It was a drunken-post policewoman. She wanted to know if I was sufficiently drunk for a drunken post. I assured her I was–that I’d had three and a half beers and eight 5-oz cups Irish coffee, but she insisted on giving me a drunkenness test. Then she left, quite satisfied–as I was.
I dined with the Singletons at Ruby Tuesday this evening. Then I had my Irish coffee at home, as I listened to the the filmscore of What Lies Beneath. Either this is the shortest filmscore I’ve ever heard, or it seemed short because I was intoxicated–you know how time flies when you’re drunk, almost as fast as when you’re having sex. It was okay. But I preferred the filmscore of Identity. And I don’t think this is just because I’d seen Identity (one of the coolest films I’ve ever seen in my life), and not seen What Lies Beneath. The best filmscores/soundtracks stand on their own–they sound great whether you’ve seen the films or not. The filmscore is the Twenty-First-Century niche for Western classical music. Most Western classical music these days–actually since the late Twentieth Century–is filmscores.
You want to hear some kick-ass ballet? Google Igor Stravinsky: The Rite of Spring. This is the only ballet I’ve ever heard that kicks ass. I first encountered it in Music Appreciation in college, though just the first part. Then I got the whole ballet, and it blew me away. It’s about pre-Christian Russia. I’ve never seen it, but who needs to–it’s like the heavy metal of ballet. When it was first performed at the turn of the Twentieth Century, there was a near-riot in the concert hall. Most of the audience hated it because it was so wild. Their reaction was like that of the older generation toward jazz in the 1920’s, and rock and roll in the 1950’s. I’ve only seen one ballet, in it’s entirety–my dad took me to see Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker at Christmastime when I was a kid. And I enjoyed it. But generally I don’t watch ballets unless the dancers are all female–and by the way I saw Black Swan earlier this year, pretty well done. But get yourself a CD or whatever, of The Rite of Spring. Don’t watch the ballet, just listen to the music, and you’ll see the pre-Christian sacrificial rite.
After listening to the filmscore of What Lies Beneath, I put the CD away, and listened to another CD, The Kings & Queen of Qawwali. Qawwali really kicks ass–it will take you into another dimensional plane! Qawwali is Islamic devotional music. It’s like Christian Gregorian chant–except that it has instrumental accompaniment, the rhythm is much faster, and the chanting is much louder. It’s the heavy metal of Eastern classical music. The most famous performer of it is Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, of Pakistan. One of his songs is the first on the aforementioned CD, The Kings & Queen of Qawwali. Get that CD. But don’t stop there. Get the CD, The Greatest Hits of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, as well as the CD, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan: Greatest Hits, Volume 2. It’s not sung in English, of course, but it doesn’t matter. I guarantee it’s wilder and more transcendental than any rock and roll–it will take you for a ride into the next universe!
Remember my “dead” car? Well, I finally took it to the scrapyard, and got $350 for it. That 1996 Oldsmobile Eighty-eight LS is finally out of here! I would have gladly taken a sledgehammer to it, but then I wouldn’t have gotten the money. And I finally got another car–used, but in good condition. Remember the woman about whom I wrote the posted poem, Pining–the one who resembles Gillian Anderson? She saw my new (used) car today, and complimented me on it. But she still has no interest in poetry, so she still won’t go out with me. If she weren’t so indifferent, I wouldn’t be so interested. Remember that post–nice guys finish last, mean guys finish last, it’s indifferent guys who finish first? Well, it’s the same with women. Indifferent girls get the most attention from nice guys and mean guys, though I don’t know about indifferent guys. This is sad.
I could be completely mistaken, however. I want to point out that–as with anyone else–I could be mistaken in any of my beliefs or opinions. I state, for example: We have much control over our actions. We have some control over our thoughts. But we have no control over our feelings or beliefs. But this, in itself is a belief. I believe it’s true, but I could be mistaken. I don’t believe in a devil–I believe all evil comes entirely from us humans, that there is no supernatural being behind evil. But I could be mistaken. One of my favorite song lines is from The Eagles’ Victim of Love: …I could be wrong, but I’m not… That’s hilarious! I could be wrong, but I’m not! Seriously, though, I could simply be wrong. No one in the world knows everything. Only one being, only one force knows everything, and that is the Creator. Only the Creator (known by many names, God, Yahweh, Allah, etc.) knows everything. Only the Creator is omniscient. But the Creator doesn’t tell us what only the Creator knows. We have to find out for ourselves, as best we can. There’s a short story by Leo Tolstoy entitled, God Sees the Truth but Waits. I’ve never read the story. The title says enough. Why does the Creator wait? We don’t know, we’re obviously not meant to know. I’m very relieved that Tropical Storm Debby didn’t land here, that it took a direct path eastward. But I’m still annoyed, perhaps angry that it didn’t go west instead–into Texas, and up through New Mexico and Colorado, where rain was so desperately needed. Why? Why is the weather so damned unfair? Is it simply to give strangers something to talk about? Would we be bored out of our minds if the weather were perfect all over the planet? Perhaps. Religious arrogance annoys me, but scientific arrogance amuses me to no end. Scientists believe they know the age of the universe. I understand the process–measuring the distances between celestial bodies, based on a central location for the Big Bang. Yet even if the Big Bang is fact, and not just theory–determining the age of the universe is impossible for us. Because in order to truly measure anything, one must know its boundaries–where it ends and where it begins. And for all we know, this universe (I believe there is at least one other universe) is infinite! For all we know, it has no boundaries, no beginning or ending! As I write in one of my poems, There is no time–it is a construct of man, who cannot comprehend eternity. There is no space it is a construct of man, who cannot comprehend infinity. In other words, we don’t know shit!
Well, I’ve got a headache (gee, I wonder why)! What foxy lady should I end this drunken post with? How about Fay Wray?