Exercises in Movement

30 minutes.  30 minutes on, 30 minutes to rework.  

These are the limitations presented to the broken heart- the heart that lies scattered and immobile, rendered this way by its own failure to resist pressure.  When people ask me about what it is I do, I say, “I write”; but right after saying so, there is another part of me that wants to jump out of my mouth and say, “Actually, I sit and stare out my window”.

I am, despite what I may appear to be, nothing more than an instrument.  A vessel.  A conduit.  A divining rod, lightning rod.  An antenna.  I tune myself in infinitesimally small degrees to the left and to the right until I hit the sweet spot and a sentence appears.  A sentence if I’m lucky.  Half a sentence, usually, and sometimes just the flash of the idea for the form of the sentence to come.  The sweet spot hour happens about 1hr and 30 minutes into the tuning, but sometimes can come sooner, sometimes later, sometimes never, at least, not until the next day, or the day after that.

30 minutes on of pure go.  “First thought, best thought,”- a phrase I wince to repeat.  My motto, at least the one I’m about to invent and claim to be my motto is: millionth re-work of first thought, best thought!  How many workings and re-workings does it take to achieve perfection?

Or, how many workings and re-workings does it take to ruin what already might have been perfect?

On the path to form, everyone’s is different.

I’m a slow machine. I hum for hours until I hit the right station,, and the Muses come through, filling the air with their golden sound.  But- what intermingled with the justifiable “slowness” is hesitation- creating this semblance of “slowness”?  

Perfection is the aim, but what are the means?

Perfectly executed improvised solos of jazz musicians come not out of thin air, it’s hours, years of compounded experience rushing forth in pure unstilted, unadulterated expression.  It’s called “improvisation”, but ultimately what of life is not improvised?  The only difference is time, the beauty just as potent.  I’d like to propose an experiment, an exercise:

30 minutes on, 30 minutes to rework.

A drastically different frequency than the one I’m used to.  A difficult one, to say the least.  I’ll continue to work in the manner that I am used to for the larger pieces (or maybe I wont- who knows what changes this may bring about), but I’d like to see…see what happens- what new kinds of beauty may be found in a different frequency.

30 minutes on, 30 minutes to rework- perhaps, the cure for the broken, hesitating heart.