Closet Music: The music you love but hide for fear of being ridiculed.

Hint: It's Base64 encoded

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The new schedule wears on me, so that sleep is a desired but rare commodity. I seize it quite by accident whenever I can't, and attempt to when I cannot. The semester is young. I will adapt.

I find myself waking in the evening - I don't remember falling asleep, or even lying down, really. My bed is bare - that's right, I'm washing linens today.

My eyes land on the silver case, and I'm filled with a sudden horror that it will be empty. It is a dream I woke from, standing on an arch bridge at night, addressing a man who has my beauty and threatens to let her fall into the river. I react with defiance and anger when it is my sisters who are threatened, but in this instance, I can barely speak, only whisper, "Please...no," shaking my head without meaning to, attempting to hold back tears, trying so desperately to convince this stranger of what this means to me. This is a gift I could not afford. This is my beauty, my love. This is my music. My lifestream. My passion. The echo of my soul, I romantically call her, knowing not how to phrase what I mean.

I am terrified to find that I don't know the answer, whether he acquiesced, or doomed me to despair. I am at the case in an instant, opening with trembling fingers the clasps I lock when she goes anywhere with me. The warm gold of her body reassures me, and I lightly run a touch over her, whispering a greeting of love to her. I must play her now, I must. The evening cannot go any further without our music.

The obstacle quickly presents itself.

It is only this week that I've brought the other to school. (Can it really have been a week since we've played together? Can I go a week without touching my love? Reluctantly, I am forced to admit that such a thing is possible). It is impractical to have them both here, and I have yet to discern whether they are jealous of each other. Best to keep them separated for now. But my favorite neckstrap and my reed case are both in the other case. I can make do with another neckstrap, or even without (an impossibility with either of the larger saxes); without reeds, I am forced to silence.

A happy reminder of a friend of mine from school-band - I'd once offered to sell her the remaining half of a box of #2 reeds I have. At the time, I had no further use for them, I was mostly using 2 1/2s. Within six months, I received a late present of a new mouthpiece, and my treasured beauty - both of which I needed the softer reeds for. Perhaps I have one left?

Fate and the Muses are working in tandem tonight to smile on me, I have two, perhaps three left. Time must be taken to break them in properly, particularly as I'm playing on not only a new mouthpiece, but an entirely new horn.

I take one out and begin to soften it, reading of music as I do so. Perhaps I should practice another instrument in this time, one that only makes demands of my hands, but I can't bear for anyone else to interrupt our tryst. Soon, my darling, soon.

There is a music we make that I will play for no one else. Anyone else can come and leave my life, can see us together and not see what she is to me. I will not cheapen this with your blindness. This is the music we make tonight.

Wake to my music, my love. Wake to my hands and my mouth. Wake to the passion I pour through you, the echoing resonance that we are together. Wake to me, as I wake to you.

Good Morning Self.

You quit your job today. You have your recital on Monday. You're terrified to sing in front of people. It'll be the first time you'll be on stage in years. To be in the spotlight again. You missed it terribly.

You played bass again with Justin and Matt and the gang. It was fantastic. You messed yourself many times. It's interesting, but music is far better than sex, or at least, I'm assuming. Music doesn't hurt, doesn't leave you bereft like an irrational lover. Music will take you, make you it's own, and then it will keep you. Yes, it will pass you on to others like itself, but you are still with it. All of it, in some way, is connected. To struggle would only be useless and fruitless. Let it take you. Embrace it.

You love the bass, dear self. You adore it. So tremulous in it's words and so hesitant in it's touch. But strong, firm, underlying. You love your bass. You love a cold, unfeeling object, but it loves you back. It caresses your mind and your soul.

Be in love. Enjoy it. You may never get this chance again.

~Alisa

PS: Let us play the game of life, and sing a song of days gone by. You will win and I will lose, but only because I took out life insurance and killed myself, so you could have money and be secure and travel all you wanted. And in the end, is that really losing?

 Howdy Howdy all, well it is me, your good friend and your power of attorney (don't you remember?) Environgirl here to taut the greatness of XM radio. My roommates recently got this service for thier motor vehicle and they swear by it for commercial free musical entertainment.  I have heard it in the car and it is really very nice. The get web access with their service so we can listen in the apartment. I have heard it on my laptop and the constant stream of music will make you slap your momma!

 

(Environgirl and Environgirl affiliates are not responsible for any mothers slapped as a result of this post)

 

There is a station called Bluegrass Junction that has bluegrass music on 24/7. I thought that I was gonna faint when I heard it! I LOVE,LOVE bluegrass people. I know that some might find it a little odd but actually I am from a region in Mississippi where "pert near" (almost) every channel has a form of gospel music but bluegrass combines elements of the blues with gospel and country and is like um uh well "music to my ears".

 

Anyway I am so stoked about my impending camping trip that I can hardly contain myself.

 

Oh I almost forgot to mention that I am now to be featured on the editorials page of the university rag. The next issue will have an entire page devoted to moi! And I got paid a decent wage to boot. I can't believe it ya'll.

 

So back to my hiking trip, I had to go and buy some provisions for the sojourn but I am constantly worried that I wont have something that I need.  But between me and my friend Lady J we should be okay.  Gulp I guess.

 

Okay sure, everybody knows that black women LOVE Bluegrass Music. So why was this station so astounding to me, why because Ididnt realize that there was a station created just for the black, thrity-something, female, Pagan. THANK YOU BLUEGRASS JUNCTION FOR MEETING ALL OF MY BACK WOODS NEEDS!

 

Oh and by the way black, thirty-something, female, Pagans have a deep and abiding love of Barry Manilow, nature and bears. Yeah, you thought it was a game when I said that I GO THERE when all things mundane are involved.

 

Oh well how about some poetry....here goes.......

 

What Women Want

I want a red dress.   
I want it flimsy and cheap,   
I want it too tight, I want to wear it   
until someone tears it off me.   
I want it sleeveless and backless,   
this dress, so no one has to guess   
what's underneath. I want to walk down  
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store   
with all those keys glittering in the window,   
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old   
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers   
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,   
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.   
I want to walk like I'm the only   
woman on earth and I can have my pick.   
I want that red dress bad.  
I want it to confirm   
your worst fears about me,   
to show you how little I care about you   
or anything except what   
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment   
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body   
to carry me into this world, through   
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,   
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,   
it'll be the goddamned   
dress they bury me in.--Kim Addonizio

Goddess Bless