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Wednesday, January 25th, 2006
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9:50 pm - Hard rain
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I'm going down this long lonesome road, babe
Where I'm bound I can't tell
And good bye is too good a word, babe
So I'll just say fare thee well.
I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws.
The cryin' rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
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| Sunday, January 8th, 2006
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11:35 am - Death, Where is Thy Victory
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From the liner notes of an album by the pianist Helene Grimaude:
Death - there's no denying it - lies at the very heart of life. The only thing that enables our consciousness to grasp this and, having endured the realization, to be liberated from it is love. Each in his own way, Chopin and Rachmaninov have meditated upon this unfathomable mystery and transfigured it with music.
There is nothing more final than death; and yet, by a striking paradox, it is only death that enables the spirit to find its way back to the central point where life regains its urgency. That urgency was tested by Chopin and Rachmaninov in the extreme with their Second Sonatas, works that open out to infinity: they are masses for the dead, recited by love itself for all who love.
What is it that makes these pieces so beautiful? For a start, the fact that one has the impression of hearing the two composers sing of their sorrow from a distance. They are singing not only of the deaths of those close to them, or even their own death: they are offering a refuge for the anxiety of everyone who is going to die. They understand that truth in music, reflecting that of all existence, comes not from simulating happiness but from defining its tragedy in a burst of flame. And thus the promise of reconciliation between time and space becomes a struggle of desperate intensity.
The dissonant chord of sorrow and life is sounded by death and can only be resolved by death. Chopin's "Funeral March" Sonata and Rachmaninov's Second Sonata let us perceive this revelation: they are masses of tenderness celebrated on the altar of death within the innermost chapel. They disclose the soul of true love, for love is the cause of great sorrow. When it is gone, all the heart can do is repeat to itself: "It once existed" and "It exists no more".
Of what, then, does their music sing? Ineffable sadness: beloved is a word written by passion and erased by fate - a frenzied hope that those who die will not have lived in vain. They disappear as themselves only to live again in the form of the eternal spirit. In the end, an appeal: passing through the whole realm of feelings, Chopin and Rachmaninov urge us to love life - in others, even to excess; to embark on a search for salvation, if there should be one; to make ourselves into new beings, kept alive by a new love. Death in Greek is "destiny", the individual portion of it that each receives as his or her share. Thus it is at once a legacy and a projection. It is the signature of our personal fate, but is also what unites us with others, what signifies that we are really only human in our own confrontation with destiny - and in our piety when faced with the death of others. It is useless to flee from death, which is by definition inexorable. What is important is to maintain the sense of defiance that it instigates by living life in the extreme.
What can this music offer us in our distress? The precarious, dissonant harmony of these works, evoking the divorce of sorrow from existence, is the sign of a cry that has found its rhythm. It prepares for death yet protects against it, because, ultimately, these works tell us so much about death that they open our eyes to an eternity within us. They convert anguish into hope, transfigure our vision of sorrow, and offer us the chance of a reconciliation. Thus they don't perpetuate grief: they undertake its relief. When this comes about, suddenly death seems like the reverse side of a music of purest essence.
Finally, it seems that the music of Chopin and Rachmaninov is filled with new things: It knows where to hide the dead, it comes on their behalf and before long we shall all be together in a meadow filled with flowers, with fruit and with music.
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1:24 am - In a mile you'll be feeling fine
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tomorrow she'll just be
another memory
and an echo down
a rusty railroad track
Today was a collection of minor ailments, like a runny nose, sore back, and pounding head. But I also cleaned my room, read as many as forty pages of "Collapse" by Jared Diamond, saw the Bishop Elect at La Taza Fresca, went to Katelyn's for dinner, and spent a lovely few hours with Clair, Claire, and Sophie. My evening was entirely saved by Sophie's stuffed deer and extensive collection of toy animals. There were four cheetahs, two lions, two giraffes (one of them was dead, though), one fly, one grasshopper, one snake, two dogs, three cows, three panda bears, three dinosaurs, and six koala body parts. You know, that probably won't sound very exciting to anyone else. But that's okay.
Thanks, Clair.
Love,
Sam
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| Tuesday, January 3rd, 2006
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5:23 pm - the sea so deep and blind/where still the sun must set
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I loved you when our love was blessed
And I love you now that there's nothing left
But sorrow and a sense of overtime.
And I missed you since our place got wrecked
By the winds of change and the weeds of sex
Looks like freedom but it feels like death
It's something in between, I guess
It's closing time.
-Leonard Cohen
June was unfortunately misplaced in the beginning of January, but that is basically to be expected if you live in Texas. Days go by. They aren't so bad. My heart is "full up like a landfill" but it's much better to write about something softer. There is always something to save a person, and one can never forget the constant and surprising blessing that is life. Today I rode home in the back of Ralph's rickety old truck. He tried to throw me out by swerving and screeching, but all I noticed was the thin web of branches spread out against the sky. Sky so warm and blue.
"Moving on. Mr. Ocean,
Mr. Sky's
got the biggest blue eyes
in creation -
here comes the sun!
While we can
let's do it
let's have fun."
-Robert Creeley
Love,
Sam
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| Friday, December 16th, 2005
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3:44 am - a song
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Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in an old midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
Like a worm on a hook
Like a knight bent down in some old fashioned book
It was the shape of our love that twisted me
If I have been unkind
If I have been unkind
I hope that you can find a way
To let it go right on by
Like a little baby stillborn
Like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me
But I swear by this song
By all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry
Don't cry no more
It's over, don't cry
Don't cry don't cry don't cry anymore
It's over, it's finished, it's completed, it has been paid for
Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in some old midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
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| Tuesday, December 13th, 2005
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10:10 pm - "The greatest of all vices is superficiality" - Oscar Wilde
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What can you leave behind
When you're flyin' lightning fast
And all alone?
Only a trace, my friend.
This evening I watched the documentary about Townes Van Zandt, Be Here to Love Me. Perhaps the best thing to say in summary is that there was something in him which should not be forgotten.
Camus says that freedom "is not made up principally of privileges; it is made up especially of duties." Life, too, should be defined as much by what we owe as by what we are granted. It's a rather sour sounding philosophy. However, everyday I understand a bit more that there is something in our every breath which must be recognized. Thoughts which must be voiced, ideas which must be understood, experiences which must be lived, people who must be loved, and a world, a history, and a species which must be cherished and defended. Not necessarily by anything particularly noble or heroic, but at least by a recognition, a cognizance, of the reality around and inside of us.
Rain tonight, cooler tomorrow. Many blessings to you all.
Love,
Sam
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Thursday, December 8th, 2005
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1:38 pm - Shadows
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The following is an excerpt from a letter written by Albert Camus in 1944 from occupied Paris to a former German friend of his who was fighting with the Nazis.
Our strength lies in thinking as you do about the essence of the world, in rejecting no aspect of the drama that is ours. But at the same time we have saved the idea of man at the end of this disaster of the intelligence, and that idea gives us the undying courage to believe in a rebirth. To be sure, the accusation we make aginst the world is not mitigated by this. We paid so dear for this new knowledge that our condition continues to seem desperate to us. Hundreds of thousands of men assassinated at dawn, the terrible walls of prisons, the soil of Europe reeking with millions of corpses of its sons - it took all that to pay for the acquisition of two or three slight distinctions which may have no other value than to help some among us to die more nobly. Yes, that is heart-breaking. But we have to prove that we do not deserve so much injustice. This is the task we have set ourselves; it will begin tomorrow. In this night of Europe filled with the breath of summer, millions of men, armed or unarmed, are getting ready for the fight. The dawn about to break will mark your final defeat. I know that heaven, which was indifferent to your horrible victories, will be equally indifferent to your just defeat. Even now I expect nothing from heaven. But we shall at least have helped save man from the solitude to which you wanted to relegate him. Because you scorned such faith in mankind, you are the men who, by thousands, are going to die solitary. Now, I can say farewell to you.
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| Wednesday, December 7th, 2005
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10:25 pm - sweet heaven when I die
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Dear friends (and some of you are so dear, though I may not properly express my gratitude),
It was a good day. Bleak and chill, with the wind cutting right through you. I think I love the cold so much because it forces you into an inescapable physical and mental awareness of your surroundings. The world is wonderfully real when it is felt so sharply on your skin.
I spent several hours going through a mound of college applications:
Brown, Princeton, Dartmouth, Northwestern, Tufts, Oberlin, Amherst, and UT is the final list, I think. And then there are those fellows at Harvard, who still may surprise me in a week or so.
My pea coat was repeatedly complimented, Samantha gives truly inspiring high fives, and the Inventions by J.S. Bach are still very beautiful.
Sleep well, dear children.
Love,
Sam
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(6 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, November 28th, 2005
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7:56 pm - Essence
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Can't put the rain back in the sky
Once it falls down
Please don't cry
I am beginning to think that my confidence in my own emotional independence and strength - the consistency and resiliency of my character - has been a regretful misunderstanding I have had with myself. I have changed. I have been changed by voices.
"Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought."
My head is filled with the image of a slow motion explosion. Which is life. We live in the debris field of the initial shock, and the bomb fills our ears and mouths and stomachs from 13 billion light years away.
My mother picked me up from John Higgs' party at two in the morning, a policeman in her face and mud on my clothes. No tickets were given out, but I am facing her, which is penalty enough. She says that I have crossed over the line, and I can never return (not physically, this is a spiritual exile. But honestly, mother, our entire relationship has been conducted from exile).
I have two hearts on my permanent record now, I guess. That's not particularly pleasant. Not to mention my own.
Love,
Sam
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| Thursday, November 24th, 2005
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2:01 am - drunk on the moon
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as to this evening, all I can say is, fuck yeah!
and also, something that you should all consider:
In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.
-George Orwell
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| Wednesday, November 23rd, 2005
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1:20 am - close your eyes/the moon will sigh
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Kate says the worst part is that the heartache and the misery in our lives will mean nothing in two years.
But it must mean everything for me. I will never apologize for my seriousness, because it is the last thing that can redeem life. Every gesture that I give, everything that is given to me, every person that I encounter, every time I say hello and good bye and I love you and I hate you; it is the only record I have.
All life a pattern delicately traced in the sand, and remembered by nothing when the tide rolls in. But when we have been given up to the sea, perhaps we will still laugh in the secret knowledge of our beautiful rebellion: to have lived in the face of everything.
Love,
Sam
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Saturday, November 5th, 2005
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12:25 am - the nearer your destination the more you're slip slidin' away
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I was happier this evening than I have been in a long time.
a.) dashiell, maurice, evelyn, and I sang the star spangled banner before the game in four part harmony, and it was really cool! and there will be many encores, hopefully!
b.) I was on the homecoming court, it was an exciting game, and I received several a+ hugs.
c.) I had an extraordinary meal at kerbey lane: oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon, a cup of fruit, and a deli bagel.
d.) I was with two people who are truly good, through and through. Here is to friendship and the last of the good times (until we are in our rocking chairs with our pipes and canes).
Bye!
Love,
Sam
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| Sunday, October 30th, 2005
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9:37 am
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Mama, Papa, I can't hug you, but you must know that I need your love. You have managed to live with your mistakes. You wear your failures without shame. You are two people without any pretensions, two people covered in dirt, but you are as good as anyone I know. You are who I am, and I am proud of it.
Love,
Sam
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| Thursday, October 27th, 2005
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9:52 pm - be still my heart
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Never let them see you cry again. Your heart is worth more than anything that you know. Do not give it away willingly. Honesty, openness, innocence, exposure; these are rare gifts, and they carry a heavy price tag.
John, nevermind your arrogance, I love you. It is meaningful, it is all meaningful, and I will cling to that for now.
Love,
Sam
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, October 24th, 2005
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7:05 pm - blue umbrella
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I felt very tired, but things were good today. There was sunshine and the cold air numbed my hands. Danny got a good score on his SAT, and I did too.
I am outgrowing everything and everyone. I have never been anything but a child, at heart. It is difficult to realize that it is not a child's world. At some point, there is no one else to turn to but yourself. To live is to be utterly responsible for your life at some level. Human interactions are a series of temporary agreements - sometimes deeply meaningful, but never permanent.
Oh it is so cold! It is almost time for sweaters and blankets and fires.
Love,
Sam
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Thursday, October 20th, 2005
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4:59 pm - I think it would be great if Harvard would just give up and accept me!
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"O God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell and count
myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I
have bad dreams."
-Hamlet
I heard a piece on NPR about the final, uncompleted monologue of Spalding Gray, the performance artist and writer who took his life last year. It revolves around a horrific car crash he had in Ireland. Prior to the crash he had found a temporary happiness in domestic stability, but as he lay in his hospital bed, he could feel the depression coming over him again. He said that the Spalding who was in his bed a few minutes before had vanished forever.
And he was speaking with a nurse:
-I feel a little blue, he said.
-I can't imagine why, she replied.
-Well, it's just that I've got this foot long bionic plate in my back that wasn't there two days ago.
-I don't think it would bother an Irishman. Well, what do you want me to do? Perhaps I should take you to the spinal ward, where you can see them bring the patients in on gurneys and hose the blood off of them.
"I was tempted to do it," he said. "It might have helped for a while."
Isn't that what we all want? Something that will help us get by for just a little while longer. A brief place of rest on our long journey.
Spalding Gray's ended last January 10th when he drowned himself in the East River. Writing two years earlier, as if from the dead, he described walking through Ireland:
"The cows were baying and mooing. Mad cow disease was around. I had a feeling they were trying to warn me about something. It was the last long walk I'd ever take in my life. I had no idea at the time, did not imagine it."
Love,
Sam
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, October 18th, 2005
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8:10 pm - body and soul
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Two jumps in a week
I bet you think that's pretty clever don't you boy?
Flying on your motorcycle,
Watching all the ground beneath you drop
You'd kill yourself for recognition,
Kill yourself to never ever stop
You broke another mirror,
You're turning into something you are not
Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry
Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry
Drying up in conversation,
You will be the one who cannot talk
All your insides fall to pieces,
You just sit there wishing you could still make love
They're the ones who'll hate you
When you think you've got the world all sussed out
They're the ones who'll spit at you,
You will be the one screaming out
Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry
Don't leave me high, don't leave me dry
It's the best thing that you ever had,
The best thing that you ever, ever had
It's the best thing that you ever had,
The best thing you ever had has gone away
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(comment on this)
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6:56 pm - Gum tree canoe
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I think I like it best when I am on the outside of everything. Today in theory we had a study day and I dozed off in my chair while Maurice and Tomas banged away at the piano. It is a great comfort to hear all the noisy excitement as if it is coming from a far away field. Like a dance. I remember when you said that you couldn't stop thinking those boys in history class were wooden dolls. Reality is so fragile.
And I will forever be an observer. A little disconnected, a little behind what is happening, and intentionally so. It seems so silly to get caught up in everything when half the time the hills that drift past my window look like a movie set gently hung beneath the sky.
But of course there is no escaping. The world may be unreal, but I am trapped in it. And sometimes what we are saying ceases to seem like the sheepishly recited dialogue of a bad tv drama. Experience leaves its dusty residue behind, and we cannot shake it off.
Have a good day.
Love,
Sam
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, October 17th, 2005
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8:50 am - On the slopes of beech mountain I'll be found
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I saw the Canadian Brass play last night. They were fantastic, and the show involved a ten minute version of Carmen (with an added bullfight scene).
To get to my car I walked across the balcony of the LBJ library and school of public affairs. How beautiful in the full moon light; white marble, a pool of water, and the building set against the dark night sky.
Quiet loneliness, but also the sense of completeness that comes from being alone. One mind and one heart drifting on the sea of this world. There is nothing like these cool autumn mornings.
It will be okay, doncha know. There is something left to give.
Love,
Sam
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| Saturday, October 15th, 2005
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11:29 pm - clinging on to bottles
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"It’s just the way things go -- flowers open, petals wilt
Fingers lock and people close"
And no direction is home. My body moves in the dark. Inhale, exhale, the rhythm slow and unceasing. You can never get too far from the beat.
I saw Danny Schmidt play tonight. The songs filled him so well. Eyes opening and closing, and still the shaking, twisting arms and legs, dancing a melody. Under the rabbit moon, down a gravel road, on a chill night, there is only love! I want only love in my heart. It is everybody's birthright. Bless you all!
Ahem, I apologize for carrying on so. Know this: I have tried, and I have always had the best of intentions. Sometimes we fall short. Sometimes nothing can stop the regret. I don't know.
Evening companions! Please know that you were beautiful, and you made my evening very happy.
Love,
Sam
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