Too Accurate And Shockingly True

Playing the major and minor scales everyday on my digital piano is sorta working out exactly like I wanted it to. Slowly, I'm automagically reaching for the right keys for the notes I "hear" in my mind. I seem convinced I can play from memory anything I can hear if I just learn "how" to hear each note. Of course, I didn't know that until just now when I wrote it down, so I'll just have to be patient and see how that works out.

This is a sort of weird balancing act that's tedious to describe for me. I've thought about what other people have told me about "perfect pitch", and it's easy to catch my attention just by some serendipitous mentioning of the expression. I seem to wanna know as much as I can about the topic, but in a fairly casual, intuitive manner. There is lots of content about perfect pitch on the internet. I've spent some time reading more or just enough to get me in trouble if I take an authoritative stance on perfect pitch.

It's my easily ignored opinion that most people do have perfect pitch. The real problem, as far as I will venture, is knowing the names of a specific sound that can have a bunch of wiggle room technically. In other words, one has to be on a first name basis with a limited range of sound. If all sounds look alike to you then matching naymes and faces can be persnickety.

I was raised to the tune of Jim Crow. I literally can't tell one black person from another unless we have had a me-and-thee-ing-full (meaningful) relationship like working on the same job site working side by side for a while. Even then, I might not recognize that person in a groups of blacks as the individual I knew personally as a workmate enough to single them out to say "Hi!".

It's gotta hurt them that my born-into-prejudice shows up that way despite my real effort to let it go. My obvious attempts to be more thoughtful and at least be polite doesn't change their own need to forgive me for their own sake, for my not consciously knowing what I'm categorizing them into ready-made compartments. I was blind, and I still can't see.


Don't you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother, they're here.
~ Sondheim

If there is anything I have learned from being online and writing prose, it's about my natural ability to remember certain things from a long time back. Practically forever. It's on a need to know basis, and I don't always understand the need. Mostly it's recognizing it's there waiting in ther peripheries of my insight for me to use it, and if I don't use it for fear of appearing foolish, it's some sort of blasphemy that pushes it further away the next time I need it. The repetitious act of denying it breeds a regretful contempt of it, and that never bodes well.

That's not easy to keep that in mind when Im engaged with another person. I seem to have to take political expediency into consideration with them, and that causes me to neglect that what I need to know to defend myself against my experience with God, and its tendentious keep on the back burner where, eventually, it fades into the woodwork and burns my hallucinated plantation house to the ground. Truly, "A Cat On A Hot Tin Roof"

I took some painkiller pills just like they were prescribed yesterday for the first time. I may take one occasionally, but I was tired of having my attention tampered with every time I stood up or sat down, and I decided to see if taking the pills would help. They did, but naturally my eagerness and passion for writing was affected. I don't know how. I'm not going back to read it again to see how it went.

My computer seems slow in typing the words I'm writing into this TextEdit program. Apple just sent out a large update to the OS, and installing it may have caused the problem. I'm sure as hell not typing so fast that the computer can't keep up. It always has. Even the early ones. At least I don't think I can type that fast, but I am feeling much better physically than I have for a long time. The pain I took the hydrocodone for is specific to where I fell getting outta bed to go to the bathroom one night, and I'm writing presently about how my general health seems better overall.

I'm beginning to believe that I've had rheumatoid arthritis for a long time, decades, and didn't realize it until it came to crisis just previous to going to my daughter's wedding in Seattle. The methotrexate the rheumatologist prescribed really helped with the pain even after I finished taking the series of prednisone steroids.

It's gone past the point of just helping me with the pain associated with the crisis last year, and seems to be relieving some deeper levels of pain that has been accommodated as something I've had to accept to move on with life for many years.

The daughter I went to see marry her second husband in Seattle is down to the short strokes of having her first child. Yes, they know it's going to be a girl, like her younger sister's child is a girl child too. It's preordained. No sons or grandsons for me. That's one of the first things I learned from my natal astrology chart. Candidly, that simple facticity is alarmingly convincing about how accurate astrology can seem at times.