happy holidays

Lost, continued

No, I am not lost. But I continue to lose small things. I lost my favorite eraser, which may not sound like a big deal (or any deal at all) but I am almost fetishistic about the materials I use to write music, and the eraser was one of them. I also lost a mechanical pencil that I also liked very much. I have realized that being absent-minded is harmful. The harm comes from the stress I go through when I endlessly search for the lost item. I must be mindful about each and every thing I do, so that when I find myself about to put the eraser in some obscure place I will stop myself.

lost

In the past two weeks I have lost a hat, a mechanical pencil that I loved, and my wallet. The latter was lost on Saturday, while rushing for the subway. I had many packages in my hands and was rushing to catch the R train that was pulling in to Canal Street. Somewhere in swiping my card, negotiating the revolving-door-style turnstile, and keep my packages from getting tangled up or dropped, I must have dropped the wallet. There was no money in it, only my drivers license, my bank card, and one credit card. The worst thing is that I did not discover it was missing until about six hours later, when I was on my way out the door to go out to dinner. Fortunately, no one had tried to use any of my cards, and I had them all canceled. But still, I hate losing things. Losing something makes me feel like I am not in control of myself.

oh well

I had made a little promise to myself. When I finished my last commission (the new piece is called A SPACE BETWEEN, and it's a rather large composition) I was going to give myself a break; I didn't have another commission lined up, and I would take the opportunity to work on some electronic and electroacoustic pieces that I could perform myself. But lo and behold, unbidden, a new commission comes along. This is a large project involving many composers, all of whom will set poems by Richard Wilbur. The works will be performed at the Monadnock Music Festival in New Hampshire next summer. I will be in august company. I couldn't say no. The musicians I will write for are superb, and this is a wonderful festival with a stellar reputation. So no hiatus, at least not yet.

green

Do you know what this is?

I had to...

Post this poem that I just heard on "The Writer's Almanac" on WNYC:

Ocean Drive

by Miriam Levine

Some of us rush from our houses while it's still light
to reach the green allée and the red-lit colonnade.
We press our noses deep into the opening frangipani
and when the Latin band begins we dance to the end of the song.

We dip our children into the ocean and drink
their salty smiles while two feet away a man lies
drunk in the grass. The sun will burn him again.
His shoes are gone and his clothes have dried to his body like a shroud.

In the end we all have to lie down.
If I'm lucky you'll touch my hand and I'll remember
all the good you have done me and your beauty—
no one was more beautiful, your wet black hair, your hands full of roses.

new

For Luigi Nono
oil, acrylic and ink 24"x48"
2008

This is my first new painting in years.

transport: new york

I worked on this project with Yoshitaka. I like it. I have not watched it in a long while, and I don't know what made me think of it--perhaps the dull grey of the sky today--but I am glad that I did.

How I Hate This Man and Everything He Stands For

http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/09/24/campaign.wrap/index.html

Labor Day is past. My schedule tightens up. I do better when busy. I don't know how often I will post here. Tune in from time to time.

future

Well, this spot doesn't look like this now, but in a few months it will. The air has held the promise of fall the past several days until today the humidity put me back into summer. But it mattered little because I stayed in and painted the baseboards of my apartment (thrilling!) and worked.

Last weekend I went to New Hampshire to hear my "Hommage à B.B." beautifully performed at the Monadnock Music Festival. There was a very warm and interested audience and I gave a little talk about my piece at the start of the concert. It was fun overall. And New Hampshire is just beautiful. Why don't I live there?

freaky

Donald Erb, a very fine composer, passed away last night. The reason I mention this is that on Sunday I was thinking of Donald Erb, completely out of the blue. I was wondering what he was up to and that I had not heard anything about him in years. He was a great composer, a very unpretentious and garrulous guy (qualities notably absent in many composers, I've found). I should talk. I like to think that I am not pretentious--I hope I am not--but I don't know if I, or anyone, would ever describe me as "garrulous." Maybe I am psychic. This is not the first time such a thing has happened.

working all the time

more (will it ever end?)

Well, I had vowed that my shopping would end with the purchase of my bike. But yesterday I made my way, once again, to Secaucus NJ. My destination? The DWR Annex, the site of most of my best furniture finds. And lo and behold, I found a rare Eames Case Study bedside table. I have always wanted the case study bed (in the picture), but it can't fit into the elevator of my building. But the bedside table is another item I've longed for. And it was marked down ridiculously, unlike most of the stuff at the annex, seemingly priced for a vanished class of I-bankers. I think they discounted it because it appeared to have a large stain, which upon close inspection revealed itself to be easily removed. So I carted it home, and it sits next to my bed now, its ample drawer filled with various items, its large surface home to my radio and a pile of books. I think that now my bedroom is complete, although a new dresser would be great one day.

Note: the picture is NOT my room; the shoes are a giveaway. Strange as I might be sometimes, I don't wear shoes like that, ever. And as I said, I don't have a case study bed.

waking up

Coming out of a bad depression is like waking up from a nightmare. Today for the first time I am starting to feel normal. I got up easily and went about my obligations with a sense of anticipation and pleasure, a fundamental change from the last ten days. This is typical of my cycle. Now I have to watch out that I don't swing too far in the other direction. Luckily I am so used to the symptoms of both poles that I think I will be ok. I am happy that things are looking up, and I hope this normal period lasts. I think part of it was that this time I didn't deny that I was struggling to my family and friends; if anything, my blunt statement of just how bad it was may well have been cathartic. Certainly my brother and sister both seem to understand more; and I got in touch with an old friend, someone I care for deeply and had hurt very badly in the past, and just that contact has given me some hope. And riding my bike is so much fun that I can't help but smile about it. One gift of depression is that it feels so good when it lifts.

bike

For the past year or more I have thought of purchasing a bike. I was an avid bicyclist in high school and during the summers when I would leave NYC for Vermont; while at the MacDowell Colony I probably spent half my time biking through the beautiful New Hampshire landscape. Now, many years later and one knee surgery behind me, I decided to go for it. I went into Manhattan and purchased a wonderful invention, particularly for urbanites: a folding bike, a Dahon Curve D3, pictured above. I rode it back from Soho, down into lower Manhattan, across the Brooklyn Bridge and to my building. Later I rode to Dumbo park to watch the sunset. This marks the end of my buying season. Here's an inventory: ceiling fan, television, furniture, bicycle. Enough already.

normal

When asked how I am I invariably respond with some variation on fine, good, busy, great or swamped with work. I never say "I am fundamentally depressed" or "I am exhausted by my depression." To do so would be most truthful, but I recognize that it is hardly socially acceptable. But lately it is the most accurate answer. On Thursday night I was on the verge of something and I called a small number of friends, trying to find a caring and receptive ear. It was a general failure, though the one person I reached at least gave me a pep talk. But it made me feel lonelier than ever. I don't know what the solution is. Depression is something people just don't want to hear about. I can't blame them; I am sick of it myself. I am trying acupuncture in the hope that this will help. Honestly, I am becoming desperate. But I am sure that today, should I venture out into the inferno, if anyone asks I will smile and say that I am fine, or good, or something like that.

hot

So I finally completed the installation of my ceiling fan with some help from a neighbor. However in putting the light fixture in place I discovered that the bulb--some new kind of compact fluorescent that I'd never seen before--arrived broken. Aren't they full of mercury? If so I most likely have mercury poisoning. I called and they are sending a new one. But the fan works wonderfully, and helps cool my overly-warm dining are. Now I need to go to sleep for a while. A siesta to calm my tattered nerves.

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday Mom! Wonder what you are like as a 72-year-old. We all miss you.