Posted by: normanlgreen | November 19, 2011

Dreams, November 19, 2011 feces and music theory

Dreams, home various hours of the night/morning

Wearing only my robe at a public lecture.

An ad campaign for happiness – pictures of the family where they have feces dripping from their heads and shoulders – whatever portion of them faces the sky – cross-fade to the same photo without the poop. Their smiles do not change throughout, whether they are covered or clean. Many pages with variations on this theme, with large blocks of text. How they have made this happen in the print medium is not clear. I can’t read the print that will explain the transformation in these people’s lives.

Later: Mark is to give a presentation to the Independent Writers Studio. He shows me the materials he has been preparing. I wonder if he will want large display boards, or will he use a PowerPoint and projector. He tells me that if I can help him find his projector that will be the easier solution. Mary G. goes over her questions about the content.

Later: At a party, I am eating from a wheel of dry cheese, holding it in my hands and breaking off smaller pieces from which I bite. I leave the kitchen and pass into a parlor. From another room in the house, a record is playing of a piano blues jam – very laid-back. In the parlor, a woman is seated on a piano bench before a baby grand.  A cloth is laid across the keyboard, and she traces notes with her fingers, not daring to touch the actual keys.

”You should play along.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” the piece comes to an end.

“For one thing, I can’t make the notes trail off like that.”

I round to the far side of the piano and face her. She has long straight hair and a long straight face and large liquid eyes. I ask if she is afraid of playing wrong notes. She nods, yes.

“I don’t know about your instrument, but on mine, if I play a wrong note, I am only one half step from a right note, in either direction.” *

She looks at me like I am pulling her leg.

“It is a mathematical certainty – and you play the most mathematically beautiful instrument I have ever seen.” I put down my wheel of cheese onto a magazine that has been left on the body of the instrument, then round back to the keyboard. She has lowered the cover, lovely, rounded, birds-eye maple. I lift the cover to expose the keys.  Some of the “white” keys are also maple (f, g & a), while the others are the standard distribution of ebony and ivory. I am awed at the beauty of the instrument. Feel a twinge of guilt for having left cheese on it.

Though I don’t play piano, I sense a music lesson coming.

“The band was playing in A flat, so you would be safe hanging out on the black keys”

“But I don’t know the song.”

“That’s OK, they are already playing it – you just need to find where your part fits in.”


* practical wisdom from Victor Wooten.


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