Living in northern California, as best I can.
I try to live a life of compassion and awareness, in service to the idea of humanity elevating the shared concepts of decency and respect.
I am old enough to know better, but I am young enough to keep trying to live fully and honestly, embracing vulnerability for the sake of growth and happiness.
Seriously!
I’ve been practicing and trying to learn the fundamentals, and I’m having a lot of fun, even if I am clearly not a prodigy or in any way “gifted” with a talent of magic fingers.
It’s all good, I’m just having fun.
Irony
I thought a positive side of that is that I don’t have to deal with accusations of my recordings being created by AI. I give you the full human experience of imperfection on display.
Turns out I was wrong on that.
Fuck this ignorant bitch and all the other insecure trolls.
I guess a troll’s gotta troll…
Anyway, moving right along.
So here we are, at just over six months later, and I present an exercise in writing and recording a song.
For the Record
I also recognized that I could create a record of my growth over time, and that doing so would be of benefit in several ways.
I just had to swallow my pride and put it out there.
I chose Soundcloud as the place I would “put it out there”, mostly because I had already created an account there a long time ago, and uploaded a couple of files.
Path of least resistance, for the win.
A Wrong Bassline
So this all started with one of the first basslines I tried to learn.
I didn’t get it quite right.
I admit that freely, and I will verify the song if anyone figures out what it is supposed to be from.
I got the notes mostly right, but I completely ignored the written tempo and played it at MY TEMPO!
But I stuck with it, and I like it.
Vocals
Barely.
Spoken word, more like it.
I guess the kids might call it rap.
I call it a mic-check exercise.
File it under “Funk”.
Trying to sing/speak at the same tempo of the bassline, I realize why it(the bass line) is so much slower in the original song I failed to copy accurately.
So the ultimate focus for vocals was to not mumble, keep a consistent level, and stay reasonably on beat.
If I was going to keep working on this, I would experiment with the lyrical rhythm.
Production
Minimal, some compression and reverb. The lead guitar has distortion and wah-pedal. Pretty basic stuff.
I used Reason 12 to record everything.
Oh yeah, I’ve also had to learn how to do a lot of things in Reason. Still learning that, actually, so this is a history of my progress with producing music as well.
I’ve been uploading artifacts of the experience to Soundcloud (see below).
You can hear a lot of variety between the different songs, even though it is the same basic beat and bass line.
Things have come a long way in the music production realm, and the world is a better place.
Ultimately, it’s been lots of fun so far.
Receipts
So here are the different recordings I posted over time, illustrating the evolution of a bassline, from a daily exercise to an “actual song”.
In addressing the gulf between the cruel and the compassionate, an inordinate amount of patience is required.
Since patience is not a commonly known or typical virtue of the cruel, it falls on the compassionate side to invoke the patience. With patience, the compassionate ones exert the effort of showing the cruel ones a better way of being.
Some things are taught through reciprocity, some through example, others are a matter of conditioning and indoctrination, and still other things require more drastic measures – a tale for another time.
The point being, that in dealing with the human condition, there are many avenues down which an individual might progress. I heartily recommend the path of compassion.
For those who say compassion is a weakness, I offer you the patience to go and learn better, and then return for another lesson.
Sometimes going away is an important lesson to learn, and so we practice maintaining healthy boundaries as part of our compassionate, patient, practice.
This is where the strength of compassion is demonstrated, in the maintaining of healthy boundaries and practicing self-care.
I count myself as one who continues to work on these things.
This should be a more effective way to communicate than past methods…
I promise not to spam your inbox, and you can unsubscribe at any time.
For those who are interested in how things work- I’m trying out Dada Mail (https://dadamailproject.com/)- which is the path of least resistance in terms of working with my existing ISP and retaining ownership of the list of people who subscribe.
So that’s the update, thanks for your time and attention!
There once was a field of people- I mean, flowers. Definitely talking about flowers here…
Flowers
They all stood with their hearts- that is, I mean, their blooms of flower petals- they stood with their blooms completely closed up, in tight little buds with not a single petal showing.
The sad part of this story is that they all wanted desperately to open up, but they were too afraid to do so.
There was a deep fear in all of them that kept their buds tightly closed. A fear that if they should bloom, they would be mocked, ridiculed, and treated badly.
It was a strong and valid fear based on shared trauma. They had all learned that if they revealed their blooms, vicious weeds would judge their petals harshly, insult their colors, and try to strangle them, telling them that their blooms were all wrong.
Weeds
There were many weeds among the flowers, and by their nature, they were thorny, nasty, and cruel. The weeds stole the resources needed by the flowers, and thrived in the miserable ugliness they created.
The weeds told everyone that weeds were the coolest, but they were wrong, just as they were wrong about most things.
Unfortunately, some of the flowers believed the weeds, because they were just simple flowers, after all- and they were easily scared by the relentless cruelty and fear-mongering of the weeds.
The weeds hated the fact that they could never create anything as valuable as the love the flowers hid inside their tightly closed buds. So they belittled the flowers and did everything they could do to stop the flowers from blooming.
When the flowers quit blooming, the cruel weeds felt more powerful, less ugly, and less useless. This is because weeds only know how to create misery and hardship for others, and they can only appreciate something if it causes pain for someone else.
Paradise Lost
So it was, that with all of their cruelty and stupidity, these ugly weeds managed to create an environment in which the flowers could never dare to bloom.
The weeds filled the spaces where the blooms should have been, and the weeds consumed everything meant to feed and care for the poor flowers.
In the process, the weeds created a toxic orange filth, a filth so terrible that it had no limits. This filth even clogged up the waterways, and filled the sky with a terrible stain of disgusting corruption that poisoned everything with misery.
So the land, water, and air were ruined, and filled with a sad and toxic darkness. The world was strangled by greedy weeds and smothered with orange filth to the point that nobody dared to bloom.
The fear was oppressive, and you could feel it in the air and see its influence on every bit of depleted, cold, weed-infested land.
All the flowers quit blooming, and their buds shut up tightly against the cruelty of the world, which had become overrun with hateful, cruel, orange-crusted weeds.
Connection
But one day a flower that would be Blue, discovered a powerful flower stem growing on the edge of the meadow.
This flower stem on the edge of the meadow had somehow found a path towards the light, and had managed to avoid the cruelty of the weeds.
In a startling act of innocence, this flower had grown Straight and Strong, and formed a bud that was so completely closed up against the orange filth of the land that it proved impenetrable to the corruption.
This towering flower had a powerful strength of purpose which was conspicuously absent in the surrounding weeds. The strength of purpose in this flower had already followed its nature to grow far beyond the ugliness of the weeds.
The weeds could not understand how this stem of a flower, Straight and Strong, could be so tall, so they convinced themselves it wasn’t real, and then they all ignored it, as stupid weeds are known to do.
However, the ignorance of the weeds could not change the fact that this flower had somehow grown so strong that it now defied the strangling weeds. In this surprising act of growing true to your nature, Straight and Strong demonstrated an ability that both startled and awakened the flower that would be Blue.
In a flash of wonder, the flower who would be Blue lost all control and asked Straight and Strong how it had managed to grow so tall and powerful?
In this moment of excitement and wonder, the flower who would be Blue forgot to be afraid to bloom, and completely opened their bud. In doing this simple thing, they also exposed their bloom of True Blue petals.
Transformation
The incredible beauty of Blue was a shocking revelation.
The delicate and beautiful blue petals stood in outrageous contrast to the surrounding orange filth that covered everything.
This sudden spot of color broke the spell of the cruel weeds, and as the spell of cruelty broke, a wave of compassion washed over the land, cracking open the crust of orange filth.
This unexpected display of Blue had even melted the resolve of Straight and Strong for an instant, softening their bud in that briefest of moments.
In that moment, the bud of Straight and Strong began to open in response to Blue, without hesitation, without even thinking. It was a heartfelt response to the beauty of Blue showing their true colors, in an unguarded moment of sincere wonder, connection, and respect.
In this moment of innocent recognition, a simple trust formed between the two flowers. As their true nature was revealed, they found a bond of safety and trust in their compassionate awareness of each other.
Such strength radiated from this connection that the other flowers couldn’t help but notice.
The startling example of Straight and Strong responding to the beautiful sincerity of Blue was impossible to ignore. Everyone watched in wonder as the closed-up bud of Straight and Strong suddenly exploded in an array of golden petals.
As Straight and Strong opened its bud, the magnificent petals unfolded into a dazzling bloom of a giant sunflower, rising high above everyone in the meadow.
Straight and Strong’s petals fully emerged, transforming itself into its ultimate true nature, Sunflower.
Sunflower stood tall, and bloomed like a smile.
Sunflower bloomed a beacon of awareness, and a golden display of inspiration, dazzling with beauty and potential.
So impressive was this act of Sunflower blooming, that the surrounding area was illuminated with a new light and sense of wonder, and a shared yearning to be free of the orange filth that had been strangling the land.
Clarity
In this moment, it was suddenly inconceivable that such glory could have ever been contained and hidden from the world. The display of beauty and courage was as strong and comforting as a giant hug from all the mothers that had ever loved a child.
As this warming of the land progressed, the other flowers were likewise transformed, and they all became aware of their own blooms that they had been keeping hidden from the world.
Suddenly everyone wondered why they had been so afraid- and then they began to wonder about other things they had been afraid of. As the sense of wonder grew, a feeling of safety followed, and then each of the flowers began to open their blooms and reveal their true colors to each other and to the world.
As more and more flowers opened up and expressed themselves, they allowed their blooms to fully open in riotous displays of color and love.
The beauty was transformative, and what had been a dark and scary landscape overwhelmed with orange cruelty, was now a place of compassion, truth, and beauty. A place where individuals are welcomed and encouraged to bloom, and to share their beauty with the world.
This sense of safety was more than a simple feeling, it was transformative in deeper ways.
As the blooms opened, they reflected their beautiful light and wonder into all the darkest shadowy places, illuminating where the weeds had callously carved away at the foundations of their community and well-being.
With the power of their combined light and strength, the flowers were able to transform the landscape, heal the air, water, and land. The cleansing light they brought helped them to remove the blight and the decay of the orange filth, and remove the heartless weeds that thrived on cruelty.
These weeds could not understand or contain the power of love and truth. In fact, they dared not even touch it- and so instead, they shriveled away and withdrew.
As the weeds were starved of attention and removed from the landscape, everyone else found themselves better able to survive, and better able to bloom.
And so they all did exactly that- they grew more wondrous and bloomed.
An observation: When playing MWO, there is a mechanism that allows you to remain in the game as a spectator after you are killed, as long as someone else is still alive. You basically watch from the perspective of one of the other pilots still alive on your team.
Often, there will be someone who gets killed, and ends up spectating through my view point. This is all fine and well, but when they feel the need to criticize or try to tell me how to play the game, I have to laugh.
I rarely say it out loud, because I don’t care enough to engage with troublesome assholes, but the thought I have is “Why the hell would anyone take your advice or listen to you? You already died! Now you want to tell me how to die early too? Fuck you, Charly!”
I mean, they obviously aren’t too bright, nor that good at the game. Otherwise, why would they feel the need to tell me how to play?
I suspect they also voted for Trump.
It takes that kind of an idiot.
Anyway, that’s just something I’ve noticed, and now I’ve shared it with the world.
Excuse me, good and kind people of the Internet. I would like to introduce a topic of discussion that you might be accustomed to avoiding.
This is not as easy for me as you might imagine, I was actually raised to be polite – and I do know how to be polite, my mother did manage to teach me some manners, despite my best efforts to avoid the lessons.
However, I also believe that it is important for us to consider this topic in earnest, even if it is impolite.
It is the reluctance to discuss certain topics in “polite” society that allow for the many crimes against humanity to continue unabated- which include, but are in no way limited to, colonialization, rape, slavery, murder, thievery, genocide, racism, misogyny, criminal and immoral exploitation of the earth and people, and ultimately, the unbridled corruption of the very best of humanity.
Monsters who wear fine clothes and insist they are good people are the ruin of everything we hold dear and precious.
They are the reason we can’t have nice things, to be perfectly blunt.
I say, no more!
It is time to disrupt the dominant paradigm of fuckery.
It is time to be rude.
No more, to this treachery and indecency of faux civility.
I say, defy this terrible abuse of decency, and dare to be rude!
Be rude and talk about the elephant in the room.
Be rude like an innocent child.
Be rude and confront the criminals and monsters with their misdeeds.
Be rude and call out corruption.
Be rude for the good of the order.
Be rude and insist on honesty.
Be rude for the sake of humanity.
Be rude and talk about corruption as the number one problem of humanity – evidenced by people who shamelessly lie, cheat, kill, rape, slave, and do everything and anything else that will further their selfish and short-sighted desires.
Be rude and point out that power breeds corruption, and they grow hand in hand.
Be rude and point out that compassion and kindness are always options.
Be rude and insist that being a billionaire is too much power for unbridled appetites and lazy minds to manage.
Be rude, and disrupt the status quo of quiet, subversive, immoral exploitation that defines predatory capitalism.
Be rude and make it personal instead of just business as usual.
Be rude, and insist that billionaires are not good people simply because they are wealthy.
Be rude and demand less planned obsolescence and disposability.
Be rude and point out that billionaires are not virtuous or good in any way, simply because they hoard wealth and limit access to opportunity for any and all competition.
Be rude and scream about the cruelty of billionaires around the world, evidenced in their hoarding of wealth and opportunity, while not even paying their fair share of taxes.
Be rude and point out that instead of being good people, billionaires are the worst kinds of sociopathic monsters. Billionaires devour and exploit everything they can, and then happily go to sleep each night in a world of their own making, filled with carnage and cruelty, overflowing with all manner of misery, which they could easily relieve or even prevent. Instead of helping others and being the tiniest bit decent, they selfishly choose to ignore their crimes against humanity and continue to hoard even more wealth and opportunity.
Be rude and do the right thing, stand up to this greed, tyranny, and never-ending abuse.
Be rude and shout at your lazy cowardly neighbors and representatives who refuse to stand up and join the fight against the oppressor.
Be rude and insist that the apathetic slobbish parasites on the billionaire’s payroll develop some concern and solidarity with decent people, or else be marked as the enemy.
Be rude and insist that this terrible injustice not be normalized or accepted.
Be rude and tell those who say you are over-reacting to look beyond their privilege and wake the fuck up.
Be rude and tell the fascist criminal MAGA class to fuck off.
Be rude and demand actions of atonement instead of shallow and craven platitudes and lip service in exchange for forgiveness.
Be rude and remember the cowards who sold us all out, and who invited the current catastrophe of corruption.
Be rude and demand better, and remember that actions speak louder than words.
Be rude and demand that billionaires be relieved of the burdens of criminally hoarded wealth, and make them pay reparations to society.
Be rude and outshine the incompetent and inept.
Be rude and speak truth to power.
Be rude, and live up to your true potential.
Be rude and choose compassion and community over corruption and exploitation.
Be rude and refuse to accept the self-limiting shit they are trying to force down your throats.
Strength is not always a measure of the force your muscle mass can produce.
There is strength in numbers, for instance.
When you and several others show up together, you can achieve greater strength.
This is a basic fact of the world, even a child understands this.
Shouting Power
Each additional voice raised in protest amplifies the original voice.
The sound of a crowd screaming for justice carries exponential power in the fear it creates for those who exploit the planet.
As people around the world stand up and fight off autocratic fascists and goons, there is a shifting power balance.
People who recognize the power they hold become an indomitable force.
Fear and Loathing
Once you have more than a few people gathered, the term “mob” comes up. A mob has its own rules, its own psychology, its own dynamics that can become quite destructive.
A mob, once activated, has the power to completely disrupt the power dynamic of a city.
The rich and powerful who normally have a monopoly on the means of violence are confronted with a simple and powerful truth: they are outnumbered.
Outnumbered by the angry masses who they lie to, steal from, and generally hold in contempt.
They will lie and cheat their way back to power if the mob lets them.
Although lots of them don’t, as you can see if you read the history of how these things have played out in the past.
Show Up
Those who are rich and powerful are naturally very sensitive to losing their advantage.
When they are confronted with a mob of angry people, they cave.
Trump is the perfect example. Shitty two-faced coward who always chickens out.
So just show up and let your presence amplify the fear the fascists live by.
You don’t even have to get violent – you just need to show up.
That is the power we have. We can scare the shit out of them.
However, we can only exercise this power when enough of us show up and raise our voice.
So show up when there are protests.
Support your community.
Make a difference – show up.
Each person adds an exponential power boost to the equation.
There’s a better day coming, but it sure ain’t here yet.
Hello again, folks.
I’ve returned for no apparent reason to talk about nothing much at all.
Just a bit of housekeeping to keep the record straight.
For what it’s worth…
Like a Dagwood sandwich, life has become a bit more than I can squeeze into a single bite.
So be it. I enjoy a good challenge…
The Point
I’ve been considering the nature of this little blog, which as neglected and ignored as it is, still stands as an artifact of my existence. Sporadic and random, but still here.
As is so often the case in life, I find myself contemplating growth and my journey through time and space. Much more so recently, as life grows more and more “interesting”.
The point being, I’ve been thinking about putting this space to use as an instrument of resistance to the fascist takeover of these United States.
For whom it may concern, I am entering the following into the ongoing public record:
Recent events have developed to the point where I am compelled to declare my support for freedom, democracy, the constitution, and decency. I want there to be no doubt that I stand proudly against fascism and the billionaire class currently engaged in violating our rights and civil liberties, while stealing and hoarding all the world’s resources.
Let me state a few things for the record, even if they might seem obvious and redundant:
I am not a Trump supporter.
I am not interested in arguing the point, I will block you or do whatever is required to remove you from my awareness.
I am not a traitor to my country, constitution, and all that is decent, so therefor I can not tolerate MAGA.
I am not sitting idly by while the orange turd sucking menace tries to sell us all into bondage.
I will speak out, I will fight back, I will use my voice – and that means this space.
I will also continue to post whatever I feel like sharing, and to celebrate life in every way I can.
Final point: fuck the MAGA cruelty and their entire agenda. My life is mine to live as I see fit.
So fair warning, if you don’t want politics in your feed, you should mute this blog.
Poetry as a style of writing is often considered soft and flowery, and I’ve heard it said that poetry is often unapproachable, or boring for the majority of today’s people.
As a form of written expression, many equate poetry with softness.
I politely disagree.
Poetry is the language of strength, of identifying those aspects of our being which are often difficult to understand and express. Finding the right words to express what is often not immediately clear or easily understandable, yet commonly shared between individuals – that is difficult, not easy; it is hard, not soft.
Perhaps this is by design. The power of a name can help you summon the force of ideas and inspire the emotions to conquer all foes, to rise above all obstacles.
Such power might be inappropriate for the unwashed masses. People could get hurt.
Calling out the truth of people and their motivations, shedding light onto the aspects of being which define character and drive their actions, these are the challenges of attentive observers and distillers of truth, those poets.
Poets are necessarily dangerous, especially to those who traffic in power and exploitation.
Husking the platitudes and insincere bluffs of greed and fear, revealing the inner kernel of what is otherwise unrecognized, unacknowledged, and uncared for, despite being obvious for all to see.
A monster with no name will not heed your call. Only through deliberate experience and understanding can a proper address be given to the forces of nature, with whom we can plead for understanding. This is the quest of poetry.
Poetry is an unstoppable act of saving humanity, of shining a light throughout the entirety of our collective being, so that no part of us is left to diminish and fester in the shadows.
Poetry is not flowery language too delicate for the masses, poetry is the language of toughness, daring to explore that which so many strong men fear most: emotional vulnerability and truth.
Poetry is not a hiding place for sensitive souls to avoid reality, it is a place of discovery where essential truths of our human experience are laid bare for the common good.
Bringing forth the beautiful and noble truth of our best aspects, sharing inspiration and love, those most cherished and conspicuously scarce elements of any life.
Poets are often disregarded and ignored as unimportant, though the world certainly needs more beauty, more understanding, more appreciation, more love, and more truth.
In a world driven to a frenzy in a competition made so needlessly cruel and exploitative, perhaps it is the poetic sensitivity to nature and the questioning of all the ambitions of the human heart that we most need if we are to save ourselves.
In these troubled times, as climate is changing and war is breaking out across the globe, poetry is not viewed as a solution by those with the power to inflict massive pain and destruction.
The rest of us, in preparing for the brutal nature of hardship we can not escape, instinctively harden our hearts and brace for what will come, hoping the survivors may someday have time and hearts ready for poetry.
Yet time somehow provides opportunity for every guarded heart to react to life in a moment of pure expression. Uninvited and unstoppable, poets will emerge in the most unlikely of places, even though most of their poetic impulses will not be encouraged or appreciated by a society focused on the business of war.
What these poetic souls create and leave behind might still be gathered and shared, their insight and individual truth becoming beautiful in the eyes of those who survive and remember. A record of the moment, a testament to the spirit of humanity, a mark on the world left by so many ghosts who now haunt our collective minds.
Poetry to ignite your soul, to set ablaze the wonder and fury of life, the inescapable dread and excitement of what it means to be truly alive. The expression of an act of consciousness, magically transformed through careful marks on a page, capturing the thought and emotion of a sensitive soul and carrying it through time and space to your mind and heart. In this way, poetry can save the world – even in these troubled times.
There may be some irony in the fact that the appreciation for poetry is in such short supply precisely at the moment when the need for poets is so overwhelming.
