punching sand to improve my capacity to outrun myself

in

The heavy bag is assembled in my former office after finding that the bag / stand was not too wide but rather too tall (after assembly, of course) for the current office in the paintshop; much hilarity ensued. Learning the basics of boxing and incorporating it as my fourth daily solo exercise alongside yoga, HIIT, 5k run, and, I suppose, drumming into my daily exertions has long been a goal. Similar to the previous three / four, I've no interest in competition against anyone but myself, my exertions being simply another means of outrunning the shithead in my brain.

Intriguing to recognize the similarities between a boxing practice and my efforts to re-learn – and improve – upon my previous drummer-iteration: both are hand-led disciplines of metronomic timing, coordinated limb independence, relaxation, rhythm, and movement – foundational jab/cross/hook/whatever are to the bag what foundational paradiddles/flams/flam accents/rolls/open/closed/etc/etc are to the drums. Also explains why I'm getting the hang of boxing quicker than I expected: still, have to learn to slow it down and break each movement down as I would each rudiment on the drumset; either way, a fascinating experiment in fortuitous timing, right/left/right right/left – related: 10-foot-long headphone cable arriving today so I can play the TD-1K without getting my sticks and myself tangled up.

Newsletter writing flurry: a piece that I had intended to be a humorous and somewhat snarky look back has metamorphosed into something else, something different. Such is the way: every time I tell myself I'm going to write something quick and short and entertaining I transform/terraform it into some soul-searching meandering. Either way, it arrives tomorrow morning in subscribers' inboxes.

Treetrimmer invasion update: a growing number of trees in The AC look either like pieces of broccoli or middle finger amputees waving proud in the air but, on the bright side, my grandfather's lawnmower is no longer stuck in the mud – though treetrimmers had fuckall to do with that: self + Amish passerby riding lawnmower lift FTW.

Madisynn and Wong need their own MST3K-inspired MCU show. Wongersynn.

electric treepeople crashing

in

The reign of the Treepeople with chainsaws continues in and and around The AC and I'm keeping one eye on The Work, one eye on the electricity, waiting for that to fall under the weight of a crashing tree, a tree trimmed to prevent, irony of ironies, trees falling on power lines.

Part of efforts on MainFictionThing right now are figuring out how to think of it: remembering something Nick Sousanis said in our TSR interview, that his UNFLATTENING sequel started making sense once he figured out he needed to move... conceiving of something for print-only, at least for me, is something akin writing a pictureless comic: have to think of page turns – or of some kind of hybrid something or other; one of those "I'll know it when I see it, probably" things.

maybe/perhaps/quizas/quizas/quizas…

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.