As the World Blurs By

When I was a kid, I'd lose Saturday afternoons to books.

I'd luck into a particularly compelling read and suddenly find hours had slipped away as I immersed myself in an imaginary world.

These days, with so many demands for my attention, I flit from one thing to the next, with an inability to dive deeply into the moment. Nicholas Carr blames it on the new technologies that forever update us and reward us with likes, favorites, and shares. Though I initially flinched at his idea, his book is compelling; I think there is something to his notion of "the shallows."

A couple of weeks ago, my not-so-old Axiom keyboard pooped out with a blue screen of death. I tried all the tricks I'd read on online forums, but the stubborn machine wouldn't restart. And I had just gotten into a groove for capturing musical ideas more quickly with FLStudio.

So I broke down and bought another MIDI keyboard. Inspired by the purchase, I started putting some beats and synth leads together. I tweaked settings, tampered with melodies, added FX pads. It was one of those times when the muse is kind and the layers come together painlessly, seamlessly.

Suddenly, it was 12:45 a.m. On a work night. And there I was, still huddled over the keyboard, tapping out a few squawks and bleeps for my own sonic pleasure.

Finally sat down to the keyboard and played around with some beats. It started with the idea of making a template for my son -- the drummer of the family -- so that he would start using FLStudio (which has a bit of a learning curve) to make his own beats.

I originally set down the bass line and the drum groove for him to build upon, and while I was showing him how to add synths and effects, I accidentally created the main gate lead. I loved the way it sounded, so I just left it in.

His response? "I'd like to hear that when you're done with it."

Listen to the buzz of the insects. They wind up and down, like a strange clockwork of nature. They are trying to tell us something.

The sound moves behind, above, around us, rising and falling, settling. Behind them, the wind rushes through the trees, rustling the leaves, seconds trickling past, never to return.

We want to cling to those moments, those places and people that drift past too quickly, that move like crescendos and fade just as quickly.

Launchpad experiment

I finally connected the Launchpad to the computer and began fooling around with FLStudio's performance mode. I set up a basic grid of a few loops and some of my own MIDI patterns for a little house party.

A theme for kirstensdesk

kirstensdesk was one of the first tweeps I met on Twitter, and it was one of the oddities of crossed paths that we are weirdly much alike. We both love to write and create. We both are coffee fiends. And we have similar tastes in movies and music. 

A couple of years ago, she and I formed a virtual creative-nudgery group with @puggpaw, a fellow creator with a day job, although these days, our real lives have stolen much time from our artistic endeavors.

Since I started on this theme meme, I've wanted to do one for Kirsten, but she posed a particular challenge. I envisioned a heavy, edgy sound -- something I typically don't create in FLStudio, primarily because guitar loops are a nightmare to manipulate. This morning, though, a bass line came together with some drums that seemed to fit the Kirsten ethos.

A few audio geek notes: I tackled many firsts in this short track. I used the Gross Beat plug-in for the first time to create the glitchy synth sound, and I created several drum patterns and fills with the FPC drum machine rather than relying on loops to give the track a more realistic feel. I fattened up the bass with some compression and also used the NewTone plug to manipulate some of the note lines on the bass loops.  

An Instagram moment brought me to the piano this evening.

I had a vision of “Your Song” by Elton John, the latest piece I’m trying to learn, set just right underneath the piano lamp. These days, I don’t fret too much about learning new pieces. I peck away at them over time and no longer worry when my fingers refuse to cooperate and a part doesn’t sound quite right. I just play until I grow tired, and then I resort to noodling. I do a little each day, sometimes more if the mood strikes.

Somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to sleep in.

Even a night of overindulgence can't bring back the 12-hour snoozes of my youth. Right around 4 or 5 a.m., my body will jar awake, and these days, it often demands a groggy trip to the bathroom. I always return to bed, and sometimes, I can doze off for another hour or so. 

Then the thoughts come, and the fidgets start. I think about what I have to do at work, about posts I should write, assignments I should grade, research I should research. I think about music I could be playing, movies I could be watching, books I could be reading. And then, I have to get up. 

Of course, getting up doesn't mean I actually do any of these things. I just think about them while sipping a cup of coffee and listening to the hum of our humidifier. The silence of a sleeping household is a rare gift.

Soon, Babe will wake up, a whirlwind of lists and activity, of things we need to get done. I am ever thankful because it is unlikely I would ever do anything without nudges driven by her insatiable desire for crossing items off lists. She is productive and organized; I am reflective and chaotic. 

The animals will arise, with their needs to be fed, let out, and petted. Sometimes, our two indoor cats will howl and hiss at each other. The dogs may race around the house, and growl and bark. All will crave attention.

Lastly, the kids, the ones who can still savor those 12-hour layabouts under comforters, will awaken, hair askew, with no interest in conversation or puns or breakfast. 

Forty-Five

I don't know why, but 45 sounds so much older than 44. Perhaps it's being on the other side of 40, closer to the 50 end, that it just sounds so old.

Carpe Thursday: Totally tired of life rolling over me. Today, I said fuck it all and finally got on the keys to fool around with some chords, filters, and beats.

It never goes as smoothly as you expect, especially as your parents age. 

It began as a cardiac ablation for my 80-year-old mom, a procedure we hoped would be a two-day hospital stay before returning home. The surgeon entered through three holes: one in each leg around the groin area and a third in the neck. He blasted heart imperfections with cold, and the hope was to eliminate the bumps that caused Mom's atrial fibrillation. 

On that score, the procedure worked flawlessly. Mom's erratic beat had bopped around from 108 to 180 sitting still just before the procedure; by the time she was moved to the hospital room, it held at a steady 71 beats per minute.

The first day in the hospital, all went well, although Mom complained of some heart pain and soreness in her throat. Scans turned up nothing, but still Mom complained. The next day, she complained even more bitterly about the soreness and had trouble breathing. 

Throughout the day, Mom had become fatalistic, which we attributed to the fact that she hates hospitals and has had almost no serious medical problems in her 80 years.

"This is it. I'm going home."

"I'm going to die."

"Are all of you here? This is it."

She was certain she was going to see my dad now. It reminded me a bit of Redd Foxx in Sanford and Son, clutching his chest, screaming about the "big one." We tried our best to calm her down, but her anxiety kept escalating. 

Some tests revealed a buildup of fluid around the lungs, and her belly was beginning to bloat, leading doctors to suspect there might be some post-surgical bleeding. They decided to move her to the critical care unit.

As they moved her bed into the CCU room, she became more agitated and continued with the apocalyptic speech. She was moaning loudly and talked about seeing Dad again.

One of the nurses thought the bright fluorescent lights might be overstimulating Mom and decided to flick them off. 

"Oh!" Mom screamed as soon as the lights went off. "It's all dark! It's all dark!"

For a brief moment, all of us in that bleak room chuckled at the misinterpretation. We had to tell Mom that she was still with us, that the end had not come, that maybe, soon, all would be better.

----

Here we are, four days since the procedure. Mom is on a ventilator to give her lungs some help until the fluid subsides, and it's likely she'll remain on the machine for another two days. She is sedated to keep her calm, and her vitals look pretty good, except for her blood pressure — which is low due to the sedatives and painkillers. The bleeding has stopped, and she is getting some much-needed rest.

Today, they're inserting a real-time blood-pressure monitor to keep a closer eye on her. Even after the ventilator is removed, she'll have another few days in the CCU, and then it's likely to be a long road to recovery. But the doctors are hopeful we've been through the worst. 

A theme for @trelvix

So it was a few weeks ago that we lost the snapshots and musings of @trelvix, one of the most talented writers I had the pleasure of following on the Twittumblrs. As it is with many virtual relationships, I knew him but a shade, through the shared glimpses he decided to spotlight here, with vague pictures, snippets of dialogue, slivers of details. He revealed so much in so little. 

After he died, I found myself once again inspired by the creativity left behind. I sat down at the piano, determined to come up with some musical theme worthy of his iPhone-a-go-go portraits.  

Days passed, and occasionally, I'd peck out a few odd chords trying to evoke the imagery of @trelvix's scenecraft, but nothing seemed quite appropriate.