just pissed in a bottle because there is someone in the jointly shared toilet/bathroom in this fetid place.

At this very moment, I’d love to hear the song Been Alone so Long by Peter Hammill. It seems to sum up the evening though it really, rationally has not been so long since I have been alone. Just over three days. Funny how time can scrape and maul your senses. It seems like years, decades. And she transforms herself into the one who can survive her run of the mill world, the world I am very rarely allowed to see - Honeybuníčka land. I am not very happy about the September memory of her calling & messaging when she was drunk in Krnov. I was with Garth then and he shared my pain. I could see it in his face. I wonder what she was really doing, why she was really unavailable. And she accuses me of being suspicious. Oh yes, I am, and after the way she talks about her obsession with sex and the way she hides every other point of her social life from me – who wouldn’t be suspicious? I can think of no-one. You?