Brilliant..I am now officially a conductor! Well not really...I've just finally got round to the inevitable and understood that what I want to do in music has many parallels with conducting, and also that the "space" I intend to occupy (ie, between artist and audience) is similar to that of a conductor. And since I want to communicate music indirectly through hand gestures and the like, it seems like the obvious path for me to take. Now there are sharp differences between my thing and conducting; the principle difference being that "my thing" is coming from a completely different place and has been developed for completely different reasons. But teaching myself the fundamentals of conducting will give me the kind of classical and practical grounding that I've never really had, and that I think musicians have always resented me for.
So I finally got round to reading some introductory conducting literature tonight. Nothing too heavy...just the wikipedia entry and a chapter from an essay. And what I noticed was that the more I read, the more I started to get the feeling that "I can do this". Now because of my problems with co-ordination, dexterity and general "object engagement", I've never had that "can-do" experience with anything musical before. But I had it tonight. And I also got the feeling that many of the ideas I have about music exist in conducting already. At times it felt like I was reading something that was written in my language, and I very rarely get that experience too.
So why has it taken me so long to come round to the idea of conducting? Well, a couple of things really. Firstly, I always thought of a conductor as a highly skilled classical musician who must prove himself as a musician first, rather than simply being "one who conducts". But since I don't want to make classical music, this really shouldn't be as much of a problem as I always thought it was. And secondly, I did not feel comfortable with the idea of myself as some sort of "musical director". I felt that, as a non-musician with no discernible musical skills, "musical director" would be claiming for myself a title to which I did not deserve, and could not possibly justify to seasoned and experienced musicians. But I am now comfortable with the knowledge that what I want to do isn't "me the director, you the directed to". It is simply a question of direction.
Anyway, I'll write more when I have read more and learned more. This post was simply to make the declaration in order to hold myself to it.
Monday 30 April 2007
Tuesday 24 April 2007
Dating The Asylum
I've come to the conclusion that even mentally ill people are scared of me! No really they are, especially the girls. I've been looking at dating sites that are aimed at people with mental health issues. I'm not seriously looking to date anyone as I'm in far too much of a state, but a bit of harmless flirtation would be nice. But the girls on these sites all have "hormonal" (sorry can't think of a better word) disorders like bipolar depression, anorexia and SAD. They're terribly fragile creatures who are terribly easy to offend, and I really don't want to go putting my size 13's anywhere near them. "Thought disorders" just isn't something that they understand, and in all honesty it probably scares the living shit out of them. So what do I put on my sign-up form when it asks for my diagnosis? "Various"?
"Schizotypal personality disorder". That's the one I was diagnosed with. Yes I have traces of aspergers and traces of depression and traces of every other self-diagnosis I've made, but the fact remains that I was diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder. I've long sought to convince myself that I'm borderline, hence the title of this blog, as the concept of borderline is more flexible and thus more "instrument-like" (which ties in with the thing that I want to do in music). But in reality I'm probably about as borderline as (*mass of land that's nowhere near a border...the Midwest? Siberia?*), and I daresay I'm not kidding the borderline peeps one little bit. Try as I might, I cannot get away from the fact that I was diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder. By leading specialists, no less. For those who don't know, schizotypal personality disorder is characterized by (*checks wikipedia to make sure he's got his facts right*) social isolation, odd behavior and thinking, and unconventional beliefs such as being convincced of having extra-sensory abilties. Yup, sounds about right. Although I should qualify the last one by saying that I believe in the power of good communication, and see nothing "extra-sensory" aboout this. What I want to do in music is not extra-sensory; it is about harnessing the power of the senses we already have. But I'm well aware that I may just be trying to explain my way out of a very tight corner. If the experts say it's extra-sensory then who am I to argue?
Anyway, as if to prove the point I'm digressing. The point is that most girls, even most mentally-ill girls, do not or do not want to understand what are generally known as "thought disorders". Schizotypal is not schizophrenia, as most of the stuff that is "cut loose" in schizophrenia is somehow held together in schizotypal (see previous posts for theories as to what might be going on in my own case). But schiz is schiz, and schiz is scary. To vain psuedo-depressive girls it's scary, and to fully-grown and reality-adjusted women it's probably scarier still. They're like "ugh!!", and I should be like "yeah, whatever". But I'm not, because it bothers me. I want women to like me, and it troubles me that they don't. I think they think that "thought disorder" implies a lack of control over one's own mind, which can spill over into a lack of control over one's behavior. But my answer to that is the same answer I gave to the extra-sensory accusation. Good communication. Good communication really is an answer to everything. I know this because right now I do not have good communication in my life, and I know what it is that I'm missing.
So if I do join a dating site, I will do it on the proviso that I'm doing it for a laugh. And I shall lie through my teeth, because that's what the so-crazy-I'm-normal brigade are wont to do. Somebody once said that honesty is the most over-rated virtue of all, and when I've read through this post I'll be inclined to agree with them.
"Schizotypal personality disorder". That's the one I was diagnosed with. Yes I have traces of aspergers and traces of depression and traces of every other self-diagnosis I've made, but the fact remains that I was diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder. I've long sought to convince myself that I'm borderline, hence the title of this blog, as the concept of borderline is more flexible and thus more "instrument-like" (which ties in with the thing that I want to do in music). But in reality I'm probably about as borderline as (*mass of land that's nowhere near a border...the Midwest? Siberia?*), and I daresay I'm not kidding the borderline peeps one little bit. Try as I might, I cannot get away from the fact that I was diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder. By leading specialists, no less. For those who don't know, schizotypal personality disorder is characterized by (*checks wikipedia to make sure he's got his facts right*) social isolation, odd behavior and thinking, and unconventional beliefs such as being convincced of having extra-sensory abilties. Yup, sounds about right. Although I should qualify the last one by saying that I believe in the power of good communication, and see nothing "extra-sensory" aboout this. What I want to do in music is not extra-sensory; it is about harnessing the power of the senses we already have. But I'm well aware that I may just be trying to explain my way out of a very tight corner. If the experts say it's extra-sensory then who am I to argue?
Anyway, as if to prove the point I'm digressing. The point is that most girls, even most mentally-ill girls, do not or do not want to understand what are generally known as "thought disorders". Schizotypal is not schizophrenia, as most of the stuff that is "cut loose" in schizophrenia is somehow held together in schizotypal (see previous posts for theories as to what might be going on in my own case). But schiz is schiz, and schiz is scary. To vain psuedo-depressive girls it's scary, and to fully-grown and reality-adjusted women it's probably scarier still. They're like "ugh!!", and I should be like "yeah, whatever". But I'm not, because it bothers me. I want women to like me, and it troubles me that they don't. I think they think that "thought disorder" implies a lack of control over one's own mind, which can spill over into a lack of control over one's behavior. But my answer to that is the same answer I gave to the extra-sensory accusation. Good communication. Good communication really is an answer to everything. I know this because right now I do not have good communication in my life, and I know what it is that I'm missing.
So if I do join a dating site, I will do it on the proviso that I'm doing it for a laugh. And I shall lie through my teeth, because that's what the so-crazy-I'm-normal brigade are wont to do. Somebody once said that honesty is the most over-rated virtue of all, and when I've read through this post I'll be inclined to agree with them.
Monday 16 April 2007
Facing The Music
Ok so it's time I nailed this once and for all: I am a maker of MUSIC. So what if my method isn't conventional, and if to others it's barely comprehensible. It is what it is, and it's mine.
This came to a head tonight, and in a way I'm glad it did. I got very agitated about someone coming round tomorrow, as I don't get to see too many people too often. So I'm scampering around my head at my usual million miles an hour, fretting about how I'm going to handle the whole situation. Broadly speaking, I have 3 different techniques to try and reduce my anxiety. The first is to stay on top of it and "hold my nerve", so to speak. The second is to let go and try to keep the thoughts as dim and distant as possible. And the third is simply to surrender to it and accept it; the theory being that if I'm upset about it then I'm not scared. The comfort of being sad I suppose.
But what happens in heightened states of anxiety is that while my thoughts are racing, the 3 techniques are all contradicting each other and vying for supremacy inside my head. The net result is that none of the above can ever truly take hold, because there are always agitated forces within me compelling me to settle in a different frame of mind instead. And of course, the fatal flaw with all of the above is that while I'm using these techniques to try and control my anxiety, then I'm thinking about it all the time.
So tonight I was racking my brains, and it drove me to the edge of despair. Yes these techniques reduce my anxiety, but what will make it go away? And then it hit me: the music does. The music in my head makes it all go away. So then I started to listen, and it all came flooding back. When I listen to the music in my head, I'm not anxious anymore. When I listen to the music in my head, no-one...no anxiety, no people, no expectations, can touch me. Because when I'm listening to the music in my head, I'm not listening to the voices. I'm listening to the voice.
And armed with this not-so-new realisation, it suddenly occurred to me just what an immense privilege it is to hear music in my head. I'm almost ashamed to say that I'd never thought of it like that before. Because it's always been such a noose around my neck, I've always considered it more of a curse than a blessing. But think about it: I have a schizoid mind, yet that schizoid mind is prevented from becoming schizophrenic by music. Music is the glue that holds it all together, and without that glue I fall apart. And that's when it hit me, for the first time in years, just what an immensely powerful tool I have here. And I have to say that it re-ignited something within me that really should never have gone out.
It seems to me that fragmentative illnesses such as schizophrenia can only truly be cured by universals. That is to say, the stuff that addresses each of the fragments, while retaining the constancy of the core message. The idea being that although you're addressing the many, you're simultaneously addressing the one. And as far as I can see, there are three such universals in life. The first is love, but unfortunately universal love is something that many fragmented minds have little or no first-hand experience of. Maybe it has been offered to them, but for whatever reason they have felt unable or unwilling to accept. The second universal is math, and by that I mean math in it's purest and most mystical form. Now while there is no denying that such math holds a peculiar fascination for the fragmented mind, it can also be a bit too complicated for tired minds to get around.
And the third universal? That'll be music then.
This came to a head tonight, and in a way I'm glad it did. I got very agitated about someone coming round tomorrow, as I don't get to see too many people too often. So I'm scampering around my head at my usual million miles an hour, fretting about how I'm going to handle the whole situation. Broadly speaking, I have 3 different techniques to try and reduce my anxiety. The first is to stay on top of it and "hold my nerve", so to speak. The second is to let go and try to keep the thoughts as dim and distant as possible. And the third is simply to surrender to it and accept it; the theory being that if I'm upset about it then I'm not scared. The comfort of being sad I suppose.
But what happens in heightened states of anxiety is that while my thoughts are racing, the 3 techniques are all contradicting each other and vying for supremacy inside my head. The net result is that none of the above can ever truly take hold, because there are always agitated forces within me compelling me to settle in a different frame of mind instead. And of course, the fatal flaw with all of the above is that while I'm using these techniques to try and control my anxiety, then I'm thinking about it all the time.
So tonight I was racking my brains, and it drove me to the edge of despair. Yes these techniques reduce my anxiety, but what will make it go away? And then it hit me: the music does. The music in my head makes it all go away. So then I started to listen, and it all came flooding back. When I listen to the music in my head, I'm not anxious anymore. When I listen to the music in my head, no-one...no anxiety, no people, no expectations, can touch me. Because when I'm listening to the music in my head, I'm not listening to the voices. I'm listening to the voice.
And armed with this not-so-new realisation, it suddenly occurred to me just what an immense privilege it is to hear music in my head. I'm almost ashamed to say that I'd never thought of it like that before. Because it's always been such a noose around my neck, I've always considered it more of a curse than a blessing. But think about it: I have a schizoid mind, yet that schizoid mind is prevented from becoming schizophrenic by music. Music is the glue that holds it all together, and without that glue I fall apart. And that's when it hit me, for the first time in years, just what an immensely powerful tool I have here. And I have to say that it re-ignited something within me that really should never have gone out.
It seems to me that fragmentative illnesses such as schizophrenia can only truly be cured by universals. That is to say, the stuff that addresses each of the fragments, while retaining the constancy of the core message. The idea being that although you're addressing the many, you're simultaneously addressing the one. And as far as I can see, there are three such universals in life. The first is love, but unfortunately universal love is something that many fragmented minds have little or no first-hand experience of. Maybe it has been offered to them, but for whatever reason they have felt unable or unwilling to accept. The second universal is math, and by that I mean math in it's purest and most mystical form. Now while there is no denying that such math holds a peculiar fascination for the fragmented mind, it can also be a bit too complicated for tired minds to get around.
And the third universal? That'll be music then.
Thursday 12 April 2007
Testing The Resolve
Oooo I'm being tested tonight! I was doing so well, and acheived and maintained a level of stability over the past 2 weeks that I've hitherto been unaccustomed to. But tonight I let it all seep through, and boy am I paying the price!
Trouble is, whenever I've faced a crisis, it was always what I took refuge in. ("It" has a name, but it's becoming a name that dare not speak it's name) But now, with that refuge having been exposed by reality, I am left floundering and disoriented. I'm sure it's why I suffer so much with claustrophobia, because I always had it as an "escape", and that escape is no more. I have to face the fact that, ultimately, there is no escape.
It's not like there's a major crisis tonight, but it's enough of a crisis to make me want to escape. There's a new guy moved in downstairs and he's brought his girlfriend with him, and I can sense the possibility for trouble. I met him for the first time the other night, while he was in the process of hiding his weed because he thought I looked like a snitch. (If that was the first impression i gave him then I've failed the test already). Apparently he's an ex-criminal, been inside but going straight. But it's his girlfriend that worries me. She's a rabid racist based on bad experiences she's had with black guys in some of the less salubrious parts of town. I'm not black, but I'm worried anyway because clearly she has serious issues, and I just KNOW she's gonna take one look at me and freak out. She'll think I'm a creep, because women like that always do. And I'm scared. I'm scared of scaring women, I'm scared of being beaten up, and I'm scared of losing my home for something that isn't my fault. But most importantly, I'm scared of the effect it will have on my state of mind. Because, remember, the thing that I would always take refuge in is not an option anymore. It is not the promised land I always thought it was. It is a delusion and a symptom of a personality disorder, and I know that now.
So I'm trying to gather myself, regain my composure, and go through all the little rituals that have kept me stable for the past couple of weeks. I was going to say "wish me luck", but it is not a question of luck. It is a question simply of doing what needs to be done. And now that I know what needs to be done, I really can't say that I have any excuses.
Trouble is, whenever I've faced a crisis, it was always what I took refuge in. ("It" has a name, but it's becoming a name that dare not speak it's name) But now, with that refuge having been exposed by reality, I am left floundering and disoriented. I'm sure it's why I suffer so much with claustrophobia, because I always had it as an "escape", and that escape is no more. I have to face the fact that, ultimately, there is no escape.
It's not like there's a major crisis tonight, but it's enough of a crisis to make me want to escape. There's a new guy moved in downstairs and he's brought his girlfriend with him, and I can sense the possibility for trouble. I met him for the first time the other night, while he was in the process of hiding his weed because he thought I looked like a snitch. (If that was the first impression i gave him then I've failed the test already). Apparently he's an ex-criminal, been inside but going straight. But it's his girlfriend that worries me. She's a rabid racist based on bad experiences she's had with black guys in some of the less salubrious parts of town. I'm not black, but I'm worried anyway because clearly she has serious issues, and I just KNOW she's gonna take one look at me and freak out. She'll think I'm a creep, because women like that always do. And I'm scared. I'm scared of scaring women, I'm scared of being beaten up, and I'm scared of losing my home for something that isn't my fault. But most importantly, I'm scared of the effect it will have on my state of mind. Because, remember, the thing that I would always take refuge in is not an option anymore. It is not the promised land I always thought it was. It is a delusion and a symptom of a personality disorder, and I know that now.
So I'm trying to gather myself, regain my composure, and go through all the little rituals that have kept me stable for the past couple of weeks. I was going to say "wish me luck", but it is not a question of luck. It is a question simply of doing what needs to be done. And now that I know what needs to be done, I really can't say that I have any excuses.
Monday 9 April 2007
Closing The Deal
I got a sale today...yippee! My first sale in 2 months! (I do affiliate-related stuff in some dark murky corner of the blogosphere, none of which I will bore you with here). I'm actually quite relieved because I was convinced that my stats and accounts had been hacked into by a rogue blogger who fucked my firefox up. And I'm not going to believe it until I actually hold the check in my hand, which is some way off yet due to international check-clearing charges.
But it does feel good to get a sale. I hate to admit it, but it makes me feel like a man. Delivering the goods, end product, and other macho crap that we potentialistas are so loathe to embrace. Except that it isn't macho crap though, is it? It's survival; it's doing what a man needs to do to put food on the table. Of course a woman can be a producer too, but the man who relies on meeting a productive woman really isn't much of a man.
And this is the problem with the potentialista in me, and the idea I describe in my blog description. The idea in itself can work, I am convinced of that; but it is too dependent on external forces, finding the right context, and getting the wind to blow the right way. Things have started to turn in my favour recently, and the reason they have turned is because I have turned. Away from the potential and into the productive. I have been stuck in potential mode for the last 5 years, and I cannot remember a single occasion when I felt as though things were turning in my favour. And if that isn't telling me something, then I probably don't deserve to learn my lessons anyway.
But still the niggling force in me remains. The force that is telling me not to remove the blog description, in case some passing muso or artist thinks "I've been looking for something like that all my life!" The force that hopes and believes, rather than the force that knows and understands. And as I write these words now, I'm wondering whether every single word I write will undo all the good work I've done recently.
Maybe the sales will close the deal for me; the accumulation process gradually eroding the acceleration process. I even found myself describing the joys of statistics last night, so maybe I've closed it already! And as I look deep into my stats, I'm seeing zeros and ones. Ticks and crosses, yays and nays, warm handshakes all round. So good to be back.
But it does feel good to get a sale. I hate to admit it, but it makes me feel like a man. Delivering the goods, end product, and other macho crap that we potentialistas are so loathe to embrace. Except that it isn't macho crap though, is it? It's survival; it's doing what a man needs to do to put food on the table. Of course a woman can be a producer too, but the man who relies on meeting a productive woman really isn't much of a man.
And this is the problem with the potentialista in me, and the idea I describe in my blog description. The idea in itself can work, I am convinced of that; but it is too dependent on external forces, finding the right context, and getting the wind to blow the right way. Things have started to turn in my favour recently, and the reason they have turned is because I have turned. Away from the potential and into the productive. I have been stuck in potential mode for the last 5 years, and I cannot remember a single occasion when I felt as though things were turning in my favour. And if that isn't telling me something, then I probably don't deserve to learn my lessons anyway.
But still the niggling force in me remains. The force that is telling me not to remove the blog description, in case some passing muso or artist thinks "I've been looking for something like that all my life!" The force that hopes and believes, rather than the force that knows and understands. And as I write these words now, I'm wondering whether every single word I write will undo all the good work I've done recently.
Maybe the sales will close the deal for me; the accumulation process gradually eroding the acceleration process. I even found myself describing the joys of statistics last night, so maybe I've closed it already! And as I look deep into my stats, I'm seeing zeros and ones. Ticks and crosses, yays and nays, warm handshakes all round. So good to be back.
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