But is it art?: March 2010

Thursday, March 25, 2010

singin and dancin and all that joyous stuff

guys, the music is back.

the MUSIC is BACK.

this is a big deal. s'riously.

it's back in the form of something smaller than my hand, and golden yellow. love.

while i would like to be esoteric, mysterious, and... ok, whatever, I really don't want to be like that. Simply put, my ipod broke last week, and I finally decided that I had enough in my budget to buy a refurbished one from apple.

this past week - sans music - has been interesting (being with my own thoughts...) but i really love music.

guys, i love music. so so much.

and it's BACK!

hoo-ah.

what's your favorite song? I'm really diggin "Timshel" by Mumford and Sons and "the devil went down to Georgia"..... good stuff.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Wooooooooorrrrdddsss

Polonius: What do you read, my lord?

Hamlet: Words, words, words.

http://openlettersmonthly.com/issue/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/hamlet-branagh2.jpg

Hamlet: Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio.

Monday, March 15, 2010

A righteous example

Go read Alma 61.

Pahoran is my hero right now.

vs. 14: "...let us resist evil...let us resist with our swords." Fight satan with action. do not just passively ward him off. be actively striving to always resist him. because he is always trying to tear you down.

vs. 15: "therefore, come unto me speedily with a few of your men..." ask for help in times of trial. it doesn't mean you are less of a person. take refuge in the angels God has sent you to help. You will be someone else's angel someday, but if you need help now, seek it.

Seriously, Pahoran. You are my hero. I so needed you today.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

It's art, OK?

Schrödinger's wanted to express the phase and plane wave (in complex vector form):

$\Psi(\mathbf{x},t) = Ae^{i(\mathbf{k}\cdot\mathbf{x}- \omega t)}$

and to realize that since

$\frac{\partial}{\partial t} \Psi = -i\omega \Psi$

then

$E \Psi = \hbar \omega \Psi = i\hbar\frac{\partial}{\partial t} \Psi$

leading to...

$\frac{\partial}{\partial x} \Psi = i k_x \Psi$

and

$\frac{\partial^2}{\partial x^2} \Psi = - k_x^2 \Psi$

we find:

$p_x^2 \Psi = (\hbar k_x)^2 \Psi = -\hbar^2\frac{\partial^2}{\partial x^2} \Psi$

(very important!)

for a plane wave we obtain:

$p^2 \Psi = (p_x^2 + p_y^2 + p_z^2) \Psi = -\hbar^2\left(\frac{\partial^2}{\partial x^2} + \frac{\partial^2}{\partial y^2} + \frac{\partial^2}{\partial z^2}\right) \Psi = -\hbar^2\nabla^2 \Psi$

And, by inserting these expressions for the energy and momentum into the classical formula we started with, we get Schrödinger's equation, for a single particle in the 3-dimensional case in the presence of a potential V:

$i\hbar\frac{\partial}{\partial t}\Psi=-\frac{\hbar^2}{2m}\nabla^2\Psi + V\Psi$

this was sort of semi, totally ripped from wikipedia.... i don't have the little fancy psi, gradient, or h-bar keys handy.

i love quantum physics. love love love love love it. Feynmann once said, "If you're not afraid of quantum mechanics it's because you don't know enough about it."

I say quantum physics is God's loophole. seriously, some weird stuff happens here people. But i love it. it's magic. it's beautiful. and it's AWESOME!

science is art to me. it is love. it is passion. it is reason. it is....

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

with eyes that shine

Sometimes i can't believe how healing it is to write.

purdy dern healin'... if'n ya ask me.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

“The memory of things gone is important to a jazz musician. Things like old folks singing in the moonlight in the back yard on a hot night or something said long ago.”
-Louis Armstrong

“Jazz music is an intensified feeling of nonchalance.”
- Francoise Sagan

“Jazz is the only music in which the same note can be played night after night but differently each time.”
-Ornette Coleman

They say that jazz is the only truly American music. And the sad part is that many Americans do not like it, understand it, or want it around.

I love jazz. As a trumpet player, there is something about the soothing sound of blues - emphatically pulling at your heart - the sass of a playful saxophone, the mournful bass, the proud piano, and the wild drums that when combined into the style of jazz create something so youthfully human. So much emotion swirling around.
The wild fun of those teenage years, the incredible pain of a first broken heart, the desire for an eternal summer, rebellion, wisdom, creativity and PLAY.
There is something to be said in human endeavors where play is the key ingredient. The desire to do something for it's own sake. Jazz takes this idea and runs like the wind with it.
So go play.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

planetae. wanderer.

I have wandered from the purpose of this blog. whoopsadaisy!

Let's talk sonnets.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

-Shakespeare

Now, I do love Shakespeare sonnets. I love Shakespeare. This particular one strikes me as very Shakespeare-esque.
Take for instance, the way the poem starts out. Sarcastic. Cynical. Sometimes misogynistic. Why is he insulting his lady? She has stinky breath? And you don't like her voice? What words of love are you getting at here?

He gives the humor a tang of sarcasm and biting wit. Oh, that is good. A+, William. So much attitude, so few words.

Next, he makes this interesting admission: that he is aware his love is not a goddess. Isn't that odd. Who says love is blind?

Finally, "...I think my love as rare/ As any she belied with false compare." Oh man! What a way to sum it up!
"I know her faults! And to me...she is perfect." He sums up the poem and immediately dispels all contempt in two simple lines.

Maybe I should work on memorizing that one too.

Here's another, as a bonus. Well, it's not a sonnet, just a lovely poem.

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes

     -Lord Byron

Monday, March 1, 2010

vicarious

one of the perks of being a closet hermit is watching others.

what i love most is watching other people be alive.

alive with life, alive with love, alive with self-esteem.

alive in the gospel, alive in family, alive in friends.

alive in service, alive in discovery, alive in joy.

alive alive alive alive alive alive alive ALIVE.

i love it so much. it makes me feel alive. and even though my hermit-ish-ness gets the better of me sometimes, i learn how to live from seeing others live. and i love living. and i love loving. and i love growing. and i love the LORD. and i love things that make me feel alive.

and i love that i have this little place. where i can be alive in a way i can nowhere else.

on hermitness, music, and waiting.

Sometimes I Forget The Music.
Not by choice. {yes by choice.}
I just let it fade.
and somehow it always finds me again.
Almost by accident.
"How did i let you go?
How did I let YOU go?"

"Music express that which cannot be said, and on which it is impossible to be silent." - Victor Hugo.

How does simple poetry
set to a patterned tune,
have the power to make me fly
make me think
rip my soul apart
and be healed.
And how does music
fade?
And why do I let things go?
And why don't I dance more?
{there's a bald-faced lie.}
I dance all the time.

I. Am. so in love with life.

Once upon a time
i had a problem.
I'm still in recovery.
The thing is, other people thought it was a problem.
I was perfectly fine.
I am a closet hermit.
I prefer to spend time with myself.
and a good book.
always.

But at BYU, this is just unacceptable.
There are people to meet.
Girls to serve.
Boys to flirt with.
Movies to watch.
Heaven help the person who is fine by themselves.
They are an odd duck.

I think a lot about external validation.
How I measure my success.
and the correlation between the two.
or, more appropriately, the lack thereof.
I can see something and know it's intrinsic value.
But so can everyone else.

Have you ever done something you know you shouldn't do?
not just little things.
I mean a big thing.
I did.
And I don't regret it,
though i'll feel the pain of it for a long time.

I fell in love with a man.
An interesting man.
The man I'm not going to marry.
Because I'm not supposed to marry him.
But I want to.
The man I am supposed to marry
hasn't quite reached it yet.

How can i be shown the wine
and know that i'll only ever get water?
how do you reconcile that?
By knowing that He can turn water into wine.
But my puny mind doesn't like this.
I want the water-to-wine boy
to be wine now.
Because I'm tired of waiting.
and obviously, I know better.
yeah right.

This wine, though.
the wine i think i want.
i know i don't really want it.
it's bitter.
someone threw a seed in his mix.
and it got stomped on.
(did you know that grape seeds are bitter, and you can't squish them in the process of making wine, or the ruin the whole thing?)
but i always wonder
what happened to this love.
who threw in the seed, and then crushed it
and ruined him?
Because he his a great wine.
with a peculiar aftertaste
one that i don't quite like.
why then, do you ask
do i want to marry him?
because he is the only MAN
i have known in my life.
i know many boys.
and guys
but he is a man.
and i have this ridiculous, all-consuming, painful, retarded, unyielding, desperate, floundering, compulsory NEED to feel like i don't have to be in charge.
my water still makes me feel like i need to take charge.
and i hate that.
my wine... i can release all control to him.
and he likes it that way.
and so do i.
but my bitter wine
is not for me.
so i am waiting for my water.
to turn to a wine
fit for use.

because i am always waiting.

But is it art?