Victoria Texas .Communit-eLounge - Blogs http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php en Tue, 07 Sep 2010 02:55:24 GMT vBulletin 60 http://victoriatx.us/Enjoy/images/styles/blacksmart/misc/rss.jpg Victoria Texas .Communit-eLounge - Blogs http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php DELUSIONS AND DREAMS http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=38 Thu, 10 Jun 2010 12:33:01 GMT Delusions come in many sizes. Some twinkle at...]]>
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Delusions come in many sizes. Some twinkle at the very edge of existing, while others dwarf the entire universe. There are no rules to govern the size of any of them and they can be blessings as readily as they can be curses. How we handle them is our own private prerogative. How we regard the delusions we see in others’ character are the basic points from which we judge ourselves. Pangs of guilt stand by beside respect and humility, ready to burst into our morality as our thoughts come to fruition.
Some individuals stand out from the crowd that is humanity with bold and sometimes even abrasive actions. Others silently slip by without even a ripple occurring in our contemplation of the events of the day. Everyone is unique in some way no matter how similar some may seem. Religious and political leanings, languages and customs, superstitions and phobias, all of these things intermesh like oil and water to decorate the roiling foam atop the sea of humanity. To be in control of our delusions is a delusion in and of itself.
Delusions have started wars. Delusions have pushed species to the edge of extinction and beyond. Delusions have raised great cultures and they have razed great cultures to the ground. They have filled oceans with tears of joy just as much as they have filled them with tears of despair. Delusions have led hoards to suicide and they have led hoards to enlightenment.
Make no mistake, delusions can be extremely powerful! They are after all, “illusions”, “hallucinations”, “visions”, “mirages”, “figments of the imagination”, “fantasies”, “apparitions”, “images”, “false beliefs”, and “mistaken notions”. The list goes on but the farther along you follow it the lower you sink into the darkness of the reality of ‘delusion’. To go after the complete definition is a fallacy that easily blooms into a burdensome aberration.
Delusional thoughts are not very perishable. Wrenching them out of mind is like prying diamonds from a magnificent ring so they can be thrown back into the mine they came from. To think we can control our delusions is a delusion and thus, a ‘catch twenty-two’.
I have mine and you have yours. Why not go back to the last three sentences of the first paragraph. A little goes a long way.
6-3-2010-C
Who can say that they never had dreams to become ‘something’ when they grew up? As children we saw the world thru the eyes of innocence. We christened our heroes along the way and endeavored to be just like them. I watched men walk on the moon and longed to do the same. I watched Jimi Hendrix on television and strove to get a guitar in hand. I saw scientists explaining the wonders of the universe and found myself wanting to think the way they did. Few of our dreams survived thru adolescence and into adulthood. Still, we did dream.
Our dreams were reflected in the games we played. For boys it was cowboys and Indians, war, and a culvert tube on a playground could easily become the bridge of a spaceship. For girls it was house, tea time, and even playing make up. It did not matter where we were born or how we grew up, the way for us to dream was paved. We were all born with the effort to dream teetering atop an infinitely high mountain. At the merest nudge of our senses, the dream was on.
We kept caution at bay with ignorance and chivalry. Grownups yanked our reins to and fro in attempts to guide us with their wisdoms. We sometimes relented but more often than not we screamed ahead at full steam. We reveled in the freedom of the sheer abandon of our dreams. To be held back in any fashion, better yet, to allow ourselves to be held back, was surely sacrilegious.
Our wings were our youth and our naivety powered every beat in succession. Our dreams were the winds that took us up and away from reality and into the stratosphere. We set a sure course for the sun and even as our wings melted with age, we flew on!
How many dreams do you have left today? Do you readily seek a high perch to scan reality from? Wait for the breeze. It will come. You just have to be ready for it, again.
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=38 When You Daydream,,, http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=37 Fri, 04 Jun 2010 12:54:26 GMT When you daydream, you push the limits of reality off the map. The sights and sounds and any other peripherals you chose to employ are only governed...
When you daydream, you push the limits of reality off the map. The sights and sounds and any other peripherals you chose to employ are only governed loosely by reality if at all. The sum of your experience follows your individual whims and the only limits imposed are those which you enforce. If the ‘daydream’ is fanciful, then you can run free within its fuzzy boundaries. If on the other hand you are using your powers of visualization to solve a work related problem, then you are constrained by the reality you exist in and the laws of physics you must obey.
I can easily visualize a soup of multiple dimensions fading in and out of existence. The first, second, third, and fourth remain constant and are affected by one another as well as every other dimension. The scale of existence stretches thin and then resolves into, across, and thru a molasses-like thickness. In one instance I am standing next to an object. In another I am moving away from it near the speed of light yet the distance I am from it is unchanged. I am therefore shrinking. In yet another instance, an object light-years away is racing towards me yet my distance from it is unchanging. I am growing, or expanding. I flit from point to point instantly. I spaghettify and contort at impossible angles. I implode into a singularity and then erupt into an infinity of space-time. This is simply me daydreaming.
I become aware of another entity. It is unknown but it may even be me. We began to simultaneously stir the dimensional-soup. As we ride the ebb and flow of torsion transitions we maneuver against one another seeking to gain an upper hand. We are locked in a battle for existence. The winner will carry on but the loser will cease to exist. I lunge deep into upper dimensions and encapsulate the entire universe. Before I can pinch my opponent out of existence a bright beam of gamma radiation stabs out and beyond my own known universe. My clamp of time-space feathers apart and I relinquish my thrust for victory to settle for a parry. I slink back to a lesser dimensional conglomeration and allow the gamma beam to extend unhampered by the forces of the dimensions I have let dissolve away. The beam hyper-extends and breaks into two ‘dashes’ racing away with no hope of decelerating. Just as they begin to shudder and show signs of dendrite-like bifurcation, I create two flat-plane-black holes and swallow both beams instantly. I pull the two holes together as higher dimensions fade into existence and ‘will’ the resulting three dimensional gravity well to go to beyond absolute zero. Yes, I’ve won, this time. A whimper of blue energy pulses out from the dark void where mass is infinite.
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=37 From Here I Look Back http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=36 Thu, 03 Jun 2010 13:09:50 GMT From here I look back over the distance I have traveled. Many occurrences along the way have become permanently imprinted upon my psyche. They will...
From here I look back over the distance I have traveled. Many occurrences along the way have become permanently imprinted upon my psyche. They will remain there for the rest of my days as reminders of who I was, what I became, and how I have evolved into who I am now. Every person I’ve met along the way will have a place amongst the enumerable synaptic lattices that have grown within my cortex. Those dendrites are ripe with emotional content and hover at the ready to fire off their torrential memories.
Sharing the vast field of those connections, my imagination brims with its own memories. They are just as vivid, if not more so, than the reality I have forged thru. They are also inundated with emotions that run the gamut.
Two worlds existing side by side are separated only by the laws of physics. Reality and imagination mesh together like opposing magnets. I have always strained to bring them into direct contact with one another and those efforts have always invigorated both sides.
Reality is a tempered and hardened thing. It gives very little when you push upon its bastions. You can throw your full force against it and it will not give much at all.
Imagination is a supple metal. It moves in complex vortices just out of the reach of reality. It flows as freely as water and defies the laws of physics at every opportunity.
I have played in both universes with ease. Imagination is by far the most comforting place to be. Reality, though it can be pleasurable, is by far the most painful. The laws of imagination are changed by mere thought, or the lack thereof. The laws of reality cannot be changed, though some believe convictions can accomplish this.
Perception plays a major role in both places. We cannot always believe what we see with our own eyes, or anything we glean from our other senses. We have to discover our own trust in dealing with every sensory input. Things are not always what they seem.
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=36 SATURDAY AFTERNOON I WAS WATCHING A http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=35 Sun, 16 May 2010 14:49:04 GMT Saturday afternoon I was watching a Five Finger Death Punch DVD. I paused it in the middle of a tattoo slideshow and brought out a little amp and...
Saturday afternoon I was watching a Five Finger Death Punch DVD. I paused it in the middle of a tattoo slideshow and brought out a little amp and guitar. The amp is a small low-power affair. Nice tone, though I’m just now trying to find ‘my tone’ with it. I tweaked the sound a bit and then laid down a few good licks and tweaked a bit more. I was able to get a good crunchy sound that I could dial back with the controls on the guitar to a nice clean one. That saw me turn loose with a few more good licks.
‘And then, the phone rang.’
It was someone I had not heard from for over forty years. I don’t remember his voice but I could tell it was him. My Father had called me from Panama. We talked for quite a while and it actually felt good to finally hear from him. For many years I contemplated how I would react. I honestly did not know what my reaction would be. So there it is now. I’ve welcomed him back into my life. There are many questions I have but not all of them are as important as getting to know him. The ‘why-did-things-happen-like-they-did’, and the ‘where-have-you-been’, and even the ‘what’s your poison’ can all wait. I’ve found my father is easy to talk to even though his accent has a thick Central American flair to it. We touched on a few memories and along the way, with each instance, I was more and more convinced that he actually misses his children. He was directed to my main website (legasyssongs) by my older brother and related congratulations to me for some of the things he found there. I’m not sure if he listened to any music, but he did say that my half-sister is a singer there in Panama. He knows that I’ve given him two grandchildren and one step-grandchild but we didn’t get to the great-grandchildren yet. He said that he felt it was time to get in touch before it was too late. I can understand where he was coming from. I could feel the fathers love for his son thru the phone line. I hope he felt a sons love for his father as well.
So here I am armed with a phone number and few good tears of happiness. I can’t wait to see what these new ‘muses’ can guide me to.
Signed: Jose’ Luis Diaz - Second Son Of: Elvin Augustus Diaz II
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=35 THERE ARE MANY http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=34 Fri, 14 May 2010 12:43:31 GMT There are many young people today who are finding their way into the wonderful world of music one way or another. Some have found band class in...
There are many young people today who are finding their way into the wonderful world of music one way or another. Some have found band class in school to be the perfect learning experience while others have found a pickup situation after school more to their liking. Theirs, one and all, is a future that beckons with new technologies that probably didn’t even exist when they were born. These future hit-makers and moguls are forging their way thru the situations of their everyday lives and music will see them to adulthood one way or another.
The inspiration to make music can come from many different people, places, or situations. It can even simply appear out of the blue. Our minds are hardwired genetically to calculate and be drawn to the ratios of resonance in melodies. We know what notes and combinations of notes sound right and which ones are dissonant. Emotions from one end of the spectrum to the other are tied to the music we hear in our brains. We write music with those emotions. Without emotion, music is only, sound.

The spirit of youth is powered by an attentive tenacity locked onto the jugular of fun. If there is no enjoyment in what they are doing, kids move on in search of joy elsewhere. With music, a diverse collection of instruments is only the tip of the berg that can cause creative juices to flow. We are blessed to have a cornucopia of musical genres to shuffle through and deal out in any mixture our imaginations can muster. (The sound of Linkin Park easily comes to mind.) Making music is like dreaming but with full control over the outcome. Finishing a song is like waking up from a deep sleep more or less.

Adding to instruments and musical styles, newer technologies bring the ability to record and publish to levels unthinkable a generation ago. Physical CDs are slowly fading away. MP3s are gaining like wildfire even thought the sound quality leaves much to be desired (to my old ears at least). PR is only a few keystrokes away on social networking websites where slick graphics and widgets can make an unknown artist or band shine like a supernova literally overnight. Distribution with little budget to work with, or speak of, is still a no brainer with places like CDbaby.com, Discmakers, Oasis, AimeSt, Reverbnation, Mioko Records, and the list goes on throughout the web and around the world many times over! Today the young and upcoming musical hopefuls have an almost infinite array of variables to work across.

Budgeting, which is probably the farthest thing from a young mind has fallen from its lofty alabaster tower of yesteryear. Great places to find great deals abound. The world of DIY has exploded with a tidal wave of new music that easily dwarfs the mainstream. Not only are prices falling on excellent gear, but the knowledge base for said gear is growing exponentially. If the cards are played right the youth of today may well become the audio engineers of tomorrow with no formal training and coffers full of prestigious awards. That is, as long as they have fun getting there. I think they will without a doubt. Having fun is the perfect muse.
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=34 All Of The Emotion With Which http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=33 Wed, 12 May 2010 12:00:15 GMT All of the emotion with which Legasys made music back in the day is still entrenched deep within the recesses of my soul. The camaraderie and fervor...
All of the emotion with which Legasys made music back in the day is still entrenched deep within the recesses of my soul. The camaraderie and fervor is still as bright a light as it has ever been. We composed with youthful angst and abandon. We played with conviction and undeniable satisfaction. We got the vibe from audiences that what we were doing mattered then, and that it would still matter far into the future no matter what happened.

We did not disband in any sense of the word. Rather, we went our ways one by one. The core of the group held on for as long as possible but the winds of the future gained strength and blew the final splinters away like so many bull-thistle seeds. Despite the final strenuous gasps, not one of us went away without looking back. To this day any former band mates I have talked to still have that spark in their voices and that high from the music is still perpetuating itself.

I have recorded a handful or more of that old material and completed some songs the band never had the chance to. I’m still looking thru my collection for some old practice sessions we’d captured on cassette tape with an assortment of boom-boxes. Some are full band sessions and some are just guitars and bass with vocals. I once wired a walkman (cassette) up and feed it into a digital studio. It turned out rather noisy but it did do the job of preserving what I wanted to save from analog recordings. Now all I have to do is find those data discs.

Revisiting what to me is historically the birth of Legasys brings all that emotion back up and into sharp focus. The way we interacted to create music was a blessing to each and every one of us. Even secondary band members took an active part in the structuring of our songs and wrote for us as well. Friends from other groups would drop in on practices to jam with us and we never shut anybody out for any reason. We were brothers in song and within us, the legend lives on.
Attached Files
File Type: mp3 04 SCRATCH THE SURFACE JOSE DIAZ CLOUDS IN CATHEDRALS.mp3 (11.93 MB, 12 views)
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=33 4 Recent Posts (I Hope You Enjoy) http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=32 Wed, 14 Apr 2010 13:05:17 GMT The aging process can be a formidable muse. Glenda and I were half a world apart when we were born. A few years...]]> 3-23-2010ffice:office" />
The aging process can be a formidable muse. Glenda and I were half a world apart when we were born. A few years later, Neil Armstrong took a small step onto gunpowder scented regolith, and the world we had came to live in changed forever. In fact, the world never really ceases to change at large. Fate deposits us where it will and we must forge our way thru the endeavor called life. As we make our way we evolve a fortuitousness all our own. Our character gathers wisdom like a snowball and we are forever becoming who we are to the end of our days.

The overpowering innocence of our childhood gives way to the ‘no one can tell me what to do’ of our adolescence. That bravado and chivalry leave the door wide open for hard lessons that eventually lead us into adulthood. Common sense sprouts somewhere along the way and we finally find ourselves ‘over the hill’. The road behind us is littered with the shrapnel and detritus of our youth and although it appears to be a desert we have struggled thru or an oasis we will sorely miss, we still polish many gems of memory. Our pinnacles of pride perforate the landscape of our past like jagged peaks rising out of the fog of ‘who’ we used to be and ‘who’ we thought we were. Competing for altitude are our memories of those who came with us along the way at times. Melancholy and moot are they as well as unforgettable and worth dwelling on when we have the time to slow down on any given day. I howl into that darkness below the clouds and memories howl back.

My wrists are telling me they can no longer flex themselves onto the contortions necessary to play guitar. My mind still daydreams of plugging in cords and pushing buttons and flipping switches. My ears crave the hiss of high wattage and my feet still long to step on the pedal-board in their sound-shaping dances. My fingers still ache to tickle the strings and flail about in tornado fashion spewing scales and screams in fully willful expungements of the emotions quaking thru my mind. My mind still weaves the words and music within into cocoons of cacophony distinct from one another and either forgettable or not.

My youth is easily rekindled figuratively, but oh so near complete tangibility, by any one of many blisteringly molten power chords. It can also be stirred into its timeless candor by a clean guitar tone with any of a few good ‘wet’ effects. Lingering echoes of a delay and the ribbon like roiling of a chorus do the memories justice as well. My mind arcs the hammer to the anvil readily, as my body protests the mere thought of the physical duty I require of it. The sole power plant, which is my mind, runs on the fuel of reality as much as imagination. Hybrid, are my dreams, and the output from them drives my soul onward to whatever fate has paved as the road for my end. Music will inevitably be ‘mused’ into existence by whatever I’ve been thru thus far, and, by whatever I am fated to go thru before I reach the great unknown.

3/24/2010

As individuals we can be as elastic as we choose to be. The world will indeed do its best to stretch us as far as is mentally possible. The amount with which we give into the tugs and shoves of the world, are totally up to us. No matter how coercive the situation is, or how convincing the spiel, whatever our action(s) turns out to be, we are still enigmatic and individual.

Were you wild in your youth? Were you a placid, meek bystander? Did you jump off the bridge? Did you stand back and out of the way while the main crowd whipped themselves into their tribal frenzy? Whatever you did, and however you did it, was your true expression of your individuality. Many overt personalities would turn back to laugh at the meek as they sped away on their adventure. Many complacent and ignorant people barley even regarded those ‘below’ them with a passing glance. They too were on some enlightened path. Living fast and dying young, running wild, running free, and wisdom tried to say they would all end in the same disaster. The truth is that they all ended up in a myriad of ways. Some lived with or without scars, some died, but all had their own unique and individual endings. The only thing relative to all those adventures was the final page of the story. Whether it read “THE END”, or “TO BE COUNTINUED?”, or even “JUST THE BEGINNING”, the only thing the world could turn to was the ‘hardback’.

I’ve played the wild adventurer, and I’ve played the cautious timid. In either case I was myself and came thru still writing the chapters of my life. Chalk it up to luck or a higher sentience. The waters of wisdom rain down and we drink what we want while drowning in the deluge of what we really need. Life has a way of shaping us but the eventual temper of our mettle is a byproduct of our free will. We may not always have a broad spectrum of choices, but whatever choices confront us, we will ‘choose’.

The subject matter of a song comes from the ether like a ghost from the future. As new as the expression of that next song is, it is ripe with overtones of the past. Those mental harmonics are inescapable. Nostalgia will keep a new tune familiar but the choices of composition and the final arrangement can make it fresh and in some way exciting to any eventual listener. An artists’ box can be filled with all manner of ‘bells and whistles’ but those choices concerning what to use become the sole responsibility of said artist. Whether audacious and bombastic, or wispy and reserved, music and the emotions it can provoke are symptoms of an artists’ individuality and the general populations ‘choice’ to listen.

At some point in my life I faced a choice. Should I be an artist? Should I be a listener? I choose both and to this day have no regrets. Making music is a fun as listening to music for me. There are songs that drag my heart thru briar patches. There are songs that make me feel like a sole survivor of the human race. There are songs that give me hope as well as songs that desolate my soul. My mind has been filled with great conflagration at times, or drowned in the unfathomable depths of sadness, or any other powerful emotion for that matter. Music has done this to me and I made the choice to allow it to ‘muse’ me so. It has never mattered if the music was some one else’s, or my own. My bliss in regards to music is being able to hear every nuance of a song and letting my emotions run rampant thru the world created by any song I hear.

3-30-2010

My soul is an eagle with a great wingspan. Songs are the winds and thermals that I ride up towards the sun as they ruffle my down. The world below inspires the winds that carry me. The movie playing just behind my visual cortex is a direct effect caused by the ‘wind’.

I soar higher until there I can barely breath, and then roll over and plummet with wings drawn in tight. I halfway extend long feathers purchasing just enough to right myself. As the air thickens and warms me I gain speed endlessly. The ground rushes up. Green and brown mats become treetops and soil. Fully extending I pull out of the dive. I clip dandelions and scatter a thousand seeds into the notes that saved my life again.

I scream long, loud, and as hard as I can with joy. The echoes bounce back to me from everywhere. The tops of mountains slough off avalanches and the floors of valleys gain a new layer of shed leaves and bull-thistle seeds. Rivers and streams carry away mineral memories of my flight today. Tomorrow awaits the news.

The sun falls and the moon rises. They race to meet in the future and I race to meet the new winds. Life sings to me of its cup of memories running over. I howl back in kind with compassion and understanding sympathy. At some point we will share all the right notes. At some point our cacophony will dance in perfect cadence. At some point the stars will twinkle in unison. At some point I will have to flap my wings. For now, I roll my tail left and right and tickle the currents with my leading edges and feather-tips.

I scream again and a glacier answers. Tons of ancient ice crash down into a glass-like bay. Rainbows rise up out of the spray. The energy transferred to the water makes its way to the open sea. A second volley of multi-ton boulders crashes down for the second chord. Images of one-hundred-ton bowling balls knocking on fifty-ton pins play in the back of my mind. The echoes prompt humpbacks and blue whales to join in. Breathe deeply my dear reader. Music is my life.

4-12-2010

I unplugged. I stepped back. I shrugged off anything remotely resembling productivity. I casually left my cell phone lying around ‘anywhere’. I amused myself by discovering missed calls days later. I shut down higher thoughts and dimmed the light of my ‘dream projector’. I stopped listening to voice mail. I stopped reading e-mail.

It felt good to lose myself in a blank mind. The echoes of dark silence were refreshing. The ghost of the past, the present, and the future all faded from existence. I existed in peaceful detachment. My synapses cooled. It was bliss not to chase the sun across the sky for any reason. It was deeper bliss to follow along with every whim about what to do on any given day with Glenda.

Sitting on the couch last night we reflected in the past weeks activities and fondly discovered that we’d enjoyed every day immensely. Four boxes of chocolate truffles attest to our excursions. We won’t finish those in one day and that’s for sure. She found those Ray Bans she was looking for. That was the best week we’ve had in a long time and the best vacation to boot! It was quality time at its best forming smiles, laughter, and good memories to fall asleep to. ]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=32 IN A PERFECT WORLD THE BALANCE http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=31 Thu, 18 Feb 2010 14:17:15 GMT In a perfect world the balance between ‘state-of-the art’ and ‘seat-of-the-pants’ is the fertile humus from which endless ideas vigorously sprout... In a perfect world the balance between ‘state-of-the art’ and ‘seat-of-the-pants’ is the fertile humus from which endless ideas vigorously sprout forth into existence. Unfortunately we are all ‘live’ and ‘on-the-hi-wire-without-a- net’ most of the time. The scale with its counter of the former and the latter is a burden we must add to and subtract from as best we can. Having ‘top-of-the-line’ equipment or ‘cheap-stuff-that-works’, certainly makes a difference for professed ‘professionals’. We down in the echoic yet crowded halls of mediocrity simply have to ‘make-do’ with whatever equipment we can accumulate.

Every artist must budget themselves and I am no exception by any means. If I could afford the best microphones then indeed I would own some $5,000.00 examples. If I could afford the best guitars and amps then I would certainly own many. If I could afford the best studio then it would surely be a business all to itself. What little equipment I do have serves me well though. Some I was able to buy used while other things I was able to pay for in ‘loose’ installment plans from a well seasoned and trusted dealership.

What I like best about my meager set-up is how intimate and familiar it has become to me. Any new piece gains my confidence slowly. A tube pre-amp sounds great but I am still cautious about it as one button on the front could fry a microphone if accidentally pushed. Some ‘mics’ need what’s known as ‘phantom power’. This is a current sent to them to enable them to work. If you send that voltage to a microphone that does not require it, “ZAP!”

I have a small collection of ‘mics’ and just bought two pistol cases from Academy to store them in. The cases were about $20.00 each and work perfect for holding my entire collection safely. Next on the agenda is a patch-cord box to store cables in.

What’s all this got to do with music? Well, the more efficiently you use the space in a studio, the more productive you can be. For way too long, where my mics are concerned, I’ve had to fish each one out of its’ original box, use it, and then return it to that box. Now I have 2 cases I can label respectively and quickly retrieve the mic I’m looking for. Any time you save time in the studio you preserve the spontaneity of creativity.

I don’t have a ‘state-of-the-art’ studio but what I do have decently represents the current tidal wave of stampeding technology that’s so proliferate in the music making industry today. Then again, I don’t write and record ‘hits’. I just capture what dreams may come to me on any given day. I keep my big toe on the ‘wire’ and the balance of reality and dreams, ‘state-of-the-art’, and ‘seat-of-the-pants’ steadies me in the winds of my muses. ]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=31 THE MARKERS http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=30 Wed, 23 Dec 2009 13:43:43 GMT THE MARKERS

It was a dreary day for such a long drive. A slight mist of rain was falling from the grey overcast. At times the drops got bigger or smaller but never really stopped. The horizon floated in and out of existence as if it were hiding the sun and some place warm and comfortable. There was, thankfully, enough light to brighten the green grasses off the shoulders and in the median. All three ditches were carpeted brightly and hop-scotched with puddles.

The tank was full, the headlights were on, and I was too far from a major city to catch any radio at all. I was really missing my satellite stations. The ‘AM’ faded in and out without bringing me anything in English. The highway meandered thru man-made cuts sliced into small mountains. Walls of valleys with long stripes carved out by explosives long, long ago whisked by. Sometimes the tops of the valleys were shrouded in a denying layer of mist. Other times the roadway far ahead disappeared.

I crested a hill in one such valley and caught a fleeting glimpse of the horizon. The twin ribbons of the road snaked all the way there and dove over. I scanned the scene and then brought my focus closer and closer to my current position. A small patch of the carpet to my right caught my eye abruptly. There in the middle of the ditch was a short fat cross. It was pitch-black with no hint of any detail whatsoever. My first impression was that it had been stuck into the ground there and then ‘spray-painted’. The grass immediately below looked black, or brown. As quickly as I noticed it, it zipped by and was gone into my traveling past.

The radio hissed and crackled a bit. I scanned the instrument panel and then looked at the clock. The frequency was still showing ‘1250 am’. I checked the road for a moment and then reached over and hit the ‘clock’ button. The ‘1250 am’ remained. I frowned and scanned the road again, ‘keeping it in my lane’. I hit the button once again and still nothing happened. Then a rapid succession of five ‘finger-punches’ produced the same outcome. I hit the ‘scan’ button and the readout ran its course thru the bandwidth range. There was nothing to lock onto except for what were probably distant lightening strikes and the cyclic whistles of the earth’s magnetic field. I rolled my left hand over and looked at my wristwatch. A couple of seconds told me the battery was probably dead. I sighed and made a mental note to either buy another battery or another watch at the next truck-stop.

As I dropped into the floor of the plain I had just seen, another black shape caught my eye. This time it was in the middle ditch. It was the same size, color (or lack of), and shape of the other one. Still frowning from my little ‘time’ ordeal, I raised a brow as I watched the ‘marker’ go by. I was wondering who it had been placed for. I also wondered about the first one. Such monuments were put on the sights where somebody’s’ loved ones had left this world. I strained to read any word or words that might have been applied to the face of it but found nothing but an unnerving empty ‘blackness’. The three tips gave the impression that it was made out of curled iron or cast. The edge was similar to decorative accoutrements found in cathedrals but, I could discern no detail except for the outline. Oddly, it looked ‘heavy’.

I scanned the instrument panel and then looked up at the temperature gauge in the overhead center console. “46 degrees” it said. Eyes back on the road and I bounced over a small bridge. Not much chance of ice for now but come nightfall, maybe. I was whishing that I’d brought my little weather radio.

My mind drifted back to the two crosses. They were identical, I surmised. I didn’t even notice an edge to them, although they looked ‘thick’ and the ‘overspray’ gave the fleeting impression they actually were, they did seem out of place. With a firm memory picture formed in my mind, I looked over along the opposite side of the road and saw the third one. I might have missed it were it not for the deer carcass. I thought the carcass had just moved a bit. A head of massive antlers was lying just upon the improved shoulder and the hindquarters were settling out of a quiver. I thought it might be alive but the bloodless entrails begged to differ. The ‘marker’ stood stoically, just off the black-top in the grass between the hind and forelegs. The same overspray was all too apparent.

With three markers behind me I scanned the instrument panel again. The tank was full, temperature was within normal range, oil pressure good, speed 75, and radio crackling on ‘1250 am’. I added the mental notes about the broken clock button, my broken watch, and the tasks I needed to attend to at my next stop. I was halfway across the rock-strewn plain.

Number four caught my eye in the center of the median. I know I saw it moving upwards. Along with the chill that shot down my spine, my feet shot down onto the brake pedal. The tires hissed and screamed softly across the asphalt. The ‘ABS’ left me with enough steering to glide over to the inner shoulder. I came to a full stop right next to the cross. I know I saw it moving upwards with my first glance from 75 miles an hour. Now I was looking over at it as I lowered the window. My finger was digging into the toggle and it was hurting way before I knew what I was doing. It was maybe a foot wide and a foot and a half tall. Short and fat looking but black like nothing else should ever be. The ‘overspray’ was there too. It was a mixture, I now realized. It was a mixture that moved. Black and brown danced an intertwining jig like a macabre shadow of a flame. As the ‘shadow that should not be’ ‘licked’ about, the green grass that it touched went brown, dead. The pain in my left index finger screamed me out of my trance. My right index, I found, was buried in my moustache and over my lips. My right thumb anchored beneath the heavy beard under my chin. I blinked hard and reached thru the hoop of the steering wheel to activate the hazard flashers. Set to ‘mist’, the windshield wipers micro-thumped noisily across the glass in a two-step cacophony. The rain was easing up. A loud ‘cla-click’ told me I had opened the door. It swung away and my left foot fell to the wet surface.

The grass was cold. I felt the iciness thru the hard leather of my shoes. With each slow step my ankles sank just below the tips of each blade. Droplets soaked thru my thin socks. I knew I was shivering but it wasn’t from the cold and damp air. There was no breeze. I stopped halfway down into the shallow ditch and stared at the strange blackness of the thing. There was no detail except for the scrolled outline. It seemed to be facing dead-on at me. I stepped to the right along the embankment. After five or six steps I took no solace in the fact that the cross was still facing me ‘dead-on’. Stepping quickly and almost losing my footing I treaded into the other direction. The same thing happened. A cold gust suddenly rose up. The shadow of flames around the base of this dark intruder flickered in that breeze. More grass died and I heard an eerie crackle as it did so. Light wisps of smoke scattered into the wind.

The tires protested the engines reaction to the floored accelerator for what seemed like a lifetime. The left rear peeled off a few tens of yards of bright green, throwing it into the air in a mixture of sparkling blades and light brown soil. Once the rubber had sufficient purchase I stole a glance backwards out of the open window. The rain was picking up and the larger droplets stung the right side of my face. The black cross was falling away, still facing me, reflecting nothing, and burning the grass. I crossed the roadway into the outer lane and put the window up. The heater was slowly replacing the cold air and I was shaking, and sweating. I wanted to get to the horizon and noticed that it was once again shrouded in mist. A small black object approached just off the right shoulder and I yanked the wheel left. The darkness swung around to track me. Another came on from the median and I jerked the other way. Several appeared off the far shoulder and I gave up trying to ‘zigzag’ my way fruitlessly down the road. A cluster appeared in the median and in their midst I saw a black teardrop flow up into the air. It swung open and snapped to shape with a quick flick. Droplets of mist flew from its arms. The entire group followed me as I flew past. Each dark face stabbed into my soul with that much more of an icier sting. There on the right one sprung up with a side to side shaking motion, like a plant sprouting from some malevolent seed. My lower field of peripheral vision took in the speedometer. It was probably pegged out by now. I reached the small rise that was on the horizon so long ago and went over it. The sky was still gray and the rain was still falling lightly. A black cloud of markers was racing ahead of me on three green lanes. A wave of brown and black was following quickly behind it. The radio was still crackling and displaying ‘1250 am’. My watch was still broken. The tank was still full. My knuckles were white as snow. I was thanking God that the ‘check engine’ light had not come on. The hazard flashers kept double-clicking.
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=30 The Holidays http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=29 Wed, 16 Dec 2009 13:18:54 GMT The holidays have always inspired songwriters. Old favorites are usually re-worked into new presentations sometimes referred to as modernizations.... The holidays have always inspired songwriters. Old favorites are usually re-worked into new presentations sometimes referred to as modernizations. Performers give us their best and our spirits lift up and fly away from the year’s tedium. Staple tunes ring out from all media. Even print is not left behind. Familiar phrases grace many a page of newsprint, magazines, billboards, and festive department store décor.

It seems to be easier to smile at each other in these times. Compassion percolates along with cheerfulness to brew a cup that begs to be shared. Some sip eagerly with one another. Others maintain their stoic indifference. The former are embolden to stoke the flames of happiness with good intentions. The latter are believed to be ever weakening in the eyes, and hearts, of the former. The latter are likened to stone blocks that the former will enjoy chiseling away at. Happiness has fun smoothing rough marble.

Many artist release their proverbial “Christmas album”, or to be politically correct, their “Holiday album”. Homage to the season knows no bounds when it comes to genre and there are new tunes to be enjoyed by all. No one is left out when the celebrations begin. Those who are, refrain from the festivities by their own accord. All are welcome to participate and all are enthusiastically encouraged. Be it serious ‘crooning’, or whimsically delivered, ‘be-bopped’, a cappella, or ‘jazzed up’, diversified renditions abound. From Grammy winners all the way down to unknowns, everybody is singing a song.

Muzak follows the seasonal trend and fills our ears with hauntingly familiar renditions of “Jingle Bells”, “Deck the Halls”, and more. Ringtones follow suit and people just can’t wait to be called. Sleigh bells ring out and cash registers ring up. The music of the holiday season incapacitates sadness and refuses to resuscitate it. The words of songs perforate the walls built between people, by people. The winds of celebration whistle thru jubilantly. Faces glow and hearts melt to form rivers of joy. If you can’t feel it yet you may want to go see a doctor. If you’ve never felt this don’t worry that you might have to “hope” to. We will gladly do the “hoping” for you. ]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=29 A Pause For Thanks http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=28 Fri, 27 Nov 2009 21:18:08 GMT I'm still in a turkey coma, and it still feels good! I can't wait to get into the slow "dosage-reduction" phase over the next day or so.

I'm very thankful for yesterday’s company. One surprise guest with a great "fruity" bottle of wine really capped it all off with the perfect vintage, for a perfect meal, with the perfect company. As usual, we all gave our individual thanks one after the other and then proceeded to eat and converse across many interesting subjects. Contentment abounded and no rib was left un-encumbered with the heavy press of turkey and all the fixings. The evening wound down and the kids decided they would make it out early for “Black Friday”. My “Muse” became the luckless driver for that foray. I slept in.

I have many things to be thankful for. I am blessed with much and I thank God for all that he has seen fit to provide me with. It is said that as long as we remember where we came from, we will always know where we are and where we need to go. (Don’t ask me who said it, I just think that philosophy is one of many important ones.) With that stated, I want to share something else I am thankful for with you. I’ll do that in my own unique way, and, here goes.
One Of My “Most Thankful For” Things:
I had been sleeping that night, in the living room. In my own fog of destitution I had been kicked out of the bedroom. I did not know the hour when fate scratched the ceiling and dusted me with its own form of “glitter”. My chest tightened and my lungs began to feel as if they had disappeared. My jaw clenched and my eyes snapped open wide. I could see in the darkness as if it were day. I yelled out thru my teeth as I felt what I thought were my gums ballooning up to explode.
“What is it?” she asked simply. I looked up thru watering eyes and tried to communicate a “dial 911”. I thought I conveyed it clearly. All I got was “What?” That was the last word my mind recorded as I tried with more and more difficulty to get her do take action. Hand signals and what little I could get thru my teeth all seemed to elicit the same response. Dumb, wordless questions drifted into my ears and I realized that one, I might well be having a heart attack, and two, she seemed to be waiting for me to die.
Somewhere in all this she may have gotten the phone in hand but I clearly recall she never dialed any number. I felt a single tear roll out of my right eye and across my temple. My head, gums, and chest felt like so many sticks of dynamite with only a nano-meter of fuse left. After a few moments looking up into those eyes I knew what they wanted to see. They wanted to see me dead and cold there on the floor when an ambulance arrived. I knew no call would be made until I had left. There and then, the sparks of a vow were initiated. I vowed that would be the last time my heart was ever broken. As it shattered I let the pieces fall where they would. I could pick them up later, this time.
The screaming freight train slowly faded from my head and the painful puff of my gums diminished. The dull stake thru my heart seemed to withdraw along with the “concrete” air that had “set-up” in my lungs. She was still there, speaking in questions I will never care to remember, as I emerged from the “attack”. I let her ask a few more times before I gave an answer. With each moment I could see she thought I might really be on the way out. When her eyes widened slightly I gave her a sighing, “I’m okay.” I’ve never seen a clearer dismay on a human beings face, ever. She was clearly disappointed that I was still, alive. “I’m okay.”
I never went to the doctor for whatever had happened that night. My speculation points towards my own personal problems and anxiety more than coronary. In any case I will always be thankful to God that then was not my time, and that my “would- be” murderer had failed to enjoy her front row seat to my demise that she so clearly wanted to “watch”. As for the person I was way back then, there is no doubt that either of us would have eventually found a way to “get rid of” the other, sooner or later.
I eventually “set asunder” what God had joined together and that is one weight I have no remorse about having to shoulder. Whatever penance I owe or is owed to me, God will balance the final scale. Where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going, are all a part of who I am, and who I am thankful to be. ]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=28 <![CDATA[SEX & the friendships that make passion for LIFE]]> http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=27 Wed, 18 Nov 2009 07:43:50 GMT *http://WhatA****erNeeds.com/* (http://WhatA****erNeeds.com/) *http://VictoriaTx.WS/* (http://VictoriaTx.WS/) A discussion group on the use and...
http://WhatA****erNeeds.com/

http://VictoriaTx.WS/
A discussion group on the use and abuse of primitive goals (the timely\persuasion)

FOR LOVERS ONLY



]]> Admin http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=27 <![CDATA[The Classic "HOT ROD" Modifiers Association of Victoria Texas]]> http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=26 Mon, 16 Nov 2009 13:24:05 GMT
The Classic "HOT ROD" Modifiers Association of Victoria Texas

Wheelers dealers parts, computer tuning applications, compression and displacement ratio setting programs, porting and polishing/shaving and getting proper valve clearance, turbo installations, nitros techniques and tools, forging welding casts to create unique parts including head design for improving flow, inter-cooler setup, race style oil sumps, balance and the importance of safety in braking when mod. front or rear ends, the works. eTc. Everything for the adventurous person who wants to become involved in enjoying the sport of building and maintaining Classic Custom vehicles

TURNING ON THE NEED FOR SPEED RESPONSIBLY

....... coming soon ........

To a Social Group category

here at VictoriaTx.US

ENJOY
]]> Admin http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=26 <![CDATA[The New Musician's MUSIC Social Group]]> http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=25 Mon, 16 Nov 2009 12:56:32 GMT
There is a New Social Group Activity in Victoria Texas

The New Musician's MUSIC Social Group
( over a thousand compositions for detailing in a discussion on the talent )
 *NOTE: Be sure and subscribe

I will be adding such tools as nomenclature for the written form, tableture, assessing instrument info and other relative deciphering applications in the future to help with the association in discovering what the involvement of arrangement is in the originality of the intent of the music as we discover more profound ways to influence our own talents.

Please read the entire discussion

I hope by this, you will be as respectfully appreciative of the Orchestra Symphony style I am now more comfortable with myself.
Look for the Social Group 'tab' in the categories at the top of the Forum's Index Page

ENJOY

]]> Admin http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=25 RAGE ON DISPLAY http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=24 Fri, 06 Nov 2009 14:02:32 GMT Rage. Will we ever truly know what sets it off? RAGE ON DISPLAY ... Rage. Will we ever truly know what sets it off?

RAGE ON DISPLAY
By: JOSE’ LUIS DIAZ-4/9/2007-2:35PM-2:50PM
(V-1)
How long did you hold it in?
Do you remember when it began?
Which straw was the one that breaks?
Do you realize your last mistake?
Of rage!

We can’t see it in your eyes
So how long were you in disguise?
We saw the path you painted red
Now we want to see what’s in your head
(Chorus)
Rage! , on display
That rage! , from yesterday
That rage! , our blood ran cold
Rage! , within your soul
(V-2)
Tell us did you think it wrong
Did you feel remorse in the end?
Some wept seeing what you did
If we turn you loose will you strike again?

Comfort do you feel it now
Show us your scars inside and out
Open let us look inside
Do you realize how many died?
(Lead) (Chorus) (Lead)
Attached Files
File Type: mp3 06 RAGE.mp3 (6.45 MB, 68 views)
]]> joseexist http://www.VictoriaTx.us/Enjoy/blog.php?b=24