tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13442648542107006622024-03-12T23:14:08.055-04:00Malignant Pearsphilipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-58745608972001509242014-10-21T19:58:00.001-04:002014-10-21T20:00:00.233-04:00the leaves blow around me in circles and I under the moon catch themHold on, oh my dear late sweet<br />
September; will you sweep<br />
up on gusty wheels of cool<br />
fragrant night, dusked orbs<br />
of lunarcaught midnight?<br />
<br />
Let lips be the cry of your<br />
house, many millions of sweet<br />
spicy leaves, turning again and again<br />
in little cradles, staining their bodies—<br />
swaddle them, threaded autumn!<br />
<br />
And you will kiss my hands, you<br />
ruddy-cheeked October, you spinning (you<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>soaring, you sigh-humming before you rush) up<br />
the embowed aisle of the world to bed<br />
and you<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>will certainly whisper<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>gold<br />
under the shut eyes of the sky.philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-3952464249790612572014-04-24T00:48:00.001-04:002014-04-24T00:49:51.270-04:00POLYGON PhotosSome beautiful photography by Candice Wilmore from this evening's world premiere of <i>Polygon </i>at the <a href="http://broadmuseum.msu.edu/" target="_blank">Eli and Edythe Broad Art Museum at Michigan State University</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tN5FH6EFp7A/U1iWLdvKpoI/AAAAAAAAAZU/oj3FzLhYKLk/s1600/DSC_6142+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tN5FH6EFp7A/U1iWLdvKpoI/AAAAAAAAAZU/oj3FzLhYKLk/s1600/DSC_6142+(1).JPG" height="181" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4I5TaZ1Ow1U/U1iWMoyNIBI/AAAAAAAAAZw/-AM95hAUPMc/s1600/DSC_6164+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4I5TaZ1Ow1U/U1iWMoyNIBI/AAAAAAAAAZw/-AM95hAUPMc/s1600/DSC_6164+(1).JPG" height="166" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lVQ-M2Tt378/U1iWLTOXF3I/AAAAAAAAAZY/lp2bBtvu-zw/s1600/DSC_6146+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lVQ-M2Tt378/U1iWLTOXF3I/AAAAAAAAAZY/lp2bBtvu-zw/s1600/DSC_6146+(2).JPG" height="154" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-83OkrMP9A2k/U1iWNoWPH_I/AAAAAAAAAaI/j6D9MlNXIUM/s1600/DSC_6213+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-83OkrMP9A2k/U1iWNoWPH_I/AAAAAAAAAaI/j6D9MlNXIUM/s1600/DSC_6213+(1).JPG" height="168" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hRMRL5LLmwE/U1iWMoEvbPI/AAAAAAAAAZo/2nPMXtIlG48/s1600/DSC_6148+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hRMRL5LLmwE/U1iWMoEvbPI/AAAAAAAAAZo/2nPMXtIlG48/s1600/DSC_6148+(1).JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I-Ii9gPd1IE/U1iWLQGltGI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/zBSzHKBf7Zo/s1600/DSC_6145+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I-Ii9gPd1IE/U1iWLQGltGI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/zBSzHKBf7Zo/s1600/DSC_6145+(1).JPG" height="111" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ngec_0T1Fqc/U1iWMiMnAGI/AAAAAAAAAZs/ZNPduFxRq2E/s1600/DSC_6167+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ngec_0T1Fqc/U1iWMiMnAGI/AAAAAAAAAZs/ZNPduFxRq2E/s1600/DSC_6167+(1).JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AQlKsqAo9FU/U1iWM97YilI/AAAAAAAAAaE/Uq9tdmhzXM8/s1600/DSC_6176+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AQlKsqAo9FU/U1iWM97YilI/AAAAAAAAAaE/Uq9tdmhzXM8/s1600/DSC_6176+(1).JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vBLDDlotXU8/U1iWNOKd7KI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/TEGAcGHqejc/s1600/DSC_6204+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vBLDDlotXU8/U1iWNOKd7KI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/TEGAcGHqejc/s1600/DSC_6204+(1).JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://plus.google.com/photos/116139238351231875552/albums/6005675726716639857?authkey=CNbfvfHkmu7wrAE" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Click here to see more on Candice Wilmore's Google Plus gallery</span></a></div>
<br />philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-2916393399230524172013-10-15T23:34:00.001-04:002013-10-15T23:34:51.254-04:00Pictures of CHRYSALISSome pictures from tonight's performance:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cqgV9qlWJN0/Ul4I8y8XiPI/AAAAAAAAAUU/Y3M8zMGEjD4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-10-15+at+11.28.21+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cqgV9qlWJN0/Ul4I8y8XiPI/AAAAAAAAAUU/Y3M8zMGEjD4/s400/Screen+Shot+2013-10-15+at+11.28.21+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7SLD5g49wo/Ul4I-v4iDUI/AAAAAAAAAUc/S84CTlgR_Gk/s1600/1378711_784277450028_764861702_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7SLD5g49wo/Ul4I-v4iDUI/AAAAAAAAAUc/S84CTlgR_Gk/s400/1378711_784277450028_764861702_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1MR7E7VUjok/Ul4JNgLhFuI/AAAAAAAAAUk/sslaOIfOjKY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-10-15+at+11.33.52+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1MR7E7VUjok/Ul4JNgLhFuI/AAAAAAAAAUk/sslaOIfOjKY/s400/Screen+Shot+2013-10-15+at+11.33.52+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-68407816566834948062013-10-10T22:52:00.000-04:002013-10-10T22:52:12.270-04:00What it looks like inside a CHRYSALIS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J0op-K0fOL0/UldnlG_I9zI/AAAAAAAAATw/rCrGJ_u4cfM/s1600/Photo+Oct+10,+9+43+20+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J0op-K0fOL0/UldnlG_I9zI/AAAAAAAAATw/rCrGJ_u4cfM/s640/Photo+Oct+10,+9+43+20+PM.jpg" width="476" /></a></div>
<br />philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-71410262641430226562013-10-10T18:22:00.002-04:002013-10-11T10:22:05.789-04:00When Lilacs LastOne spring my mother and I collected<br />
long twigs and put them in an empty tin can<br />
to make a tree on which to hang Easter eggs—<br />
real ones, which had been emptied of life<br />
and dyed bright chemical colors (yellow, orange<br />
and lime-green).<br />
<br />
We put water in the can to weigh it down,<br />
and after a few weeks buds pushed out<br />
on the branches: soon leaves unfurled.<br />
It was a paschal mystery, Aaron's staff in the ark<br />
of the covenant that was our front porch.<br />
<br />
Lilacs bloomed.<br />
<br />
After a while the tin rusted,<br />
the water turned blood-red, the green leaves<br />
withered and we solemnly placed the dead<br />
branches by the edge of the road.<br />
<br />
I am telling you this story because<br />
it is autumn as I write this and I cannot<br />
tell if your eyes (into which I only<br />
occasionally look) are old or new.<br />
I think they are in that narrow place;<br />
the moment just before everything<br />
changes, and the very fact that we exist<br />
at all seems a miracle beyond reckoning,<br />
far lovelier than a lilac gently resting<br />
against an empty green eggshell.<br />
<br />
Please don't imagine yourself anywhere<br />
that isn't fragile or barely real, don't<br />
ever think for a moment that you are too<br />
young or too old to be alive. I am not sure<br />
if this life is impossibly beautiful because<br />
it happened or impossibly tragic for the same reason,<br />
but I do know it is impossible, and I don't think<br />
I should have to choose.philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-71377275343727348172013-10-08T00:15:00.003-04:002013-10-08T00:15:33.271-04:00It begins...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8h1Rbmo2RHo/UlOG0RLbhRI/AAAAAAAAATg/C85PMfwVPW8/s1600/Photo+Oct+07,+10+34+58+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8h1Rbmo2RHo/UlOG0RLbhRI/AAAAAAAAATg/C85PMfwVPW8/s640/Photo+Oct+07,+10+34+58+PM.jpg" width="478" /></a></div>
<br />philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-27103168945316425412013-09-28T15:01:00.003-04:002013-09-29T12:04:11.639-04:00Updates on CHRYSALIS<div style="text-align: justify;">
I typically don't do this, but since my latest musical project is SO DAMN COOL I've decided you should all know about it. Also, I have no idea what I'm doing and I need help/suggestions.</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For those of you who haven't seen my <a href="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/57535000/chrysalis-0" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Kickstarter campaign</span></a> to raise a whopping $300 to pay for materials, check it out. I made a creeptastic video which you should watch just to entertain yourself even if you don't want to donate. But actually, I kind of need the money to pay for the project, so also donate please. Kickstarter is all-or-nothing, so I either get $0 or $300. Also, if you donate you get special prizes (read: creepy prizes).<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/57535000/chrysalis-0/widget/video.html" width="480"> </iframe>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Seriously, if <a href="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/230849868/chrysalis" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">these weirdos</span></a> can raise $12,000 and they don't even know how to pronounce the word "Chrysalis," surely my friends can support my relatively inexpensive dreams. Guys?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Okay, but my point here is not to complain about money! I really want to give you some updates about the piece because I am srsly SO EXCITE. For those of you who haven't read about the project, here's an abstract of the concept in a nutshell:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
<em style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Roboto Slab'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Chrysalis</em><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Roboto Slab'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> explores the boundaries of mediated transmission. Music, like other forms of art, is mediated by the medium itself and its environment, in this case by time, space, and memory. Gauze shrouds surrounding the singers evoke moth cocoons and are lit from the inside. Alternation between aleatoric and fully determined music highlights the uncertainty of live performance. The piece moves from ambiguous vowel sounds in the first movement to a description of a real-life out-of-body experience by soprano, Justine Aronson. The third movement is a veiled re-interpretation of Thomas Campion's early 17th century lute song, </span><em style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Roboto Slab'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;">Author of Light.</em></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been wanting to do more with "installation" style projects, and this is my first stab at combining more visual components into a piece. I'm ridiculously fortunate to have the amazing <a href="http://www.justinearonson.com/" target="_blank">Justine Aronson</a> flying in from Brooklyn to premiere this with Patrick Bonczyk, an incredible countertenor and intellectual extraordinaire (he basically comes up with all the concepts for my pieces these days).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been obsessed with moths since I was a small child. At summer camp I cried for hours when some mean boys pulled the wings off a majestic Polyphemus. I wrote several moth-inspired pieces in high school, but none that really dug more deeply into the mystical metaphor of transformation bound up in the narratology of moths. So this is where we are.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This week I purchased dimmer switches and blue light bulbs which will be controlled by the singers inside their cocoons. I think I decided that I want each singer in a separate "chrysalis" to further separate them from each other. If the audience should feel mediated, shouldn't the singers too? I also ordered tiny LED lights from China that hopefully will arrive in time for the performance. These will be worn by the singers during the second movement of the piece.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jslna0Rii3w/UkcZwqnwLtI/AAAAAAAAASU/R-yd0GA9dBA/s1600/Photo+Sep+28,+2+00+21+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jslna0Rii3w/UkcZwqnwLtI/AAAAAAAAASU/R-yd0GA9dBA/s320/Photo+Sep+28,+2+00+21+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-40KBWPsUZwg/UkcaXwMUCbI/AAAAAAAAASc/TGMNFRtm7go/s1600/$(KGrHqJ,!qIFIYlwfI!UBSLwWpgCQg~~60_57.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-40KBWPsUZwg/UkcaXwMUCbI/AAAAAAAAASc/TGMNFRtm7go/s200/$(KGrHqJ,!qIFIYlwfI!UBSLwWpgCQg~~60_57.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Composing for the cocoon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Of course there's music too! The piece is essentially done, and I'm really happy with some of the musical things happening in it. The first movement has no lyrics, and is almost entirely aleatoric for the singers. It's meant to evoke a kind of pupal musical state—amorphous, undefined musical shapes. The music snakes around through different tonal centers through a special kind of suspended transformation that I started using this summer when working on <i>Helios,</i> (a choral setting of an ancient Greek magical spell) for the Oregon Bach Festival. Basically the transformations happen by voicing a major or minor chord in second inversion, and then moving the fifth and root of the chord (the lower two notes) around by half-step, which usually creates another triad or some kind of quartal/quintal sonority. It's a really neat sound, and destroys any sense of key center.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The second movement has lyrics by Justine Aronson herself. Earlier this year she described an experience she had during acupuncture where she saw three dots in her mind's eye which she understood to be herself and the universe (seriously, is everyone this cool? I have the best friends). I had her describe the experience in some detail and used the dialogue as lyrics for the second movement, titled "I was three dots that were the universe." In the second movement, the roles are reversed—the piano is almost entirely aleatoric, and the singers are singing predetermined music. This "liminal" stage transitions into the entirely notated third movement, which is based on the Campion lute song, <i>Author of Light. </i>This was the most fun to write, weaving fragments of Campion's mysterious music into the harmonic framework I had set up in the first two movements. Most of the piece is based on whole-step diads and first-inversion chords with an added 4th in an inner voice. The lute song has an amazing section where the voice ascends up a chromatic scale (kind of crazy for the 17th century), which worked perfectly for the harmonic transformations from the first movement, bringing everything together at the close of the piece!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-327Z1_ZUeNU/Ukcdojv-agI/AAAAAAAAASw/iI9iKQP0sSQ/s1600/Chrysalis_0015.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-327Z1_ZUeNU/Ukcdojv-agI/AAAAAAAAASw/iI9iKQP0sSQ/s400/Chrysalis_0015.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H7weCyS6bVI/Ukcm_kZ5XCI/AAAAAAAAATQ/Xbn5wbmb130/s1600/Photo+Sep+21,+8+53+56+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H7weCyS6bVI/Ukcm_kZ5XCI/AAAAAAAAATQ/Xbn5wbmb130/s200/Photo+Sep+21,+8+53+56+PM.jpg" width="198" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uiYvI45BGCc/UkcekW1GCZI/AAAAAAAAAS4/qp2nRup5Ah8/s1600/Photo+Sep+19,+2+59+48+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uiYvI45BGCc/UkcekW1GCZI/AAAAAAAAAS4/qp2nRup5Ah8/s200/Photo+Sep+19,+2+59+48+PM.jpg" width="149" /></a>I am legitimately excited about this, and really looking forward to what I'll learn from having to work with materials (and not just musical abstractions) in a concert piece. I also love how working on a project like this makes me see the world in new and exciting ways. For example, a breathless moment of immortal understanding I had with a caterpillar last week, and this amazing sculpture at ArtPrize in Grand Rapids, MI. The jury is still out on how exactly to construct the chrysalides (who knew that was the plural of chrysalis?). I am hedging between trying to make them look haphazard and organic like real cocoons, which would probably require some wire or something, or having them be more idealized cubical-type structures which serve to evoke a sense of separation but not necessarily be analogous to anything in the natural world. I would love thoughts on what would be most effective... and like, if anyone knows how to build things. I guess I have to buy lumber and fabric for these things like next weekend. And, like a staple gun?</div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
EDIT: Apparently no one can find the two places in this blog that link to the Kickstarter page (namely, clicking on the video, and the word "Kistarter campaign" highlighted in red text). So, here is a direct link:<br />
<a href="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/57535000/chrysalis-0" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/57535000/chrysalis-0</span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-64152151568655011312013-09-16T22:26:00.000-04:002013-09-28T12:36:16.762-04:00Autumn Poem for 2013There are still quiet places, mostly dark<br />
cool places, such as the blue light<br />
that floods hillsides before dawn—<br />
there is no reason in particular<br />
this should remind me of the last<br />
days of summer with whipping, hawkish air<br />
that tears (or) old scarves, burnishes<br />
leaves (or) cheeks with the scent of rain<br />
falling on chrysanthemums, cavernous husks<br />
of yellow light (slender stalks<br />
of pure grain) flooding hillsides at dusk,<br />
<br />
And in the stone corner of my basement, where<br />
on a damp patch of carpet a cricket sings<br />
a lament over the shut eyes of her lover<br />
and I can see the tiny violins that are<br />
her brittle legs, which rend her black shawl—<br />
this music is a quiet place, in the dwelling<br />
of dead insects whose skeletons understand<br />
what it means to fall, there is no reason<br />
in particular that stones, flooding<br />
the hillsides after life should be quiet,<br />
nor gourds be ghoulish only in October,<br />
<br />
Yet there are still quiet places—<br />
one of them is autumn.philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-58873584454209302952013-08-29T17:36:00.001-04:002013-09-28T23:34:47.741-04:00Get With the Times<div style="text-align: justify;">
As the academic year once again gets underway, I think it's time to settle an old pet peeve of mine. If you will ever teach an academic course that involves writing, I invite you to consider what I have to say when making policies.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-76pWGKVroJA/Uh-y8phKfoI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/4PTT7jRwWpQ/s1600/comicsans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-76pWGKVroJA/Uh-y8phKfoI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/4PTT7jRwWpQ/s200/comicsans.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We've all heard the <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/im-comic-sans-asshole" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">jokes about Comic Sans</span></a> and its evil stepsister, Papyrus. We've all laughed because we're snobby enough to know that typefaces evoke moods—they have character (no pun intended) just like the content that they express. We know secrets of nuance that vapid secretaries could never understand. We want our typefaces to look and feel as beautiful as the ideas we're expressing with them. But lurking in the margins of our academic sensibilities is a sinister malady. An evil so commonplace that we have grown to love it and nurture it. A malignancy hidden in plain sight.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Times New Roman is not a good font. It's one of the worst fonts you can use. And I'm going to tell you why.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Right now, you're probably saying "BUT WAIT MY TEACHER SAID TO ALWAYS——" and that's fine. You shouldn't have been thinking in all caps, but otherwise you're right: most teachers claim to prefer TNR. I've tried my best not to oblige them. I hope some of those teachers are reading this right now.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="139" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Xu_KyFkxDF0/Uh-zEP6ZORI/AAAAAAAAAQY/uxR4nHdLCS8/s200/proto-cuneiform4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Translation: <br />
"i can haz human sacrifice?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XokmibAoMDs/Uh_XFvCmbOI/AAAAAAAAARk/lvJTtVsqzbU/s1600/trajan_column_letters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="121" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XokmibAoMDs/Uh_XFvCmbOI/AAAAAAAAARk/lvJTtVsqzbU/s320/trajan_column_letters.jpg" width="320" /></a>Let's start with some brief history of type to help contextualize what happened about 20 years ago and why TNR has become the "old" standby of academia. If we go way way back to the ancient world, we find pre-paper societies that used orthographies that play to the strengths of available materials. The wedge-like pictograms of cuneiform script occurred because people were writing in soft clay tablets. Later, in the Roman world, majuscules with straight, square forms were developed to be easier to carve into solid granite. In the middle ages, the popularity of parchment paper and ink allowed more flowing scripts to appear, which were mixed with pre-existing Roman stone writing to produce the many varied letterforms of modern Roman type. For 500 years, the printing press reigned supreme as the preferred method of mass produced text documents. Professional printers took great pride their art, and they knew that in order for their books to be legible and beautiful, they would have to draw on the millennia of development of hand-drawn scripts over the course of civilization. Gutenberg used the elegant calligraphic styles of his native Germany. In France, Claude Garamond designed exquisite typefaces of Roman design that are still in use today. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gjGaGfxDREI/Uh_XHOIEj_I/AAAAAAAAARs/mGmoTiRZ-As/s1600/tumblr_lgbomzSIUz1qgk1guo1_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gjGaGfxDREI/Uh_XHOIEj_I/AAAAAAAAARs/mGmoTiRZ-As/s200/tumblr_lgbomzSIUz1qgk1guo1_400.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ironically, she chose Impact.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The modern age of industry attempted to remove some of the vestiges of the quill and the chisel by creating "sans-serif" faces like Helvetica, but those are harder to read for long paragraphs because many of the letters look too similar to each other. For this reason, we won't discuss sans-serif fonts in the context of academic writing. Sorry, hipster Ariel. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the 20th century, technology developed to allow people to essentially "print" documents at home. The problem with the typewriter was that the mechanisms required that all the letters be of equal width. This is what today we call a "monospaced" typeface. Everyone knows that a lower-case "i" shouldn't take up the same amount of room as an upper-case "M," but in a monospaced universe, they do. This makes reading difficult and it distorts letterforms. It also wastes paper by making text take up a huge amount of space. Any freshman knows that if you change your font to 12pt Courier, it can go from two pages to three without writing any more words!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hm23yRv7BnA/Uh-2erZhUDI/AAAAAAAAARE/zqC0CK-ao7o/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-08-29+at+5.00.24+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="56" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hm23yRv7BnA/Uh-2erZhUDI/AAAAAAAAARE/zqC0CK-ao7o/s640/Screen+Shot+2013-08-29+at+5.00.24+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To prevent students from taking advantage of the wonders of post-industrial typography, many professors now require that papers be written in the most readily available proportional serif font, Times New Roman. Why is TNR so ubiquitous? Well, it's due in large part to Microsoft corporation, which, as you may have guessed, is not run by typographers. The great thing about the computer age is that the need for movable type has essentially vanished. Sophisticated software and advanced laser printing now allow anyone to create beautifully engraved pages of text at home without melting down any lead or rolling out ink onto giant sheets of lambskin. The sad part is that we're still using fonts that were packaged with computer systems before software engineers had worked out all the kinks or converted better typefaces to digital fonts.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LK80PxZYaaY/Uh-3g_JMJkI/AAAAAAAAARQ/nG1Gx7Z37AU/s1600/on-a-boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LK80PxZYaaY/Uh-3g_JMJkI/AAAAAAAAARQ/nG1Gx7Z37AU/s320/on-a-boat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The one on the far left is William Starling Burgess,<br />
designer of Times New Roman.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now don't get me wrong, TNR was a bad font even before it was digitized. It is itself a product of the industrial age—it was designed ostensibly from scratch in the 1930s by an advertising designer, who probably plagiarized the work from a yacht designer who made some sketches about 30 years before. Not a good start. The letterforms suffer from numerous internal inconsistencies and an overall unaesthetic design. The New York Times, for which it was created, no longer uses it. And neither should you. When the personal computer had its debut in the late 1980s, sophisticated font-handling on computers hadn't been developed. Most machines came pre-installed with only a few of the most common fonts, among them TNR. Over the years, technology caught up, but the standard didn't change. Nowadays most theses and dissertations are <i>required</i> to be in TNR even though better fonts are available on most machines. Thankfully, book and journal publishers have largely abandoned it for better typography, but it persists as the omnipresent standard for homemade documents among academics.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Take a look at the following comparison. All the examples are 12pt.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s2lgm9qhsMU/Uh-zY0PgFjI/AAAAAAAAAQs/65Wga7se9Hs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-08-29+at+4.41.58+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="331" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s2lgm9qhsMU/Uh-zY0PgFjI/AAAAAAAAAQs/65Wga7se9Hs/s640/Screen+Shot+2013-08-29+at+4.41.58+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Notice in some of the examples the elegant combination of the three letters "ffi" in the word "coffin." This is called a ligature. It's a way to avoid ugly collisions when letters are spaced tightly against each other. Default Times New Roman on your word processor employs no ligatures, so letters sometimes clash, creating an unorganized appearance on the page. The designers of the Macintosh, who historically gush about typography, tried to help by including a variant of the font, simply called "Times" that fixes some of these problems. As you can see, they included an "fi" ligature, but not "ffi," so the other "f" in "coffin" is left looking forlorn and emaciated.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Notice also how TNR's generally poor letter-spacing takes up more room than most other Roman fonts. Only Palatino and Georgia are wider (they both also appeared in the computer age and have little or no historical precedent). Palatino achieves more consistency than TNR by making all the letters slightly wider and by using more regular stroke widths. The problem of ligatures is also avoided in Palatino by creating letterforms that naturally avoid collision. By far the most economical, legible, and aesthetically pleasing of the Roman fonts are those designed by Adobe Labs after centuries-old designs taken from original movable type. Garamond, my personal favorite, is over 400 years old. Note how the advanced kerning in Garamond Premiere Pro nestles the lower-case "e" in "Burgess" into the nook of the lower-case "g" that precedes it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is a lot more to hate about TNR—it's a "transitional" serif font, meaning that it's a deformed runt-hybrid of "oldstyle" serifs (graceful, delicate fonts that mimic the smooth globules of ink on a real printed page) and "modern" serifs (high contrast letters that fully embrace the sharp-edges of precision machinery). I won't list all the reasons I loathe it here, but take a look for yourself. Type a sentence in MSWord at 48pt in Times, Garamond, and a few others. Print it out and look carefully. Ask yourself which one you really prefer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The current sophistication of computer typography is a tremendous achievement. I know most people don't want to spend $299 for Garamond Premiere Pro, and I'm not asking anyone to do that. But if you're a professional academic who writes articles, you should think about it. It's more legible, has significantly better historical precedent, and can actually be beautiful. It was designed by a man who devoted his life to typography, not some hack advertising agent or software engineer trying to meet a deadline. If you're a student, try using Palatino or default Garamond that come preinstalled on Windows and Mac. Don't use Times New Roman. It was created by a plagiarist after all. It's bad karma.<br />
<br />
<b>EDIT</b>: Some of you have asked for recommendations for other alternatives. In my quest to find free useful fonts, I came across an open source historical Garamond project, which is causing me to poop myself right now. CHECK IT OUT!!!<span style="color: red;"> </span><a href="http://www.georgduffner.at/ebgaramond/" style="color: red;"><span style="color: red;">http://www.georgduffner.at/ebgaramond/</span></a><br />
<br />
Also, pretty much anything from <a href="http://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">The League of Movable Type</span></a> is a solid choice, and all are free to download. <a href="http://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/"><span style="color: red;">http://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/</span></a></div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-91593862291509349152013-07-02T03:44:00.000-04:002013-10-03T17:14:31.985-04:00Falling in Love in Under Ten Minutes0:00<br />
<br />
The warmth of your arm<br />
on my arm (not quite touching<br />
but the air between almost<br />
in the gap between us and you<br />
shake my hand and your name)<br />
is everything I remember suddenly.<br />
<br />
0:01<br />
<br />
O Maria, familiar lady, what<br />
if any shroud can make me invisible?<br />
<br />
0:02<br />
<br />
The stalwart concord<br />
of the lines on your brow,<br />
the rough fringe of your fingers<br />
when they grasp sonorous threads.<br />
<br />
0:03<br />
<br />
Tonight I listened to Josquin,<br />
his Marian shroud made me visible.<br />
<br />
0:04<br />
<br />
A fly that walks on flatness<br />
then suddenly flies not falling but is<br />
taken up into and out of across the<br />
medium between our bodies<br />
and how can it be? that between us<br />
such a thing can move from two to three<br />
dimensions: it is polyphony<br />
<br />
0:05<br />
<br />
and can my body existing outside itself<br />
in the air beneath my breath ever reach you?<br />
If the gap is shrouded is there serenity<br />
in that I suddenly must only<br />
remember your face?<br />
<br />
0:06<br />
<br />
Daniel was the king of lions<br />
and his coat in under ten minutes<br />
covered all the mouths of my heart.<br />
<br />
0:07<br />
<br />
Subito Catholicam, you faltering<br />
faithful unnamable familiarity, you<br />
startling old-friend strangeness, are<br />
you Mary and even if so, why do I KNow<br />
your AGeless GhoSt?<br />
<br />
0:08<br />
<br />
In my knowledge your eyes<br />
must be sacristies filled<br />
with more holy water than could<br />
ever wean my heart's lion.<br />
<br />
0:09<br />
<br />
And now I remembering know<br />
that it will be enough to hide<br />
under a shroud for five days<br />
and peering through worn wholes<br />
of grace tirelessly imagine<br />
your face in any light.philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-58765801857482542132013-06-28T05:48:00.000-04:002013-06-28T05:48:59.468-04:00Holy Smokes<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes when we think something is really remarkable, we call it holy. We respond to the shock of an astonishing event with ironic phrases like "holy cow," "holy mackerel," "holy shit," and so on. I think "holy smokes" must be an exception to the irony of the phraseology, because smokes can indeed be holy, and often are, as in the sacred smoke of ritual incense. Flying ought to be one of the holiest of remarkable moments. Think of it! Just the thought of looking <i>down</i> on the clouds is enough to take your breath away. My God! Look at all those holy smokes!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My flight was delayed. I think a delayed flight is one of the ultimate exercises in stillness. The thwarted expectation of speed. Instead of hurtling to your destination, being greeted by the strangely static <i>terminal</i> (what a term) all full of motion and frenzy but not itself really going anywhere. It's anathema to travel. The <i>station</i>. The place that stays put. Two hours delayed. I call the director of the symposium I'm attending this week to tell him I'll be late. He seems relatively unfazed. Two hours pass... delayed again. I'll have to spend the night at my next layover. Holy shit, this is going to really still.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We board, finally, and I'm sitting in front of a middle aged man. He's anything but still. He seems excited—talking to his children who barely respond. His topics of public rumination include the usual concerns of a 40-something American man: junk food, drill bits, plumbing, cancer. He seems preoccupied by the fact that airplanes don't have headlights. He mentions this a few times. No response from his children. "I'll be going to sleep now. Nudge me if I snore." He immediately feigns snoring. No laughs. It's almost 11:00PM now. The topic is twizzlers.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The plane is brand new, with sparkling plastic inlays and soft gradient lighting. The roof of the cabin is arched with whalebone-like structural supports, and is illuminated by soft lighting emanating from bulbs nestled in the molding. It looks like a planetarium at twilight. The boy next to me is quiet as he peruses a magazine. He is trying sudoku without a pencil. He stares for a while. No luck. He'll try the crossword soon, also without luck. As we leave the ground, the lights of cities look like volcanic magma seeping out of fissured earth. The branching patterns of roads and houses appear as rivers, glowing, red-orange.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The ventilation systems are pumping cool air, laden with moisture. It looks like soft fog rolling across the cabin roof, completing the crepuscular simulation. As we ascend, I listen to the sounds of voices around me, an awkward counterpoint of inflection and affectation. I imagine the plane opening up like a flower, breaking apart in a brilliant corolla of splintered metal and plastic. I imagine the strange patterns all our bodies will make in the air, like bits of scattered pollen. I imagine we'd be able to swim around and find one another. They say when you free-fall, it feels like you're weightless. The moments before skydivers activate their parachutes are moments of total stillness, even though they are moving at incredible speed. I imagine the artificial smoke and light of the cabin giving way to the real solar light and earthly smoke of heaven. I imagine the polyphony of our bodies as we fall, suspended midair, almost convinced that we're motionless... the way the lines of the most florid organum interlock and sound like a continuous, homogenous whole.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The man behind me is asleep now.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Son, help me with this tray table... I can't reach it..."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Dad, it's right in front of you."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I can't reach it..."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Dad..."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Don't do that! My arm will get caught!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Dad, I'm not doing anything."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Ow!! Ouch! My arm!!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"DAD!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Arphempluknfiffle."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When we land in San Francisco, I will probably sleep. I think I will probably dream about tomorrow, the work of singing and writing, of dressing and eating and meeting. But maybe I'll be especially still tonight because I'm at an airport. Maybe I'll dream of holy smokes.</div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-91069902819774283942013-06-23T18:52:00.000-04:002013-06-23T23:17:50.371-04:00The Importance of Being Earnest<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Remember those Attic stelae, how amazed you were at the caution<br />
of human gestures; at the way love and parting were<br />
so lightly laid on their shoulders, as if made of other stuff" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(Rilke, from the Duino Elegies)</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been meaning to write this for a while. Today it became necessary. The supermoon demanded it! And so also my heart has demanded it (and I'm not entirely convinced that they're not one and the same).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YeF6mEB8HJ0/Ucd3cLO9RFI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/jX8hiVoIkrQ/s1600/Stela.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YeF6mEB8HJ0/Ucd3cLO9RFI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/jX8hiVoIkrQ/s200/Stela.jpg" width="138" /></a>I was talking with a good friend yesterday about the difficulty of the singularity of minds. The idea that you can never really "know" someone because you can never see through their eyes or know their thoughts. This is not a radical concept, we've all thought about it, and a lot of cultural and social behavior is predicated on the addressing this conundrum. Humans, for whatever reason, have a deep desire to communicate their thoughts and ideas to others. We highly value the ability to communicate: the novelist, the artist, the politician, the poet, the musician—all are valued. Their job is to tell us something from inside themselves that we can't see or hear or know for ourself. We see a Platonic cave-shadow of it in their creations and their words. And that comforts us, somehow making us feel less alone... because we have those same thoughts and feelings. We love things because we identify with them.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Recently I have been frustrated with the seeming reticence to share these feelings suddenly and earnestly, and I was struck with a profoundly disturbing thought—maybe even more disturbing than the original solipsistic realization: what is the point of withholding true admissions of experience?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This might sound needlessly philosophical... let me try to put it into more colloquial terms. How many times have you looked at a tree in a certain light and just wanted to cry? How many times have you heard a song and actually cried but told no one? How many times have you wanted to tell someone how much you wanted/liked/loved them but held back because social convention taught you that you shouldn't (and later cried)? Tears are wordless admissions of overwhelming experience. And we systematically hide them.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two pet peeves come to mind. The first is when people say that they don't "get" poetry or modern art because they don't understand it or it's "over their head." This is a profound fallacy because poetry and art are evocative. They are not, at their core, meant to be dissected in some kind of academic or learned way (if a piece is designed with this in mind, I argue that the artist is doing it wrong, but that's another topic for another day/year/lifetime). The point of E.E. Cummings is to simply wash over you and soak every inch of your soul until you explode/faint/die. The point of Rothko is not to make you understand ratios or colors. Rothko himself said,</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z40xR8_uBWQ/Ucd3cCPdneI/AAAAAAAAAPI/_N5jpOT3JdM/s1600/rothko2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z40xR8_uBWQ/Ucd3cCPdneI/AAAAAAAAAPI/_N5jpOT3JdM/s200/rothko2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
"[My interest is] only in expressing basic human emotions—tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on. And the fact that a lot of people break down and cry when confronted with my pictures shows that I can communicate those basic human emotions... The people who weep before my pictures are having the same religious experience I had when I painted them. ...[I]f you [...] are moved only by their color relationship, then you miss the point."</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is not to say that a depth of context cannot or does not enhance the experiential phenomenon of communicative arts. Knowing Bach's religious ideals can certainly enhance the theological appeal of his cantatas, but I am not fully convinced that it enhances their aesthetic value. The point of a poem or a painting or a tree is not to educate you—education, after all, is nothing more than amassing knowledge (i.e. contrived names and descriptions) that make you feel more comfortable about how or why a thing exists. Education doesn't abate the astonishment of existence itself. Instead, the point is to simply be changed by the thing. To interact with it. To be destroyed and remade made by it in an instant. People tend to understand this better with music and less with poems and least of all with people.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here's the actual thing, and it brings me to my second big pet peeve: why is it that saying "I love you" is such a huge deal? Why do people freak out if someone says it and it's "too soon"? How can it ever be too soon to love? What exactly are you waiting for? Heck, I fell in love with the moon last night. And there's a good chance that I might at any given time be in love with four people that I've never met. And yet, I hardly ever admit it. I keep it to myself and I fault others when they won't say it. On the few occasions when I do decide to share my explosive feelings (a certain episode comes to mind involving birds which may or may not still be happening) I am often greeted with "calm down," or "don't be so <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/bombastic" target="_blank">bombastic</a>."</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jSMeJMWOY0o/Ucd3cdtAo3I/AAAAAAAAAPU/fmrPJfPM4I0/s1600/Red_tailed_tropic_bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="126" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jSMeJMWOY0o/Ucd3cdtAo3I/AAAAAAAAAPU/fmrPJfPM4I0/s200/Red_tailed_tropic_bird.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birds are the doom of golden twilight.<br />
Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
How can I not!? Birds are LIVING CREATURES THAT FLY INTO THE SKY AND ARE BEAUTIFUL AND OH ALSO THEY SING. WHAT. EVEN.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And how can I not fall in love with you? Have you ever stopped to think about what you are? The need to communicate this is simultaneously overwhelming and stifling... Rilke says,<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Lovers, if they only understood, might speak wondrously<br />
in the night air. For everything, it seems,<br />
seeks to conceal us. Look: the trees <i>exist</i>; the houses<br />
we dwell in stand there stalwartly. Only we<br />
pass it all by, like a rush of air."</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And why? Why?? I'm serious, what are we protecting? Our hearts? Protecting them <i>from what</i>? I honestly earnestly can't think of a single thing, not even to sarcastically supplant here. Don't tell me we're guarding it from rejection or pain or sorrow. We will feel that regardless of admission. We're human.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had a conversation with one of my best friends about a year ago. In it we bemoaned how everyone thinks we're stoic and unfeeling when in fact we are daily overwhelmed by everything small and strange. "If you or I acted the way we felt every day, everyone would think we were insane. We'd be crying on street-corners. We have to hide our feelings because no one would understand us if we didn't." I think, now, that that choice was deeply misguided. Leading my friends to think that I am unsympathetic to emotion because of my deep-seated rational nature only invalidates the many feelings we share. Worse still, it further isolates us from one another. It is denial, and it can't be good for our hearts. I cannot do it anymore.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In her luminous novel, <i>Gilead</i>, Marilynne Robinson writes, </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I think there must also be a prevenient courage that allows us to be brave—that is, to acknowledge that there is more beauty than our eyes can bear, that precious things have been put into our hands and to do nothing to honor them is to do great harm."</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps we are doing great harm by denying ourselves the freedom to honestly disclose when we love or when our ineffable experience leaves us fainthearted and wordless. One last thought from Rilke:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"slowly one becomes unaccustomed to earthly things,<br />
in the gentle way one leaves a mother's breast. But we, who need<br />
such great mysteries, for whom so often blessed progress<br />
springs from grief—: could <i>we</i> exist without <i>them</i>?"</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No, I don't believe we could. And why would we want to? Let's not become unaccustomed to earthly things. Let's be continually astonished by their always mystery and never admonish one another when we admit it.</div>
</div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-27093507099087373662013-04-09T13:18:00.002-04:002013-11-02T18:30:12.262-04:00Six Reasons I Loathe College Sports<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some of you will hate me for this. I know that. But I gotta say it.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It has come to my attention recently that a lot of people really, really love college sports. Just kidding, I always knew that. What I mean is that it has come to my attention recently that I really hate college sports. And maybe that I have some good reasons for feeling that way. Here, in descending order of significance are my six top reasons for unceasing loathing:</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-auvs_GJYjbk/UWQ2mMqHjhI/AAAAAAAAALY/IXILiUWh_7A/s1600/male_gorillas_fighting+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-auvs_GJYjbk/UWQ2mMqHjhI/AAAAAAAAALY/IXILiUWh_7A/s320/male_gorillas_fighting+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do I need to say more?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
6. <b>As a form of entertainment, sports lack substance. </b></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This has more to do with why I dislike sports in general as a spectator, but it also applies to college in special ways. I believe that the media we consume should do something to the mind as well as the emotions. Works of entertainment-based art that appeal only to primitive instinct and offer no intellectual stimulation tend to be decidedly lacking. But wait, what about sitcoms? Or pop music, you say? The best pop artists always have an agenda that is shrouded in metaphor (Madonna, Beyoncé, etc.). The best sitcoms probe the depths of the human condition while also being funny (Frasier, Friends, etc.). Sports don't do that. They appeal only to our primitive, barbaric emotional responses. And when we watch sports, we behave like animals.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AfoG0aZdQ0A/UWRGtAHhGEI/AAAAAAAAAMA/wz0ORo8ZIq8/s1600/students-rioting-van.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AfoG0aZdQ0A/UWRGtAHhGEI/AAAAAAAAAMA/wz0ORo8ZIq8/s320/students-rioting-van.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just sharing some research. <br />
Nothing to see here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
5. <b>The arbitrary nature of the games encourages baseless fanaticism. </b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because there is no underlying<i> </i>purpose or aim for sports other than to generate a controlled competitive environment, loyalties ultimately become based on nothing more than proximity. Why do you root for Ohio State? Because you went to school there. Or because you live nearby. That's not a reason to love something... that's like religious fanatics who think their religion is great because their parents did. And we think that's foolish, immature, and shameful, right? Some say that sports events build camaraderie or a sense of community. But I see the opposite of that. They pit schools against one another by creating an artificially heightened sense of loyalty.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4. <b>It takes too damn long.</b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The average football or basketball game lasts around three hours. Let's think of other things that take around three hours:</div>
</div>
</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Two Mahler Symphonies</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The Fellowship of the Ring</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">6 to 8 Mozart Symphonies</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">An opera</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Cooking Thanksgiving dinner</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Driving about 200 miles</li>
</ul>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Typically we reserve lengthy activities for things which have high payoff intellectually or physically. Things that we deem too long for their own good, like Wagner, are often ridiculed. Why do we put up with inordinately long sporting events when the payoff is less rewarding than 30 minutes of <i>Ancient Aliens</i>?</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1ko9Cy03NLQ/UWQ63VtRpEI/AAAAAAAAALg/02kbPxTLom0/s1600/usc-cheerleaders-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1ko9Cy03NLQ/UWQ63VtRpEI/AAAAAAAAALg/02kbPxTLom0/s320/usc-cheerleaders-12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No glass ceiling here! At USC the ladies major in<br />
sophisticated fields of research and discourse.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3. <b>It's abhorrently, shamelessly, and hopelessly sexist.</b></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't think I need to reiterate that popular sports are male dominated. In academia we've worked hard to all but eradicate sexist hiring and admissions in (almost) every field of study. Why are the "flagship" teams that give the university national exposure dominated by men? And why are there NO roles for women in the whole pageant? Oh wait, I guess the ladies can be cheerleaders. Imagine if there were a drama on primetime in which every week there were only male characters and they spent the entire show making references to their masculine strength and occasionally beating each other up. And the female roles were only minor characters, always dressed in miniskirts and only ever said endearing things about the male characters. Oh yeah, there were shows like that. In 1961. Would you take a program like that seriously today? Also, it's three hours long.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2. <b>It distracts from the real values of academia.</b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hARq0L9Jodo/UWRBb5KIWAI/AAAAAAAAALo/RiL96V9x69Y/s1600/princeton-university-logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="88" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hARq0L9Jodo/UWRBb5KIWAI/AAAAAAAAALo/RiL96V9x69Y/s320/princeton-university-logo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What are you thinking of right now? The Quidditch team?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The blatant sexism is enough reason to shun the institution of sports in academia. But if you happen to be an old bigoted WASP, there are still reasons to abhor the spectacle. It advertises the university as something other than a vehicle for academic pursuit. A justification I often hear is that the immense popularity of college sports helps give the university greater exposure. But isn't that a little like false advertising? If I run an ad on craigslist that says "Philip Rice: Bargain Prostitute" I'll get a lot of exposure (hopefully only the metaphorical kind). But if I'm actually selling musical compositions, that kind of advertising doesn't really make sense. It's actually a lie. And the whole "building prestige" or "raising money" arguments don't work when you consider the Ivy League... virtually sportsless but still household names (and rolling in endowments to boot), known and rewarded for what they <i>actually</i> do: offer a good education. Guess what never happened while I lived in Princeton, NJ? Game day.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ibmiAzyuqmM/UWRDI9OSVyI/AAAAAAAAALw/YEknaodUGaE/s1600/91Y1t.AuSt.79.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ibmiAzyuqmM/UWRDI9OSVyI/AAAAAAAAALw/YEknaodUGaE/s200/91Y1t.AuSt.79.JPG" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I got a Bachelors of Basketball. Double-<br />
majored in chauvinism and barbaria" </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. <b>It celebrates the triumph of the body over the triumph of the mind.</b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Maybe this reason is a little idealistic. But I think that as members of academia, as people who have chosen a college education, we have chosen to venerate the mind as a more powerful medium of expression and meaning than the body. <i>The pen is mightier than the sword.</i> Isn't that what we're supposed to believe at college? That's not exactly the vibe I'm getting from the sports teams. I'm getting a lot of sword. And it's not exactly fair to the players either. They often find themselves trapped in an institution that offered them gobs of money to promote the university, but that at the end of the day doesn't actually value what they do. Turns out being on the team is <i>extra-curricular</i>. It doesn't actually help your grades... it usually hurts them. Having a high-visibility sports team at college makes about as much sense as having writing or debate as a main televised event in the Olympics.<br />
<br />
And here's some food for thought: the library at MSU closes early on game days. If that doesn't make you squirm a little, then you probably quit reading after #5. </div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know that sports are fun to watch. I get it. I know that it brings people together (as long as they're rooting for the same team, otherwise it makes them violent and confrontational). And I don't think that sports as a part of human culture is actually a bad idea. Our bodies are powerful expressers just like our minds, and can be seen as a crowning human achievement. Pro sports are one thing—they're not pretending to be something they're not. They are a form of commercial entertainment where values are internally consistent and the ends supposedly justify the means. College sports are something else. It doesn't make any sense to insert them into an institution that has worked so hard to promote equality and education.</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-11832291369516335732013-02-13T23:03:00.001-05:002013-06-21T21:11:16.545-04:00True Love is a Redundancy<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In English there is only one word for love. Some say this is an injustice. <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18.71875px;">“</span>I love you, man!<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18.71875px;">”</span> or <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18.71875px;">“</span>I love pizza,<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18.71875px;">”</span> or <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18.71875px;">“</span>I love you<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18.71875px;">”</span> each mean different things. But I think they mean the same thing. Maybe we only have one word for love because being in love with everything is really so much better than being in love with anything. Think about it: is the feeling you get when you sink your teeth into that crispy-gooey pizza slice really all that different than the goosebumps you get when you think about your high school crush? Is the overwhelming melancholy of gazing at the sun drifting downward toward the horizon really so far away from the sadness that can fill your heart when you realize that a love you've spent so much time growing has numbered days?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This Valentine's day, let's remember that maybe it's OK to be in love with that guy you see at the bus stop only on Monday, or that barista who always smiles back. And maybe you can fall madly in love with a font or a color or a sky, and that's just as true. Come to think of it, isn't anything we see or hope or know with our whole heart really just as true as love?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This poem by E.E. Cummings sums up my feelings well (as many poems by E.E. Cummings do):</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
this man's heart </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
is true to his</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
earth;so</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
anyone's world</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
does </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
-n't interest him(by the </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
look</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
feel taste smell</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
& sound</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
of a silence who can </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
guess </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
ex-</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
actly</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
what life</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
will do)loves </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
nothing </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
as much as</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
how(first</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
the arri</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
-v- </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
in </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
-g)a snowflake twi-</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
sts</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
,on</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
its way to now </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
-here</div>
</blockquote>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-50010175304576139892012-12-27T14:02:00.000-05:002013-06-21T21:11:27.952-04:00My Tiny Tim Fantasy<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Do you remember two kinds of Christmases? There is one kind in a house where there is little and a present represents not only love but sacrifice. The one single package is opened with a kind of slow wonder, almost reverence.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
(John Steinbeck, from a 1959 letter to Adlai Stevenson)</div>
</blockquote>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Christmas is to most a time for celebrating good fortune, spending money, feasting, and giving gifts. I don’t think the message of Christmas is really lost in this; in my observation most seem to remember and appreciate Christmas as a time of genuine goodwill even in spite of rampant consumerism. I don’t see any problem in consumerism if it’s done for unselfish reasons. If there were ever a time to be a rampant consumer, Christmas is it.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This year, my parents began their transition to the “big” city of Lansing. No, they don’t have empty-nest-syndrome or postpartum-depression from losing their precious baby son. They didn’t move to follow me, they moved to be closer to their wild-and-crazy interracial church, and probably in an attempt to cure that special strain of cabin fever that can only be brought on by 15 years in Coldwater, MI.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Nevertheless we kept Christmas in Coldwater this year. The floors were stripped, the cupboards were bare, the fridge was empty, and the air was cold and dry. A tiny Christmas tree was perched atop an old end-table. The heirloom mahogany dining table was replaced by a rickety fold-up card table covered with a poinsettia table cloth and surrounded by lawn chairs and old office swivel-chairs. There remained only the sofa in the living room, and a single small ottoman on which to rest our feet. The family dog was absent, having died months ago (remnants of her hair and dandruff still to be kicked up and inhaled, inciting sneezes of remembrance).</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our traditions remained the same, but tapered down to fit a more meager situation. Christmas eve dinner was at a local restaurant, and was mediocre at best (what all-star chefs work on Christmas eve?). Without a piano or hymnal, we sang Christmas carols a cappella and from memory. We passed around my mother’s Bible and read the Christmas story from Matthew and Luke. We opened our gifts. The DVD player was broken, so we piled on the couch drinking wine and gorging ourselves on Christmas cookies, and watched a strange movie on TV about nuns. On Christmas day, we had leftover turkey from Thanksgiving, went to the movie theater, and watched Jeopardy.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This all could have been really depressing, but instead there was a special joy in the whole thing. I’ve never seen my father laugh until he cried. We decorated cookies and didn’t care if sprinkles got on the floor. We made hot water for hot cocoa and coffee in old pots that had been packed away. We laughed a lot. We reminisced every unique ornament on that tiny tree. We hobbled around boxes piled high, and we laughed some more. We drank more wine, piled on that single couch, falling half asleep watching old episodes of Star Trek, and laughed. All the while, snowflakes were gently falling outside, illuminated by a single strand of Christmas lights on that tiny tree purchased from Goodwill. And what a source of goodwill it was! It was probably the best Christmas ever.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-57283284453513476142012-12-21T01:04:00.000-05:002012-12-21T01:04:25.057-05:00Bells at Christmastide<br />
DO:<br />
crescendoing (no faster<br />
than snow can slip)<br />
your quiet limbs<br />
sang into silent<br />
fir trees<br />
down<br />
<br />
SOL:<br />
growing soft green<br />
foliage of truth,<br />
leaves of my open eyes<br />
hanging from heartstems:<br />
ornaments of deepest<br />
Gabriels shining<br />
up-up-up the loudest<br />
heaven——<br />
<br />
LA:<br />
then—oh my<br />
suddenly God—He<br />
appeared, the Son<br />
of all green<br />
flowers, of all<br />
stars<br />
<br />
MI:<br />
of all that is<br />
quietly singing<br />
out of my<br />
silent<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-14365480125953512412012-11-15T17:42:00.000-05:002013-06-21T21:11:44.659-04:00Strange<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is something horribly, horribly strange about <a href="http://music.sufjan.com/album/silver-gold">Sufjan Stevens's latest album</a>. I literally cannot listen to his last album (Age of Adz) for this reason... it shreds my heart, and not in a good way, really; in a mystical, terrifying, relentless, strange.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It makes me feel the way I remember feeling when, as a child, I found myself fixated on strange and bizarre images while lying awake in my bed (a mangled tree stump, a spindle of glowing silver thread, a sarcophagus that bridged a river), and would come sheepishly downstairs to sit with my parents half panicked, half consumed with melancholy, half afraid the universe would swallow us up without warning or mercy (yes, that's three halves).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After I sobbed for three hours one night last year while listening to "Futile Devices" on repeat, I knew it had to stop. This music is not right. It is strange.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This new 58-track album of "Christmas" music is everything that terrifies me <strike>about this universe</strike>. I cannot endorse its consumption. I think it is the songs of terrible angels, or of ancients, or of aliens.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="100" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/v=2/album=3123296626/size=venti/bgcol=FFFFFF/linkcol=4285BB/" style="display: block; height: 100px; position: relative; text-align: justify; width: 400px;" width="400"><a href="http://music.sufjan.com/album/silver-gold">Silver & Gold by Sufjan Stevens</a></iframe><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-78118856170525321762012-09-21T18:15:00.000-04:002012-09-21T21:52:01.718-04:00the lea(f<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0uj_2NaMMqg/UF0ZtzFWv5I/AAAAAAAAAJM/zrbED2odhJ4/s1600/the+lea(f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0uj_2NaMMqg/UF0ZtzFWv5I/AAAAAAAAAJM/zrbED2odhJ4/s400/the+lea(f.jpg" width="342" /></a></div>
<br />philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-21561778840701054512012-09-08T19:44:00.001-04:002012-09-14T12:45:52.339-04:00You and I are not suns<br />
You and I are<br />
not suns, aeons apart, vibrating<br />
slow churning cello-strings of space;<br />
we are not trees who staring unforgetting<br />
at the sky thousands of days at a time<br />
find that they understand stars<br />
much more clearly than you or I.<br />
<br />
No we are not very old yet,<br />
our rings will be fewer than our<br />
backyard tree and still fewer than<br />
Saturn's long strands of ancient hair<br />
(fed by the very stones of eternity)<br />
no, we will never be that far apart—<br />
two thousand miles at the most,<br />
maybe just chairs away at the least.<br />
<br />
Still, I hear your voice as clear<br />
as emptiness when I am wandering<br />
down the short trails of your handwriting<br />
on an old scrap of paper, also when I am<br />
praying myself into galaxies so distant<br />
even God himself should sleep<br />
half the journey.philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-56322021590944148932012-08-31T17:40:00.001-04:002013-06-21T21:11:56.177-04:00Century Egg<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well, everyone, I finally did it. I've been clamoring for a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Century_egg">century egg</a> for some time now, and I finally found some at an Asian grocery store in my new home of East Lansing. My roommate pointed them out to me, only to realize in slow-motion horror that I hadn't been kidding all these years.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
These were duck eggs preserved in the traditional style with salt and lye. They were not refrigerated, and were not shelled. What follows is an illustrated account of my solitary quest to discover the mysterious flavors and textures of the century egg.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Each egg was individually wrapped with loose plastic:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ACN7rNEpxU/UEEsUr0MFdI/AAAAAAAAAHw/Cyc8N_8a-TM/s1600/Photo+Aug+31,+5+13+18+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1ACN7rNEpxU/UEEsUr0MFdI/AAAAAAAAAHw/Cyc8N_8a-TM/s320/Photo+Aug+31,+5+13+18+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The membrane directly under the shell was speckled:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s5N8IN-o9Zc/UEEstgUCq1I/AAAAAAAAAH4/lCGrcA62bso/s1600/Photo+Aug+31,+5+14+23+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s5N8IN-o9Zc/UEEstgUCq1I/AAAAAAAAAH4/lCGrcA62bso/s320/Photo+Aug+31,+5+14+23+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Peeling back the membrane, the egg itself appeared to be black and glossy (I later discovered it was a very dark, translucent amber, as expected).</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r-vX8dnio3Y/UEEs_UyOhlI/AAAAAAAAAIA/uiLFu7xTcKU/s1600/Photo+Aug+31,+5+15+07+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r-vX8dnio3Y/UEEs_UyOhlI/AAAAAAAAAIA/uiLFu7xTcKU/s320/Photo+Aug+31,+5+15+07+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The fully peeled egg:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cBbhVPYerBk/UEEtGnzJ7XI/AAAAAAAAAII/vpY9BEILOow/s1600/Photo+Aug+31,+5+16+34+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cBbhVPYerBk/UEEtGnzJ7XI/AAAAAAAAAII/vpY9BEILOow/s320/Photo+Aug+31,+5+16+34+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I will say that at this point, the smell of the egg was quite strong. Difficult to describe, but if I had to characterize it, it was something like a combination of urine and rotting potatoes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C4rn4mYX454/UEEtXQZofWI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/GpDbKPGqULs/s1600/Photo+Aug+31,+5+17+03+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C4rn4mYX454/UEEtXQZofWI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/GpDbKPGqULs/s320/Photo+Aug+31,+5+17+03+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Having sliced it apart, I did take a small bite, despite the foul odor. In truth, it was quite bland... the white was close to the consistency of a gummy bear, but a little firmer, and had almost no flavor whatsoever. The yolk, apart from its coloration, tasted very much like the yolk from a regular fresh hard-boiled egg. On a scale of 1-10, (1 being foul and inedible, and 10 being scrumtrulescent) I would give it a 3. I certainly wouldn't eat one if I were looking for a snack, but if I were starving, I'd have few qualms.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Bonus! Characteristic "pine-branch" patterns, which I observed upon holding the white against the light of the open window!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j-bWb05i7-Y/UEEuR8L2oKI/AAAAAAAAAIY/s55mk9yzClE/s1600/Photo+Aug+31,+5+19+19+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j-bWb05i7-Y/UEEuR8L2oKI/AAAAAAAAAIY/s55mk9yzClE/s320/Photo+Aug+31,+5+19+19+PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-58075300589515794282012-07-18T14:07:00.000-04:002013-06-21T21:12:05.695-04:00Pausing in the West<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Do take a sober colouring from an eye</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That hath kept watch o’er man's mortality;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To me the meanest flower that blows can give</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.<span style="background-color: white;"> </span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
(William Wordsworth, from <i>Intimations of Immortality</i>)</div>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Driving along the scenic backways of Utah, through the Dixie National Forest, light is quickly scampering on the feet of sheep and deer, running deeper into the Western hills and valleys. We wind along and around, chasing the light until we reach a fork in the road. One road leads North, up and out of the forest; the other South, deeper into the mountains and away back to the city. But it is neither North nor South that has captured us; it is the Western heavenly—no, celestial, perhaps cosmic—light that is calling us into the deadly devastating canyons bathed in hundreds of colors of radiant, crepuscular beams. Strong, sculpted bodies of clouds at the edge of the earth seem to be struggling to hold up the firmament itself.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Speechlessly we approach the edge of this great open mouth of earth and stone agape before us. Delicate purple flowers brush against our feet, and in awe we stand breathlessly searching for comfort and reconciliation from the crushing sublimity. I surrender to this moment of virgin solitude, accepting that even filled to the deepest, untouched corners of my soul, my heart is full of this thing. I cannot accommodate the deluge; it is spilling over into my mind, which opens its floodgates as I desperately search for understanding. Although it seems as steadfast as the monolithic, eternal stone that frames it, I know that it is in motion, hurtling toward the ends of the world: it is nothing more than an apparition, a glint of gold in a rapid, cold river that will never be recovered to reveal its source to greedy hands.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In this infinitesimal instant I am reconciled to a kind of strange stillness—an acceptance that there are no words, no feelings, not even thoughts that can atone for the tragedy and joy that mingles before me in the sky. Even tears are beyond it, for I know it is the music of the universe itself—it is the poetry of God.</div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-11066039378487089152012-07-02T23:20:00.000-04:002013-06-21T21:12:17.535-04:00Difficult Answers<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Now the Spirit expressly says that in later times some will depart from the faith by devoting themselves to deceitful spirits and teachings of demons, through the insincerity of liars whose consciences are seared, who forbid marriage and require abstinence from foods that God created to be received with thanksgiving by those who believe and know the truth. For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer.”</span>(1 Timothy 4:1-5 ESV)</div>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The funny thing about Truth is that nobody ever agrees on it. Human beings are individuals—we each live an island existence—each with a mind that is alone in the universe, disconnected from all other consciousnesses. And so, on our quest for Truth, we will each discover something slightly (but impossible-to-know-ly) different from our neighbor (quantum status of consciousness? Schrodinger’s Cat brains? Indeed, a scary thought). This could quickly become a major ontological discussion, but those of you who know my views on Christianity know that I believe the Holy Spirit guides and directs our thoughts and hearts, and is responsible for creating harmony between Christians despite the fact that each believer must discover Truth for himself or herself. The Christian message is not a brittle set of rules, it is at once a flexible, evolving philosophy, and an absolute Truth. Check out 1 Corinthians 9 for a refresher on the somewhat confusing semantics of the flexibility of the faith. It’s not easy to digest, but most Truths aren’t. That’s why as Christians, our personal testimonies are so important. Each believer who houses the Spirit in his or her heart has something revelatory to contribute to the faith, and it’s that unmediated communion with God that makes Christianity so special and so True. We support each other in the Truths that are revealed to our hearts and minds through the Word of God and prayer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Human beings are equipped with powerful minds. Our cognitive states are overwhelmingly complex, and so we have developed some peculiar and complicated systems of social interaction to deal with our needs in a way that pleases God—marriage, for example. Christians largely hold the mantle of marriage in Western civilization. Yes, marriage has become a political institution—but to a Christian, it is first and foremost a spiritual one. And no matter what liberals or conservatives say, the two sides of the debate today are steeped in religious (not social) convictions. If you believe gay marriage is wrong, I can guarantee that you also believe God thinks it’s wrong. And if you think it’s right, then you probably either don’t believe in God, or you think God thinks it’s right. What I mean to say is, I don’t think I know any atheists who oppose gay marriage.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was raised by two of the most remarkable people I have ever encountered; I have never met two more grounded individuals. My parents were well-equipped to teach me the importance of believing in and fighting for Truth. They taught me never to accept “no” if you knew the truth said “yes.” They marched in parades, picketed, and never missed a vote (it’s a miracle I’m not more of a social activist). They also taught me that the right answer is usually not the easiest one. Discovering everything that it means to be a gay Christian was an experience full of difficult answers; I had never been so shocked by what the Spirit had to say to me, and listening to God continues to be hard, especially when He challenges my preexisting beliefs.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While I don't pretend to understand all the secrets of God’s will, I’m confident that He wants all people to be stewards of Love. This means being true to anything that requires the heart to respond. There was a time when I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do about my sexuality; I didn’t understand why God had allowed me to be gay. The moment I fell in love for the first time, all that confusion vanished. It took four years for me to reconcile that realization with the intellectual components of my faith—this was done only through continual prayer and reading scripture. In hindsight, I can see that that Love single-handedly acted as a divine, revelatory force, and quite literally forced me to see the will of God in a new, uncomfortable light. If I hadn’t been listening, or if I had been too stubbornly steadfast in my old beliefs, I would have missed God’s call. I thank my remarkable parents, friends, and the Holy Spirit for reminding me to keep an open, discerning, and prayerful mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I take 1 John 4 literally. I believe that Love is an incarnation of God Himself, and that anything founded upon an honest expression of Love cannot be sinful. For a Christian, feeling Love is more than just getting butterflies in your stomach, listening to sappy music, and wanting to be near someone. Love is an act of worship—a true sacrament—a communion with the Heavenly Father. I know that if one day I meet someone with whom I share a true enough love to marry, God will bless that marriage, because I will consecrate it before Him. I have never, even for a moment, felt that my sexuality has conflicted with my growing relationship with the Lord. This does’t mean that I haven’t made mistakes, or done things I know the Lord wouldn’t want; but when that happens, the Spirit is equally clear! But the few short moments when I have been in love have been the times when I have felt the least separation from the Divine. These were moments of clarity and peace that are second to no other spiritual experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know that the world is changing. I know that Christ’s message was one of change, and the kingdom that He left behind is one founded on the notion of the freedom to change. I am proud of the Church for its willingness to flex through the ages, to continually adapt to bring the timeless message of Christ into immediacy and relevance. I know the Spirit has called me to testify according to these revelations, and I also know that every honest Christian in my position won’t come to the same conclusions (and that’s ok). Most of all, I pray that every Christian who reads this will be called to ask these difficult questions, and call upon the Lord for difficult answers.</div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-49359996088327025352012-06-21T00:11:00.001-04:002012-06-27T00:49:03.688-04:00Finding MichiganFinding Michigan<br />
just the way Jesus left it<br />
will be remarkable:indeed<br />
I should say I hope to find<br />
happy families of sunsets; the song of<br />
organstops, souls rising—rushing<br />
into the Elysium of eternal,ecstatic golden<br />
cornfields of memories of mountains<br />
meandering melancholic Christmases, and<br />
yes, I even expect to find my dreams<br />
<br />
Finding my way home is not<br />
such a simple thing, finding you isn't<br />
either, and I guess finding love is hidden<br />
more of all—even so(and most beautifully<br />
or)I will come back to find<br />
simple starlight, and<br />
Something softer<br />
than snowphilipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-19121869552793243642012-05-21T11:09:00.001-04:002012-05-21T11:10:39.473-04:00Truth is<br />
Truth is<br />
not an idea, or<br />
a memory, it is not<br />
a creed, a prayer, and<br />
it is not a person.<br />
<br />
Truth is a house that builds<br />
itself around us, it is<br />
a fire that warms and sometimes<br />
burns us.<br />
<br />
Truth is a fine white linen<br />
that wraps our bodies;<br />
it is a fragrant mist of<br />
pure ocean breeze, and it is<br />
lightningbugs scintillating<br />
the darkness of summernight.<br />
<br />
even now, Truth is<br />
touchingfollowing us, and we are<br />
breathing in Truth, and (my Lord)<br />
it is so very beautiful.philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1344264854210700662.post-80875561425448775272012-05-17T11:33:00.001-04:002013-06-21T21:13:12.661-04:00Magnificence<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
O joy! that in our embers</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Is something that doth live,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That nature yet remembers </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What was so fugitive!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The thought of our past years in me doth breed</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Perpetual benediction: not indeed</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For that which is most worthy to be blest—</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Delight and liberty, the simple creed</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast. </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
(William Wordsworth)</div>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Listening to the choirs at Westminster these past weeks been both comforting and disturbing. While hearing music, I have found myself fixated on two distinct ideas. The first is magnificence: I do not mean it in the colloquial sense (something exceedingly excellent or glorious, although in that sense the choirs here are indeed <span style="background-color: white;">‘</span>magnificent'). But in a deeper ontological sense, the word comes from an ancient root which means to magnify, to make greater, or to elevate. I am fascinated by the suggestion that what we do when we sing together is something as miraculous as life itself: the formation of a thing that is at its very core generating a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. The second thought is that music is expressive of something abstract, something ineffable. I have been perplexed by the notion that while the linguistic and visual arts are often directly imitative of our experiences and environment, music is abstract—only imitative in a qualitative, emotive sense.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My mother wrote poetry in college. One of her poems begins with a shockingly angsty line: <span style="background-color: white;">“</span>the agonies of being are far greater than all else.<span style="background-color: white;">”</span> While this is a profoundly sad thought, it is a nevertheless resonant one—indeed, much of our existence is defined by a perpetual sorrow which daily accompanies us. The blissful joy of childhood has faded, and our most profoundly meaningful thoughts are nearly always our most deeply melancholic.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yet! Just when these “agonies of being” are so great that it seems we will crumble or break, a Truth that lingers saves us in our most beautiful thoughts: breathing in the cool moisture after rain, watching in awe as strong hands spring from the earth, reaching out and grasping strands of the clear air, running down a hillside so fast your legs seem to move themselves, looking up at the blank sky until stars wheel out from dark cupboards, and staring into someone else's eyes and feeling so hopelessly full of joy at knowing you are both alive that just one lifetime full of music could never express it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In these crushing moments, we magnify ourselves by singing together. The chorus (somehow!) contains enough magnificence to tell the impossible story of our overwhelming existence. In this expression, we are comforted: not by the affirmation of others whose spirits are invaded and redeemed by the sounds we create, not by the towering intellectual achievement of the order and proportion of tones and time, and not even by the pulsating, nourishing emotional catharsis that music evokes. No, the comfort and Truth of music is in the knowledge of beauty: the realization—the revelation, even—that the universe is indeed beautiful, that in the space surrounding our bodies and within the combination of our voices, there is something so much more beautiful than inescapable sadness. Music is not abstract, yet it is every bit as mysterious as language: it simultaneously exposes, imitates, and quenches the ineffable and excruciating beauty of life. The reason we sing is the same reason we look at the stars.</div>
philipricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07252113246975584680noreply@blogger.com0