Thursday, March 3, 2011

Overactive while inactive

Super sweet.  Sleep is a pipe dream.  If being disposed toward not sleeping weren't enough, I feel like death and am sickly not sleeping.  Even with burning hot eyes that beg for the weighty pull of sleepy eyelids, slumber will not come.  It would seem that my eyelids are F-18s.  It would also seem that I don't sleep.  I wait.  Victory, however, seems removed from the current scenario.

I have envisioned visions and revisions of songs-old and new.  The chord is a marvelous thing, being rigidly defined by the intervals between notes.  Whichever key a thing is played in, if the same math is applied to a different key, the same progression will result.  And yet, some songs belong in certain keys.  Moonlight Sonata in A?  Ha!  If not C# minor, then not 'Moonlight'.

When playing a diminished chord, rather than going through the trouble of figuring out which notes within the chord should be flatted or merely minor, a better method is to play a 7 chord a half step below and move the tonic up to the chord in question.  Duh.  As the 7 chord is played a half step low, and the tonic brought up, then the relative positioning for the rest of the notes is minor third, flat 5 and flat 7.  I didn't go to Juliard or anything, but I believe that is a diminished chord.

Even F-18s have to run out of fuel, right?  But what of time, which so easily passes when having fun, but persists deliberately when not?  Is time or is it not a definite thing?  Should we trust clocks when the more appropriate measure of time is when something is done?  Sure, when boiling noodles, we would be wise to use a clock, but why is that more valid than sitting down at a piano and simply playing until finished?  If time were defined more definitely by a subjective measure, then ten minutes, while being empirically verifiable would be like measuring a half inflated balloon and grading it with marks.  If, for instance, one measured out ten centimeters at real centimeter intervals on a half inflated balloon, then once the balloon were inflated fully, the marks would still be indicative of a distance, but further apart according to a fixed position.  What then of the person who saw the balloon, closed their eyes, backed up ten feet and viewed the balloon again when fully inflated-only to experience the same distance between marks because of the increased distance in viewing?  Or, what if we lived in the balloon and became inflated with it?  The change would be our little secret.  Why isn't time like that?  Or, more appropriately, is time like that and we are merely slaves to the ideal of constancy?

Time is more like that than we venture to believe.

Our world is so wild, "our faces would melt off and our children would weep over our exploded bodies", if we only knew.  Why do we trust our senses?  Hmm?  Because of consistency?  People believed the world was flat for the very same reason.  The only tautological statement in humankind is that unqualified statements are always wrong.  Remember the allegory of the cave?  No?  Look it up.  It should be learned at some point, and now is as good as any, that we only approach, at times, the truth, or real nature of things.  The problem is that with each new discovery, if it were graphed, the new finding takes a greater preponderance of correctness when compared to preceding theories.  For example, with a new discovery, the discoverer has discounted one more thing than the discoverer before.  And is therefore at the cutting edge.  The resulting impression is that we now have it figured out.  Through the ambiguity of language, scientists have convinced themselves that the "best" solution is the absolutely "good" solution, and are in an absolute sense, correct.

Sailing the winds of the universe with goddesses is sounding better and better.  I'm for sure not there yet, but I'll spare everyone.  Channel 19!


Peter Anderson said...

that just made my face melt. you should combine your insomniacal musings with pure sludge and see if your head explodes.

Cwatts said...

I like to party. Maybe I will. Or maybe you should call someone.