When I was a preteen(?) I had a hernia operation. I recall that afterward I was confused why I had a scar on the right side and not the left where I was certain I was afflicted...
Now after all these years I read: (see last sentence in the attached report from the imaging center: “left inguinal hernia”!)

This highlights my life-long state of mind, of letting bad things happen to me, of not participating out of fear of being wrong or questioning authority, of being a mere spectator.  I could list a few other events like this, like the abuse I’ve suffered from at the hands of those that thought I was a thief—long story—but I already spend an enormous amount of energy trying painfully not to recall them, though I can see clearly in my mind all the faces of these protagonists...

This is somewhat like the fabled artist’s curse, perhaps, to survive a life of pain or persecution by way of internalizing it into works, cauterizing the wound with virulent prose or embedding it in fiery strokes of impasto. But no, not all artists need to suffer nor are evidence that the best suffered the most, no. Some suffer much and sadly are dreadfully awful artists too, or their gifts being such that they suffer little scorn for their actual wrong-doings. Picasso may have been such an artist if we are leaning towards Arianna Stassinopoulos Huffington’s impression of him (Creator, Destroyer)...

Trying to recover a few missing itunes tracks (for a specific recording of Gorecki’s third Symphony) it occurs to me I am doing exactly the same thing, returning to an error and by trying to right it I cause myself that much more injury. And so the anticipation mounts, as with the anxiety, with the gradual crescendo of the first movement of Gorecki’s Symphony no 3, only to be denied the resolution in the second and third movements!

Perhaps it is easy to say just let it go, to believe one can just move on... but one in such a similar situation might always feel as though they proceed with the wrong street atlas; and I will always wonder whether my life would have been different had I loudly spoken up about being operated on on the wrong side!

Circling in a vicious wood

None of the circumstances that adversely effect us will change for the better unless we are amongst those who have the power to alter those factors—sadly, only grave and immediately transparent repercussions will force oppressive institutions to give that power back or permanently relinquish their oppressive nature.

What that means is that the oppressed can only exert their power on equal terms as a visibly focused unity. Mass marches are the beginning. However if the oppressors are forced to use shameful violence upon peaceful protest and do not see the immorality in that, the outcome will become even more dire. 

This is already happening world-wide.  And it will continue because the “oppressive forces” are many; and having become gradually intrenched in the habits of everyone, including the oppressed, there is no one locus upon which to apply the people’s pressure for change. These fronts are as many as there are bureaucrats, corporations and financial stakeholders.  And this is why there are “terrorist cells”. These few have independently realized this futility and by way of anonymity they chose to strike randomly and without warning the powerful entities they judge to be partly to blame for the oppression.  

All murderers should be considered as part of this heightened temperament. Though without an allegiance to ethical demands these individuals still violently strike out. Husbands, wives fatally blame each other for their misery. And radical Christians sadly are no better than the serial killer or the racist mass murderer, if it ultimately leads to killing clinicians. 

Temperament is such that we fail to focus on ethical means because these means for change seem no longer available to us.  Quietude for such deliberation is impossible when the children are undernourished or an ailing family member cannot find solace or afford medical treatment.  Ironically a walk in the woods might only remind us that silence abound is tragic evidence of the disappearance of songbirds—that we have strayed so far off our path as a species.  We are circling, my friends, lost in an unfamiliar wilderness wherein only the vicious will survive.

Classical orchestration as the legacy of old white aristocrats

As I sidle into old age I am disgusted with the legacy of old white men that has been handed down to me. How can I expect anyone to listen to anything I have to say? Really!  How do I denounce them without seeming in-genuine or untrustworthy? ... 

How indeed can all the damage to our reputation be undone?  I don’t want to associate with them but cannot leave my skin any more than I can intentionally sever myself from family.  So I am stuck with this irrevocable mark on my forehead: ...

I am the progeny of torturers, plunderers, gluttons, wastrels and swarms of murderous thieves. No wonder my music is so dark and angry. And no wonder orchestration seems to reel away from me like an inconsolably offended pet cat...

Classical music, while often so appealing to the ear and our emotions, sadly relies upon a foundation of aristocratic norms, of children raised by wealthy parents and from the start set to the task of mastering an expensive instrument through expensive tutelage... 

Orchestration then leaves a bitter taste of exclusivity in the soul as one writes. I find it difficult to ignore this association and as if to fend off the indignation I am driven to seek the folkish acoustic music of other cultures less stigmatized by industrial civilization... 

Yet, it is loose gauze upon a seeping wound this presumption to uplift a pure form of expression while man-handling it with glistening metals, pummeling it with hammers and whipping it’s meter with wands. Traditional classical music is both butchery and caresses.