Every maker has his marks. When mine are written, for some subconscious reason, ‘ergo’ is the word I cannot forgo.
I heard it roll off Julia Roberts’ tongue. The wan of four letters unknown to interrupt, I had to look that up, which now props me same for fitting connection within descriptions. To salute and say and there to share ~ this is the rouse my art builds.
When by music I make mine, Madonna’s quote is never forgot. Not for the reasons readily read as obvious, but because of this: just when I thought my Dad might say “I’m tired of all this Madonna that you always wanna… show me!” He didn’t. There, he stared. So still. In the secret of his ill. He watched until it was done, and then he said ‘Wow! She really is quite something.’ But, like he meant it, you know? It was that clip. With that quote. Of all in her catalogue, there and then, he heard the truths from that monologue. So as someone unique, and rare, and hopeful to be fearless, I salute the spirit of that when I compose to say things in my own way, that I share like rooms in a house, from the rouse my art builds.
I labored such leaning and loves for The Light of the Sun that I shared on February 18, 2016 (and no doubt worked on, up to, and all through the 17th).
How happy I was to have and hold that, there, then, when I did. And then too, to watch as anyone else did, that day and over the time unconsciously used ~ and therein becomes evermore unpaused.
Babies of benevolence should have their siblings — of sorts. That something yang for the yin and yadda yadda yadda… Because, well isn’t that the very design that decorates the hall in each and every Gallery of DNA?
I like to think so.
It’s like an Opus.
Like… Mr. Holland’s Opus.
I remember how moved I was by that story. The layered labours of a man who wants to make with sound, and then with it to ultimately meet his deaf son somewhere, where they can.
The movie tells of Glenn Holland’s story as a musician and composer who takes a teaching job to pay the rent while — in his ‘spare time’ — strives to be true to that vow only he really knows, to vibrate closer to his goal…
Michael Kamen wrote the score. He was born in the 15th of April, 1948.
I green-eye composers as the most capable artists, forming theirs from passionate compassion, where EQ leads IQ into symphonic storytelling that must look something like the Milky Way.
He also wrote the score for the 1991 Blockbuster Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.
As a loudmouth for what losers I feel bullies are, the tale of those who take from the rich to uplift the poor is tireless and all torque to me.
Historically, currently, globally ~ and locally now if not (arguably) more than ever.
Because the absence of such fairplay-fighters produces persecuted populations that recoil inside rings of ice… like ours, here in South Africa today. A place where Prince of Thieves has taken on an entirely new meaning, and would be a fitting signpost for out front the R246million-home of where our highest hideousness lives.
Back to me, who — four hundred and eighty two full moons after I merriment’d my way onto this speck we float through some giant warehouse of wonderment on — would like to share something of the sum, with this:
My pocket full of compassion pulses because of that which lives in my chest, and is as bright as what rivers nudge along mine network of veins.
I know it because it kneads me as much as I need it.
Ergo, and still:
Torture is alive.
Talent is alive.
Telling the truth of how you experience the difference between the two, to those you talk to — or the mirror — is a service you owe your soul ∞
between The Light of the Sun
and by The Bright of the Moon.
Thanks for coming to another quick-change I’ve quivered and quaked through here.
And for it, I hope that whatever you do with the rest of your day, please take this with you:
You are The Light of the Sun, that grows in that and too beneath The Bright of the Moon.
Don’t shine your Light where others won’t shimmer theirs as salutes back at you.
© Dylan Balkind