I don’t remember what she looked like. I didn’t know her for long. She had an influence on me. Mostly by the way she convinced me I wasn’t prepared to study music at the college level. Several people had tried to convince me of this before, but I wouldn’t listen. She told me that the only chance I had of getting anywhere in music I would have to know music theory mo’ bettah than I did, and the only way I would probably get what I needed was to hire a private tutor to catch me up enough to take formal classes. I knew that wasn’t gonna happen.
One of the other things she told me was that if I could manage to get the competency in piano and music theory I needed, then I had to make a choice when it came to singing. She was my first private voice teacher ever. I couldn’t even read sheet music. I was just too dense to understand what I needed to know in order to study music. She had me singing scales for the first few lessons I had with her.
The first song she assigned me to memorize was called Come Sweet Death. It turned out to be a prophetic choice. She told me I had a big enough voice to begin with, and that I could sing any voice from bass to tenor, but I had to choose and stick with my choice if I wanted to be a professional singer. I never went back to the Music Department after that summer school session.
I had to choose a new major. I don’t remember why. I think it may have been in order to have a faculty adviser. I played around with the idea of majoring in psychology for a while, but I didn’t care much for Skinner, and that’s all the small psychology department offered. White rats and mazes. I’ve had a change of heart about Skinner over the years. If I’d known more about the scope of psychology as a topic back then, I might have gone along for the ride, and gotten a lot out of it.
In the past, when and if someone asked me why I chose Drama and Speech as a major, I might have told them it was because the drama department appeared to attract the prettiest girls. There was some attractive girls in the drama department, and some not so pretty, that later might turn pretty, all according to how successful they were on the stage. It may seem odd for me to describe what I mean by that by referencing mountain gorillas, but it makes sense to me. I heard about how the alpha male gorilla of a group grew silver hair on his back when he became the leader of the group, and that he was the only male in the group that happened to. Maybe some of the lesser ranked male gorillas would have some silver hairs on their back, but only the dominant male was the silverback.
I think something physical like that happened to actors and actresses if they master their craft. The women get prettier and more attractive, and the men become more handsome or distinguished in some way. The same thing happens to politicians if they keep getting re-elected. They become silverbacks. Even the bald ones. Dominant alpha males. Me? I just got old before my ti-me. I do have my own way with the world, all in good ti-me. Ti-me? Yes, in word salad that me-and-thees to: ti-me, the-tie-to-me. Time. The fourth dimension.
Time, as the tie to me IS the fourth dimension. My opinion is that the Ten Commandment that states: Thou shalt have no other God before me. That’s the ticket. “... no other God before me.” As far as I’m concerned, it’s at this juncture that a person needs to ask themselves, “How many me’s do I know?” I’ve asked a lotta people that question in the last forty years. Nobody ever told me they knew more than One. They try to get out of it, but the truth seems to be, in every case, that the people I asked that question of didn’t know any other than their own me, and that was all there was to that.
So, what does there only being One me have to do with ti-me as the fourth dimension? Because Me is the only thing that makes humans not monkeys. Consciousness. With the question now being: What more can One be conscious of other than being me? Is consciousness the more of me than you can see? Is the more-of-me consciousness... me-moree/memory? We have been warned not to have any other god than Me. Would the more of me than you can see be so-me other God? Blasphemy? The unforgivable sin?
Well, it’s almost time for the late shows to come on television. I’ve made ti-me fly again by writing a bunch of nonsense. Gotta go.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
