the platitudes of willful resemblance

I’ve been down with a plague of sorts – Bronchitis and the flu, fun stuff.

The death of my brother and a continued concentration on music – the poetry has suffered greatly.

Now I’ve been reminded that I haven’t posted in a while and I am better for the reminder as I need this reminder to live on my doorstep and ring the bell occasionally. Perhaps something new will happen that isn’t heart wrenching or energy draining. Perhaps I shall eat all the leftover Halloween candy and find this lost energy and slip into the manic side of my personality defects. In the meantime I’ve lubricated my old trumpet to have as a backup for a show I’m suppose to be playing the next two weekends should my Yamaha horn fail me or fall on the steps I am to climb. I’ve already missed opening weekend which made the director scramble for a last minute replacement that played air trumpet to a midi – file recording of my part. I’m sure live it would sound better or worse – I haven’t practiced it with the accompaniment – only solo and am sure that I’ve jazzed it up beyond what is called for. But how badly can one screw up – “Singing in the Rain” – surely not as bad as one can screw up something with more than six notes. I suppose there is an F# in there but it is not being played for this particular application of rain singing.

in a moment we become only photographs

visions in fading memories