i’ve eaten the same breakfast and lunch every day for the last five years so if you’ve heard (any of) this one before, tough

in

Makes the day easier – if slightly less spice-of – in this T1D iteration of myself. (And what, you think I actually read these things after I publish them?)

Speaking of iterations: amazing - if that's the right word – that the same books that were considered the foundations when I played drums in my earlier, non-arthritic iteration – George Lawrence Stone's STICK CONTROL and Gary Chester's THE NEW BREED – are still among the foundational texts. Confession to (one among many many instances of) youthful idiocy: I never used either – but I'm rectifying that now – the books, not the idiocy; I like to pretend that I did that part long ago but somedays, mostdays, though, I wonder… Rlrr Lrll Rlrr..

The rhythm of the main work, alas, continues to elude me. Sneaky little bastard.

Sightings: a stop sign smashed and run over at 44/250; inconvenience (for smashed cars) not unilkely. Treetrim folks have invaded, orange trucks and red x's come home to roost; inconvenience certain. Chainsaws omnipresent / AirPods: IN.

i am adrift in rhythmic narrative permutations and still think like a composer, apparently

in

Not that there's anything wrong with that but yes, the days of yore are still present, in some recess of my brain. Could I still write a piece of music to save my life? Not sure I could back in the back when, to be honest – but it's moderately comforting to feel that the rhythmic sense is still there, simmering.

Realizing that, in my own way, this thing, this process of mine, is something akin to how The Necks do music: small, incremental and improvisatory changes to rhythm, tone, and modality around one basic idea that coalesce into a previously unimagined (to me at least) whole. Maybe this is the way I've always done things and I'm only now figuring it out – or maybe I'm repeating myself; fuck if I know.

Finished Mieko Kawakami's BREASTS AND EGGS yesterday (fantastic): since I've made my way back to these once-daily things – the original design of this site –  I'll be publishing a "Reviewed" post coming at some point in the next few days, probably Saturday, a compilation brief thoughts and recs on things I've let sublet my brain over the last week.

Fantastic TSR chat with Maud Newton last night about ANCESTOR TROUBLE, one of those conversations that remind me of why I started the show in the first place: rejuvinative creative discussions in the vein of the chats I have with Jess when she works her tattoo-artistry magic on my arms. Chat with Maud should be live sometime in the next couple of weeks. Have to wrangle the newsletter for the rest of the week, think about and write about my background in music, as per Maud's request. Also have to make appointment with Jess to start the left sleeve.

awakening, 0200

in

66ºF, clear: The first section of LAST CHRISTMAS IN JULY – in, perhaps, a descent into amateur hour – was a recounting and extrapolation of a dream, a nightmare, I had the night before my self-imposed deadline on the project, a dream which obliterated the deadline and resulted in a large-scale rewrite. And, as I'll be talking this evening with Maud Newton about her work with ANCESTOR TROUBLE, a conversation in which elements of LAST CHRISTMAS and my own TROUBLE will (probably) come up, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when, at 0200 this morning, I woke from another nightmare which I had to, again, claw my way out of. While I was able to return to reality via a systematic running through of rational evidence and facts, I'm still shaking it off.

i am disappointing the dogchildren because i can’t make it stop raining

in

68ºF, rain: a calmer Derbz than yesterday, having either reached an acceptance of inclement weather (he really, really hates rain) or increased hopes of at least one game of DerbzBall today – until it rains again (and again) because I really don't want him to slip and tear something; another fortnight in the cone of shame isn't in the cards. I'm sorry, dogchildren, but I'm not Halle Berry in a bad wig. Stop looking at me like that.

More TD-1K fiddling yesterday: the included songs keep the tradition of charmingly lame playalong accompaniments that are, nonetheless, useful for improv: fond memories of having to come up with things on the spot, working to get that independence of feet and hands and right and left back – and better than before, given that I'm not (as much of) the undisciplined jackoff of my previous musical iteration.

The rower has founds its new home: my back no longer screams every time it enters that room; in the rower’s place, the punching bag will rise later today – undoubtedly with the aid of a bored Derbz and much impatience.

i am their revolving doorman

in

68ºF, rain – and yet: inside and outside and inside and outside, one dogchild after another, sometimes solo, sometimes a duo, sometimes a trio / inside and out and inside and out: this is my day, already; Derbz-meltdown potential rises as DerbzBall likelihood dwindles.

I'll probably likewise be inside today; should've gone to pick up that punching bag yesterday, shit (my days of rowing are over as it's proven to be murder on my back (my back, my fucking back) and I've decided to cut my losses and try something I've always wanted to try). Yoga/HIIT? Try out K’s recumbent bike? Run around in circles, etc etc? IDK.

The TD-1K is hooked up and sounds great. Better than my acoustic kit, surprisingly enough. Still have to get the pads and cymbals in the right spot: still a bit claustrophobic.

Cool uncle (maybe) cred reupped by getting my niece hooked on GOAT SIMULATOR. Victory is mine – kid can even get the goat to stick onto the donut-car: impressive. Note: need to buy a switch so I can practice on MARIO KART, still: I can't let her reign of terror against my gamer's pride continue – no matter how proud I am that she can kick my ass.

THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI (Wiene, 1920)

in

(rewatched: fri/20220902 via Kino Lorber Blu-ray; directed by Robert Wiene from a screenplay by Carl Mayer and Hans Janowitz; starring Werner Krauss, Conrad Veidt, Friedrich Fehér, and Lil Dagover. Released 26 February 1920 )

First time watching CALIGARI in at least 20 years, and it's even better than I remember: madness, manipulation, and murder wrapped in a sublime and unsettling package – save the frame story, see below –, one of the first and finest horror films made even more stunning through Kino's 4K Blu release (now I'm excited to watch the latest Blu versions of NOSFERATU and METROPOLIS), from the intertitles – I don't recall having seen the original German ones in the version I saw years ago – to each brushstroke of the beautifully warped set design to the grit and filth between Caligari's teeth.

While I adore CALIGARI, I agree, fully, with the vituperation of the films' writers over the frame story and twist ending to a twist ending: it does subvert CALIGARI's anti-authoritarian message, a message made even more potent when considering the context and time of the film's making and release in post-WWI Weimar Germany, a message that remains all-too-relevant 102 years after its release, not only across Europe, but on this side of the pond as well: we are nothing if not a land populated by easily-manipulated sleepwalkers at the beck and call of a madman, history's penchant for repeating itself (or rhyming) the great horror of the day.

(Definitely read the whole Wikipedia page: fascinating stuff.)

Random aside: I wonder how much of an influence CALIGARI played on Tim Burton's look for Danny DeVito's Penguin in BATMAN RETURNS: once I saw the similarities, unseeing them was next to impossible – though maybe I'm seeing things. Wouldn't be the first time.

wires wires wires and more wires

in

68ºF, clouds: if I ever learned that my end was imminent, I might consider adding this as one potential avenue of going out, scrumptiously, on my terms.

A struggle to stay awake and get anything done but here I am. The TD-1K has arrived and I managed to assemble the kit itself (first new kit I've ever assembled of my own; I did assemble a few when I worked in a music shop for two weeks): today's job will be to get all the electric bits hooked up and running – and to get The Sanctum back to a general ordered and comfy cluttering befitting my preference for toiling in an antique mall booth – though I would rather it not feel as though an estate shipment came in. Getting there.

That festival challenge on MAKING THE CUT was bullshit: they didn’t have enough time.