Principles

Today is Memorial Day in America, which is for the commemoration of those who died in combat, that is, those involved in fighting. This post is inspired by a short YouTube clip about all the people, besides the above mentioned, who should also be remembered today. Here is the video:

Though all of it is worthy of consideration, I was particularly struck by the narrator's shrewd observation that we teach children that harming and killing others is wrong, but then expect them to deal with the exception of war; indeed, this is expected of any patriotic citizen, that it is wrongful to kill your neighbor, but just to kill "your" enemy. My thoughts quickly ran to principles. The above, to me, is an unprincipled stance, for principles do not allow for exceptions; if you find yourself making exceptions, you should probably abandon the principle. It is the fashion as of long late to disavow the foundations of moral codes in favor of the convenient. And foundations they are: the word "principle" comes from the Latin word "principium" which means "the beginning," and therefore is meant to be the firmest bedrock upon which one's morals are place. There can be no compromise of this bedrock without a fundamental change of your whole system.

I realized lately that I am strongly attracted to principled people. Most of the most influential and favorite people in my life are very firm in their stances. One of my best friends throughout primary and secondary school was a Jehovah's Witness, and say what you will about them, they are some of the strongest adherents to their faith that I know, because I can't recall a single exception they make to their beliefs in favor of the expedient. This presents another admirable trait of the principled: their strength through adversity and difficulty, in dealing with naysayers. There is much fire and infamy blast upon those who will not budge from what they believe and think is right, and man could have easily gone the way of giving in, in our thousands of years we have yet to lose such strong people. Now, I would be speaking incompletely if I did not mention that this go both ways, and that there many repugnant people and groups who yet hold onto principles. I have no regard for the Westboro Baptist Church and their crusade against homosexuality, but I admit to some admiration for them and their death-grip upon a repulsive and extremely unpopular position. They also demonstrate the extremes most principles must be taken if they are to be true. Though I think the logic is a bit flawed, and they do it for the attention, by boycotting military funerals for the supposed support their employer, the US, gives to gays, the Westborons demonstrate that a moral foundation must extend beyond the roots if it is to have any life. Some might call this stubbornness or thick-headedness, and perhaps with them it is, but being stubborn is different from being principled, for the former is for it's own sake and will eventually budge, while the latter is for some other reason, and will not budge (unless given up completely, as mentioned above); also, a change brought on by giving up being stubborn is small compared to giving up principles.

There is also the accusation of seeing things in black-and-white. I have many problems with this, such as a.) for those with supposed gray vision, it seems a bit too easy and divisive to label some people as black-and-white, and others as gray, and that all people fit neatly into either/or; b.) very little thought is given to what it actually involves to see things in black-and-white, and the same is true with gray vision; c.) perhaps most intriguing to me, seeing gray is merely to see a way of the world, which goes against my Quixotic stance. I will deal with these in reverse. My Quixotic stance is summed by this quote from the novel: "...too much sanity may be the maddest and the maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be." I see, upon first glance, much grayness in our lives, by which I mean that there are so many exceptions to everything it is quite easy to live in fog of contradictions: we expect the truth but accept white lies; we'll hate an item but love it when given to us as a gift, at the least to save face; and so on. In this grayness are many of the things we barely tolerate, or don't tolerate but give up to in hopelessness, such as war, famine, poverty, etc. I prefer to see beyond this mist and find the foundations as well as the extents of things, and to see what can be done with them and where they can go. I try to see the world as it should be by seeing, from what it has, what it can be. This involves dividing into what is such and such, and what is not, what works, and what doesn't. This is what an honest, decent monochromatic seeing person does. To do so involves thinking, judgment, and wisdom. Seeing gray is, fundamentally, merely an act of opening your eyes, while monochromatic vision requires one to do something with what one sees. I do not mean to disparage the gray, for it is essential to have, and I would say just as essential as the black-and-white, but too much has been given to the former that has been taken from the latter. Neither do I carelessly praise the monochromatic, for there are many who, in lacking the gray, are unthinking in their stances, usually just following what someone or something told them. This type of person is not to be emulated. Thus, a complete person must have both the gray and the black-and-white, which is perhaps the grayest and most monochromatic idea to have. To deal with the world, one must know it (gray) and then learn how to deal with it (black-and-white) and it is in this latter part that principles arise.


I return, then, to Memorial Day. I take a principled stance against aggressive warfare; I demand the truth. The truth is then that I cannot praise nor honor our soldiers. No war in recent memory has any honorable justifications, and those who fight them are misguided about their actions, or, unfortunately, are bloodthirsty (or both, I suppose). The video I posted above pretty much sums this up. "Defending our Liberties" is a pretty phrase that is also quite vacuous, for our armed forces are doing nothing along those lines. They have invaded foreign countries that have done us no harm; they have destroyed people, families, homes, towns, even the entire infrastructure of a people, in essence, destroy; they continuously assist in the perpetuation of lies. In supposedly protecting our freedom of speech, they have murdered innocents and posed with their corpses for pictures, which is a most revolting use of this freedom. In supposedly protecting our freedom of religion they have blown up the temples of religions not their own, which is a most blatant violation of most religious creeds. In supposedly protecting our freedom to bear arms and therefore protect ourselves, they have disarmed an already weak people, which is a most dishonorable violation of property rights. In supposedly protecting our freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures and the right to due process, they invade homes on mere whims and summarily execute innocents out of battlefield justice, which is most retrograde to our legal rights. And need I describe how they trample upon the freedom from cruel and unusual punishment? There are very few who earn honor upon the battlefield: the rest earn either pity or scorn, if they earn anything at all. I will not celebrate those who have died for fruitless and unjust causes, and I will not honor those currently involved in entanglements abroad who mindlessly do what they are told. It is against my principles.


How about some beauty now. Because I am American, and, in my own, I very much love my country, I'll share some American music. First, Leonard Bernstein, the first American conductor of international prominence, conducting and playing the piano in Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, which is just about as American as you can get.

This next selection comes from Aaron Copland's Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson: "Going to Heaven"

Finally, perhaps the greatest American aria (in my opinion) "Batter My Heart" from John Adams' Doctor Atomic (which is one of the coolest names of any opera). The subject is the Manhattan Project, which is a very unfortunate part of our history, and the character singing this is Oppenheimer, who led the project.

As Easy as Di-Ri-Mi: Some Observations on My Compositional Process/Style

Yesterday was a particularly rigorous day for me in composition. I spent about three hours working on fifteen seconds of music, which I may yet go back and change--we'll see. In such a period, I also dwelt on what I observe are some perhaps compositional idiosyncrasies, maybe stylistic particularities. I'll share them with you.

I'm a melody guy. This is not to say that I am necessarily a tunesmith, but that I think of things linearly, that a piece directed by aspects more melodic than harmonic or rhythmic (or coloristic); however, this does frequently manifest in clear melodies. If I am working with blocks of harmony, there must be at least one voice who moves in a distinct, interesting manner, but I frequently try to have more. I latched on to this a short while ago when I realized that it a.) gave me a foundation for logical movement from spot to spot, and b.) opened up more interesting harmonies that I was constantly seeking, as opposed to the more traditional ones that I had relied on. However, I also noticed that this linear approach has been present from the start; but earlier, vertical sonorities were pretty tame--passing from one to the next was the jarring aspect; now, there is more nuance and variety in my verticalities.

Following the linear aspect, my writing is frequently polyphonal. One of my favorite genres is the quodlibet (Latin for "what you will"), where you pile on various tunes in wonderful harmony. This, combined with my interest in teleological genesis (a term used in discussing Sibelius' musical procedures), intrigues me very deeply as a means for dynamic music, particular for opera music. I will likely touch upon this subject at a later time. 

When I compose, it is a very physical process. I used to think I worked things out better by singing, but now I realize that action with more of the body, or all of it, spurs my drive. Sometimes it's dancing, sometimes it's conducting, other times it's performing on an air-instrument: usually it's a combination of these three, and others (such as indicating line through hand gestures). It perhaps started as a need to entertain myself through the often dreary sessions of sitting and thinking, but I now fully embrace it. At least it's some exercise.

I naturally lean towards deeper sounds. There is something about feeling the vibrations that makes it seem very alive, while not overbearing (as a piccolo can be). It also allows for a richness of sound. However, I used to focus much too much on this, and I am working on opening my range. In the same vein, I also gravitate towards open harmonies, and this does lead to trouble, particularly when you are dealing with limited ranges.

Some specific things now. In counterpoint classes, melodic voices are supposed to move in predominantly conjunct motion (step-wise), and harmony in disjunct motion (leap-wise), usually the bass. This flips for me, I find, and, as I mentioned above, my harmonic notes somewhat slide about, or move conjunctly, while my melodies have frequent leaps, and are therefore disjunct. For instance, I find I am using a good amount of fifths in my melodies, a large interval indeed. I also use a preponderance of augmented triads, particularly at half cadences or climax points. There is very little that is vague or foggy about this chord; for me, it doesn't have so much an indefiniteness of sound and direction as an urge to go somewhere.

Overall, there has to be a reason for every single note, and every single move these notes take. Very rarely do I do something just because it sounds good, though I am allowing more of it (if it's good) because of the possibilities it presents; if I happen upon an intriguing sound, I have to find a way to rationalize its incorporation. My reasons may be directed by the rules of theory, or they spring from deep within, which may be little more than it just sounding good. Too often I hear composers who, in rebelling against this logical method, write pieces that are little more than a collection of interesting sounds, though there is the common paradox that an overabundance of intriguing things saps them of their interest, and they become dull. I once did this, and sometimes still do, but it's a process, and I hope to have it more under control soon enough.

Now for a thing of beauty (or perhaps rambunctiousness): the third movement from Dvorak's Symphony No. 6, the Furiant, which is Czech dance style. This is an absolutely, wildly fun piece.

Mozart's "Don Giovanni": Some Thoughts

The other day I saw a dress rehearsal for Opera Theatre of St. Louis' production of Don Giovanni, music by W.A. Mozart, libretto by Lorenzo da Ponte. This is my fifth favorite opera (after another Mozart, The Magic Flute, Verdi's Falstaff, Wagner's Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg, and Strauss' Der Rosenkavalier), and of the five, the first I was able to see live. I was not disappointed. The Opera Theatre usually hires younger singers who are on the verge of a major career, so audiences get the double fortune of youthful, fresh voices that are also well-trained and have some experience. I can't think of a single miscast. The man in the title role had, for my taste, a little too much swagger in his voice at times (by which I primarily mean scooping), but that is my main concern, and he otherwise very much looked the part (in fact, the best look I've seen); Leporello was perhaps the best cast, a reminder of Leporello's comic nature. The production, however, had the unfortunate dashes of Eurotrash, which I was surprised to see in this part of the world. Perhaps the directors (one of whom I know as an acquaintance from working together in Opera Studio) thought the supernatural aspects in the 2nd act gave them license to play with the opera all-around, but it came of as campy. My eyes rolled dangerously when, after Don Giovanni murders the Commendatore, three ghostly figures walk out, one of them carrying a timepiece. One of my viewing companions, Dr. Carter, said during intermission that he viewed these and the other figures that appeared occasionally as symbols of the decay of the libertine lifestyle the Don would eventually face. That seems likely, but also insulting. Symbols are meant to reveal deeper aspects of things that otherwise would not be seen; people don't need decaying spectres to tell them that such a way of life does not end well. It came off as hokey. The conductor was Jane Glover, who wrote a wonderful biography of sorts on Mozart called Mozart's Women, and does the great job of avoiding feminism while still giving due respect to the females in the composer's life.
The Don Juan legend vies with the Wandering Jew legend as one of the most vital European legends to affect Western Civilization. I recall reading that one supposed origin is from a Spanish nobleman, who, wanting to conceal his rampant homosexuality, spread rumors of his straight conquests. Essentially, the legend concerns a libertine who gets his due, usually by going to Hell. The three greatest literary works inspired by the figure are Moliere's play Dom Juan, Byron's poem Don Juan (pronounced joo-en), and Kierkegaard's Either/Or. In music, it inspired Richard Strauss to write a tone poem. Then there's the opera Don Giovanni, which is perhaps the most influential version of them all.

As it does with most other artists contending with it, the Don Juan legend seemed to cause many equivocal feelings in Mozart and da Ponte (da Ponte had been something of libertine, and was friends with Casanova, who was in the audience at the premiere of Don Giovanni). The opera defies classification. It is officially considered a "dramma giocoso," a catch-all term for anything that mixed the comical and serious; Mozart entered it as "opera buffa," which seems odd if one thinks only of the more harrowing moments of the work. It is probably the prime exemplar of Mozart's gift of combining various styles and elements into a unified and cohesive whole. In Leporello and the peasants, you have the elements of opera buffa; in the nobles, you have opera seria; Don Giovanni is able to go between the two. However, he seems to falter at the newer presence in opera, the supernatural, a beckoning of Romanticism that was fast approaching; the Don courageously, if foolishly and hubristically, tries to defy his the Statue and his fate, that which he himself set up to occur, but is dragged to Hell for his defiance. Seeing it again, I realize how much a check Don Giovanni is against my sensibilities of liberty, much like Ecclesiastes is against my romantic ones. In the first act finale (one of the glories of opera, and music in general), Giovanni leads the peasants in a salute to liberty ("Viva la libertá!"), which inspired the most equivocal feelings I have had in seeing this work. (One interesting criticism of the opera concerns Mozart's increasingly negative view of the Enlightenment, and, since many modern ideas concerning the nature of liberty spring from this period, it would be interesting to explore this.) He both means and doesn't mean what he says (I'll leave you to figure that out). As a libertine, he shows the depths to which one can take liberty. I will never reject freedom, but I do recognize full on the depravity it invites. But that is more the fault of human character and action.

Which brings me to Don Giovanni himself. What kind of character is he? Some compare him to Hamlet, in that he seems to invite as many interpretations as there are people, which I suppose could be the case, but as there are higher orders of infinity in mathematics, so too here, and Hamlet is at least one order removed from Giovanni. I find the Don to be one of the largest cases of inherent emptiness made explicit. He is little more than appetite, which this recent production really brought out. One wonders how he has time for anything else, if he has bedded some 1800 women; the noble are not invincible to debt, and the Don seems to have plenty of money on hand, though perhaps such questions are irrelevant, or not, if we are to concern ourselves with liberty. The wedding party he hosts in the first act finale is supremely decadent (some go so far as an orgy). At his last supper, he begrudgingly allows Leporello to have some morsels of food, hording the rest to himself. Opera Theatre's production has a wall full of pictures of his conquests right to next to Giovanni as he dines, an addition I quite like, for, in addition with the next thing I will list, it seems that, before his damnation, he is surrounded by that which satiates him. One more thing which pleases his appetite, it is unfortunate to notice, is music. He eats as three different selections of music are played (one of which is one of Mozart's most famous tunes, "Non piú andrai" from The Marriage of Figaro), cycling through them as quickly as he does women (I am reminded of something G.K. Chesterton said, that dining with music is an insult to both the cook and the violinist). I bring this up because I am bothered at the moment by a troublesome question: is music divine, or is it human? In other words, is music truly worthy of God, or is it a delightful construct of man? The Psalms presume to praise God through music, but is it a good medium or a diversion? I'll leave this to another time, but it is important here because music is, no matter what, a sensuous experience, and the Don knows nothing deeper than sensuality. So, again, what type of character is the Don? He is not Shakespearean, for I do not think he has an inwardness, or a lack of inwardness that matters. More importantly, he does not change, which Shakespeare's great personages do. This is important, at least concerning his damnation. Dante's characters necessarily experience no change, as Harold Bloom says: they have received their judgment, and, I think, so has Don Giovanni. All the pleas for renunciation from Donna Elvira, and the demands of the Statue, are useless. The great moment in the first act finale when Zerlina leads the charge in telling Don Giovanni he's done for is perhaps a redundancy, as that was the case when we first see him. I think that is part of the foregrounding involved. Sometime before the events of the opera occur, the Don had already become a lost cause; the murder of the Commendatore only hastens his demise.

Mind you, most of the thoughts are inspired more by the music than the words, admirable libretto though it is. It is widely accepted that Mozart's genius lay in opera, that his true gifts sing through his characters. There will have to be another post to consider the music, for there is simply too much to explore here and now. Only Verdi, and to a smaller extent Puccini, consistently manifested such humanistic music that breathed life and character into the people on the page. Wagner achieved this in Die Meistersinger, but his other operas are too much in the realm of myth and gods to be human. Strauss did so in Der Rosenkavalier, but there is something else in his other works. Mozart remains the paragon of shaping humans with music.

The Three Modes of Persuasion

I often wonder if people find me cold or uncaring. Though nothing could be further from the truth, whenever I state my beliefs and "political" ideas, I sense that the other person or people think there is something deficient in my morality or character. Here, I would like to explain myself.

Aristotle laid out three modes of persuasion in his Rhetoric: ethos, pathos, and logos. Ethos is an "appeal to the authority or honesty of the speaker," and we derive the word "ethics" from it. Pathos "is an appeal to the audience’s emotions," from which we get "pathetic" (as well as a direct cognate). And logos "is logical appeal or the simulation of it," from which we get "logic." This is supposedly the order they were placed in Aristotle's book, but I do not think it is a good order at all. I say this, because I think one should find a way to employ at least two of these in an argument, but it is much better if all three are present. This covers the bases, so to speak, and makes an attempt for persuasion much more likely to succeed. As such, I place a hierarchy on the importance and order in which these three elements are introduced, and it is this: logos, ethos, pathos.

Logos
I am already touching upon what I think makes me seem cold. Practically all arguments I make start with reasoning, facts, data, theory, etc. Frequently, these are dispassionate (despite my passionate delivery of them), seemingly unkind, and possibly cruel. This is because I try to reach bedrock truth, where objectivity is supreme. My ability to objective is both a strength and a weakness. It allows me to be constantly levelheaded about things, but it frequently inhibits my ability to "be in the moment." One of my foundational principles is that the first, last, and most important piece of property you will ever own is your own person, the body, the mind, and the soul of it. Some can follow and see my point, but many frequently seize up at the hearing people referred to as "property" because of the history of slavery. I can understand this, but they forget the number one law of property rights: no one may take it, alter it, or destroy it, without the owner's permission. This should effectively eliminate concerns about slavery, since forcing one to work against one's will and without permission violates their property rights to their own person. Another principle of mine is that the only real rights you have in this world are all property rights. Life is a condition of owning your own body, so that is part and parcel; liberty, the freedom to do what one wants as long as it does not transgress against another's rights, is also subsumed under this, since another stipulation of property rights is the freedom of the owner to do with it as he pleases, whether it is improvement or destruction, and to achieve this, he must act to achieve the tools and supplies needed, and this requires a free but respectful interaction with others (in almost all cases). The third right we are familiar with, "the pursuit of happiness," is actually different from what was originally third, which was "property," but "the pursuit of happiness," in my book, has stock in life and liberty. Following this, the many rights bandied about these days are illegitimate. The right to water, food, shelter, an education, etc, are nice things to say, but fall flat in the face of reasoning (particularly my brand of "Terminal Extent Reasoning"). If I have the right to food, then it follows that I am entitled to it, that no matter what, I am bound by some law to own food, and any lack of ownership is a transgression against my right. If this is so, then food may be taken from another to achieve this end. This already flies in the face of property rights, but let's continue. Now, this person whose food stores are being emptied by the entitled must now go out and obtain more food so he can have some for himself. He must either produce it himself or work harder to earn money to purchase more. In effect, he is forced to labor so that part of his wealth may be turned over to others, which is slavery, the most contemptible form of disrespect for property rights. Entitlement leads to moral hazard, which is when people act in ways they wouldn't otherwise because risk has been artificially lowered, and this leads further to the inability to appreciate a thing's true worth, for if one can have something no matter what, they will value less.

"But what about the homeless" or the "poor" or the "starving?" This leads to pathos, which I will deal with later. Many people cannot get beyond the supposed heartlessness of the argument, and therefore think it is invalid. Yet, the central idea of this argument, that "no one owes you anything" (and therefore you owe no one else anything), is what instills self-reliance and responsibility where it should matter first: with yourself. They also overlook that another aspect of property rights is the freedom to give it away at whatever cost the owner deems appropriate, and this includes freely, what we otherwise call charity. People in more ancient times may have lacked the kindness we pride ourselves on these days, but they are no reason to think that people now are uncharitable. Indeed, as wealth increases for everyone, so does charitibility. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Ethos
It is hoped that the soundness of logic will instill a sense of authority in the speaker, but if not, then authority must be offered. This is tricky, as it can easily result in the informal logical fallacy of "appeal to authority," where one argues that something is so because a person of authority in that field says it is so. This trades hearsay for reason. However, if you have made a sound argument, then letting your audience know by what authority you speak can help. Obviously, if you are an expert in the field, you can cite your credentials, but I say this should be backed up by an accounting for why you deserve the credentials. What if you don't have credentials? I am a musician and poet, but I frequently discuss and deal with "politics" and world affairs (I enquote politics because what I view what I deal with as human nature and the fundamentals of liberty; "politics" is a cancer that leaches off liberty, so I must contend with it), so what right have to speak on them? I read a good deal on the issues, and I constantly exercise my reasoning to gain a better understanding of the matter. My favorite way of dealing with doubters is to refer them to a book or article, not out of an "appeal to authority," but because it a.) shows that I am not a lone crackpot, that there are others saying these things, and b.) allows the doubting Thomas to read for himself where I get my ideas; it invites the audience to explore the issue themselves.

Then there is the concern for ethics. Much of the ethical argument, for me, is contained in the logical (in this case, it is unethical to transgress against property rights). What can really be done here is make the logical argument active, to apply it to real world situations and to appeal the listener's character and ethics. Slavery is against practically everyone's moral code, so here I would show how slavery is alive and well, only transfigured. I would should how a world built on my logical can coexist with my auditor's ethics and morals. And so. As can be seen, the three modes, though can be made distinct, frequently flow in and out of each other.

Pathos
This is the last tier of persuasion. If only it were so in life. In my short time on this planet so far, I would say that have observed quite deeply, and one thing I notice with great force is that there are three types of people who start their arguments with pathos and make it the central facet: 1.) those who have spoken with logic and ethic elsewhere and whose past arguments link up with the current one, and therefore can lend strength and credibility to it; 2.) the well-intending, good-hearted people who fail to see the logical and even ethical flaws in their case; 3.) nefarious types, like politicians, ("think of the children!") who disregard logic and ethic (they don't care about them, don't know them, or both) and play and manipulate people's emotions, frequently with fear. I immediately become very wary when someone tries to appeal to my emotions (particularly if the person is a charismatic), because the first type I listed is a rare exception, the second type, no matter how kind or nice, has an emptiness in their logic that could spell disaster if their ideas are implemented, and the third type is especially to be denounced. I swore some time ago to refuse to just let someone to power over me, and one way people do this is through controlling emotions. I allow someone to influence me if they make sound logical and/or ethical arguments, but appeals to my emotions without either of those will only harden me. I find that much of the world's problems these days stem from unchecked kindness, kindness that turns people practically into tyrants. "We must feed the starving" people say out of the goodness of their hearts, but then support and enforce policies whose unintended consequences result in more and worse misery. "Think of the children" a politician says, and then passes legislation that makes the child's, and everyone's, situation more terrible.

However, an appeal to emotions, and even fear, is essential to really clutching many people. Fear is good when it is based on solid reasoning. For example, there is much to fear about the economy these days, and people need to be made aware of it. But fear unsupported thus, particularly when peddled by the government, causes anger, hatred, hysteria, and the dissolution of intelligence, wisdom, ethics, and kindness. So, for an example, I would put my audience in the place of a person under the chains of my idea of slavery, and vividly tell them how I would feel, and how I think they would feel.

After all this, I would clinch my argument with a return to the logic, but this time I would likely put it in the warmer light of pathos. I don't think it is vital for an argument to have pathos, not in the way it is to have the first two modes, but it goes a long way in persuasion.

For myself, this is how I have to make my cases, because I would feel like a cheat, a swindler otherwise. I do care, very much, about the poor and downtrodden. But I can't let my emotions cloud what I know to be true, which is that the policies in place today to supposedly help them only makes things worse. When I argue from a purely logical standpoint, it is backed up very much with a passion for humanity and its betterment.

English Has No Future (Tense)

One learns much from action. As a composer, I am a staunch believer that composing goes hand in hand with a firm comprehension of music theory. It simply is not enough to read about harmony, rhythm, melody, and timbre; these things must be meddled with and heard. Same with poetry, prose, on and on: application is the seal of inculcation. 

What about language? I'm not talking about any specific language, like Finnish or some bushman clicking language, but language itself, linguistics. Like music, should one compose in language to grasp linguistic theory?

At the start of this year, I began creating my own language as a hobby. Knowing verbs were perhaps the most essential aspect of language, I went to work there first. I laid out some rules and what not, dealt with time, how to conjugate. Then came time to deal with the subjunctive mood, which I wanted to make essential. I was using my Wheelock's Latin book as resource to help me deal with this in an orderly fashion. However, the book said that there were some subjunctive constructions it didn't deal with. Intrigued, I googled the subjunctive mood. What I discovered revealed my immense naivete in dealing with this.

Basically, the way we are taught language in school is incredibly basic. I am so overwhelmed with all that linguistics involves that I can't even begin to list the things I learned. Perhaps I'll start with the title of this post. In the everyday use and sense of language, there is of course a future "tense" in English. However, technically speaking, for there to be a tense, the verb itself has to be modified (conjugated) to indicate temporality. English has no future conjugation of verbs in the way, say, Latin does (for first and second conjugation verbs, you add "-bi-" to indicate the future). Our language has two ways that I know of to indicate the future. The modals "will" and "shall" are used. There is a particular charm to this. With a verb in future tense, the action is taking place in the future, but with English modals, there is promise for the action to occur. Another way is through adverbs. If take a present tense word, like "run," and combine it with a future time, like "tomorrow," I have stated a future occurrence ("I run tomorrow.") There are many ways to do this.

I humbly reworked my entire method of creating my language. After much work, I formulated the beginnings of a grammar, and this past week I began creating words. First, however, here is the alphabet, with  IPA  and English equivalents for sound:

a, [æ] "trap"  á, [a] "aisle"   à, [ɑ] "awe"
e, [ɛ] "bet"   é, [e] "baiser" (French)   ee, [i] "peach"
i, [ɪ] "hit"  
o, [o] "Oh!"   oo, [u] "who"
u, [œ] "but"   ú, [ʊ] "book"   ü, [y] "tschüß" (German)
ae, [aɪ] "right"   au, [a͜ʊ] "now"
öe, [ø͜ɪ] no equivalents   oe, [ɔ͜ɪ] "boy"
aeú, [aɪʊ], "fire"
üáú, [y͜aʊ] no equivalents
b, j, r (rolled), g, ph (aspirate "p") c (English "ch"), d, k, v, y, tH (hard "th"), z, t, zh (as in "garage"), th, m, ts, ny, w, s, n, kh (German "ch"), hw, sh, l, h

All in all, some 44 different sounds. I worked it out so that each sound had some meaning/purpose, mostly to help me construct the language.

Some other tidbits: there seems to be 168 different ways to conjugate a verb (so many moods). Tense and aspect (tense answers "time when," aspect answers "time how") are indicated through affixes appended to nouns and pronouns. Prepositions are dependent upon case and placement of prepositions. Now for some words:

hwábüáú: "to be"
tsübüáú: "to have"
voebüáú: "to call, call for"
oohoe: "name"
gá: "time"

I'll be blogging more about this as I progress.

Now for a thing of beauty:

Walther's "Prize Song" from Richard Wagner's Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg, one of my favorite operas. Walther, wanting to marry Elizabeth, has to win the Mastersinger's competition. Working with Hans Sachs, perhaps the greatest Mastersinger, he works out his revolutionary song while still attempting to use the best of tradition.

I'm a Poet, and I Understand It

My audacity knows no bounds. In addition to having the gall to compose music, I also have the nerve to write poetry. I would love to explicate my passion for Words-as-Music, but it's late, and I'm just using this post as an excuse to post a few poems, one of which I just finished writing. Enjoy!

Plea

Bald prangt, den Morgen zu verkünden
der Sonn auf goldner Bahn,
bald soll der Aberglaube schwinden,
bald siegt der weise Mann.

O holde Ruhe, steig hernieder
kehr in der Menschen Herzen wieder,
dann ist die Erd ein Himmelreich,
und Sterbliche sind Göttern gleich.
-The Magic Flute

Vindicate me, O God! Liberate me, O Lord!
Send down your Light and Truth to free me,
From the Reign of Darkness your Light unchain me!

It does not matter if it is Night
For a Darkness covers the land,
Cast over by the Shadow of Death:
It causes a trembling in my hand.

The People have made the Tomb Mount Zion;
The Empire Masses make the Nether Angel King!
At his Election ring the Bells of Shells
And shrieking Missiles his Glory sing.

Death has taken our Sons
And makes them serve in tanks;
The King has taken our Fields
And causes them to grow rank.

The People's Elect has made them slave
To the Sword their Savior and their Grace the Grave.

But I seek Life,
And in Life I seek Liberty,
And in Liberty I seek Peace.
O sweet Peace, beam down upon us
From the Lord my Light.
In gaining Peace I will know Freedom
From the Lord my Light,
And by having Freedom I will have Life,
From the Lord my Light.

Transfigure me into Liberty,
O Lord of Light!
Bathe me in your freest Brilliance
And I will radiate your Praises
All the Days of my Endless Life.

Ideated Light

 

It shall not be that the shine, the shimmer

Of ideated light,

Which in this world of night

Is Liberation, a gleam or glimmer

That, for a soul entrenched now and ever

Against forces of force,

Charges in like a horse

To save oneself from a doomed endeavour;

It shall not be that this sheen, this shining

Shall ever disappear,

Nor shall it ever near

That dusk when solar light's declining.

That light is but light, a sensation of sight;

But this light is sensation encapsulated,

Compacted into essence by the spark divine,

So that this true light from that light

May be felt and extrapolated

By my soul unto your soul, and yours unto mine.

And thus a relay is made; wherever

This light can be perceived,

It soon shall be received

And enchained freedom be severed never

From the bonds of our wills forever and forever.

"No man has fed himself"

 

No man has fed himself: his fruit can not be his fruit;

What he had turned out to only turn in

Diminished him (by the Law of Diminishing Returns),

For it is said that too many cooks spoiled the broth.

How much worse for the digestion, then,

When the cook and broth are of the same pot?

How much can one eat the returns of turnouts

Before one's self-stomach turns, and gut churns?

How can a man can his self and then believe

Cannibalizing it causes this self to thrive?

Modern man out-gorges the man-eater,

For of the latter there are few,

     and for them, food yet fewer;

But of the former, there are many,

     and for them, food just as much;

He sustains himself on the celery of his garden

     But his plot ferments itself

     And grows rank with weeds.

Yet, the man-eater eats the meat of other tables

     And his table, not just in size

     But in strength as well, so grows

That when others come to feast

The allotment has increased.

Follow this strand, then!

You are not a Wheel-within-a-Wheel,

A divine perpetual motion machine;

That your desire to be such

Can not make you such:

Though there is much within,

There is more without.

A Decade of Music, Part 3b

I applied to only three colleges. They were, in order of desire to go, Yale, Roosevelt University (in Chicago), and Webster University. Unsurprisingly, I was not accepted at Yale; I had applied early and was wait-listed, which was a little comforting, but no luck. I was accepted by the latter two. Roosevelt was a particular draw because it was right in the midst of downtown Chicago, and it seemed to have an excellent program. However, it was very expensive, and they only offered me a $30,000/year loan. There was no way I was going to owe that much debt for any degree, let alone a composition degree. So I must admit that the school I just graduated from was the third (and therefore, last) choice for me. They offered a very decent financial aid package, and I took it.

My audition pieces were Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 3 in C major, Op. 2, No. 3, first movement, and Prelude and Fugue in D major from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I for piano. For composition, I used three pieces: "The Inspired Rag," for piano, "Annabel Lee," a song using Edgar Allan Poe's poem, and a string quartet. I think they were well received for what they are: quality juvenalia.

I was in choir all throughout college, and for the first two years we had a director who was also a composer. Learning that I was a composer, he asked me to write a piece for the choir to sing for an American music concert in my second semester. Astonished at how quickly I was getting into things, I agreed, and set Shakespeare's Sonnet 55, "Not marble, nor the guilded monuments." I think it is still a decent piece, and I pushed myself to use harmonies more daring for myself, even if they are a bit commonplace these days. Another venue for my works was the New Music Ensemble; I was in it for four semesters throughout college, and such things performed as two Poe songs, an adaptation of the chorale "Es ist genug," and a rock-inspired piece, among others. A violinist asked me, in my second semester again, to work with her on the second movement from Charles Ives' Violin Sonata No. 2, the movement titled "In the barn." It was one of the most difficult pieces I have ever learned, but I loved it, and still do.

Skipping over a somewhat uninteresting sophomore year in composition, my junior year contained an opportunity that was just what I was looking for. I had long decided that I wanted to write for the stage, hopefully in both the opera and musical realms. The head of composition at Webster, Kim Portnoy, was asked by a director from the theatre Conservatory, Jef Awada, if he had a student who would want to write music for the play he was to direct, Cloud 9; Kim thought of me, and I agreed without first looking over the play. I was taken aback initially by the very, very bizarre content and the mediocre lyric writing (there was one song, at the beginning, which introduced the characters in the style of a British march), but I persevered and wrote a bunch of incidental music. The music had to be recorded, and arranging that was a nightmare, but it was done. It all came together and worked wonderfully, I received good praise from several people, including my boss in the music office, Jean, and her boss, the Chair of the Department of Music, Dr. Carter.

Following the composition program layout, I also began having composition lessons with Bob Chamberlin. I don't know a kinder man, and he is very intelligent indeed. His approach, with me at least, was quite laid back. Sometimes I wish he was a bit more commanding, having me do composition exercises or the such, but I think he recognized that I was my own slavedriver and harshest critic, so that, frequently in front of him, I would see a problem and simultaneously work out a solution; even when I was a bit too busy with other school work to compose as much as I wished or should have, he let me run my own show. (Besides, I had two required composition classes which had frequent assignments, and I chaffed under them.)

I had another opportunity to write incidental music for a Conservatory show my senior year, The Wonderful World of Dissocia (I seem to be led into the weird shows), directed a by senior directing major who was assistant director for Cloud 9. Unlike my first foray, I was ahead of the schedule with Dissocia, and this show required me to write music only for four or five songs. One of the songs, "What's an hour?," actually turned into something I very much like. In the semester before this show, Dr. Carter asked me to write the music for the Webster University Christmas E-Card (I guess "Holiday" card, in the spirit of international-ness). I accepted, and working with the person in charge of creating it, I arranged the famous Shaker tune "Simple Gifts," for a "world music ensemble," per the request of the university president; I used piano, jingle bells, glockenspiel, maracas, congo drums, and maybe something else. Time restraints forced me to use an electronic version, but it was very decent, and because I had to fit the music to certain time (which was constantly changing) I had to learn to write in such a manner. The whole thing turned out beautifully.

My big project in my senior year was my one and only composition recital. It caused me much grief before any joy was to be seen. Hoping that I could get it out of the way in the fall semester, I had planned to have it in late November. November arrived, it was nowhere near ready, and I pushed it back to March. The main problem was getting together a chamber orchestra to perform my big piece, incidental music to Shakespeare's As You Like It, which featured an overture and four songs. That was an organizational nightmare, but I managed to scrap together to a group, even if the full ensemble couldn't be there until recital (I had barely a quorum for the rehearsals). In addition to this, I had three art songs, all performed wonderfully by friends, and a Dectet, which was a theme and variations on the tune "Awake, My Soul." All in all, a successful night.

And now I have graduated. Where do I go from here? In April, I submitted my first great orchestra piece, "Triptych Dance," to a contest, and I will here the results sometime this summer. Other than that, I don't have specific prospects yet. Some projects I have going on that moment: a piano quintet, a song or two, the beginnings of an opera based on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem Evangeline, and a symphonic tone poem inspired by the painting "Sadak and the Waters of Oblivion," by John Martin.

Some possible commissions include a fleeting request from the Director of the Webster University Choirs to send some choir work his way; another request in passing from a friend to write music for a guitar or a guitar ensemble he hopes to put together over the summer; and, in the same vein, I mentioned to another friend, who wants to set up a piano trio, that I would like to write something for them. We'll see how things turn out.

Graduation, May 7, 2011

(If you want, you may skip my history and go straight to the "life lessons.") 

In the continuing bad judgment of Webster University (Webster Groves, MO), they allowed me to graduate with a degree of Bachelors of Music in Composition. Not just that, but with university honors Cum Laude and Music Department Honors, as if I achieved something. The most unbelievable thing is that I began school here in August 2007. I seem to remember it. . .

Since I was to live in an on-campus apartment my freshman year, my parents and I put many of my worldly possessions in the back of the truck and took off for move-in day. In one of life's many set pieces, we passed by the three schools I had been through up to that point: St. Jacob Elementary, Triad Middle School, and Triad High School; coincidence can be dreadfully sincere at times. It was just like August to be hot and muggy, which are not the conditions you want when you're lugging things around outside. Thankfully, my apartment was right next to a circle drive, so we were able to pull up and move things quickly. I had my own bedroom and my own bathroom! I met my lone roommate a bit later. We never really hit it off, but we also did not have any problems with each other, so no complaints. The rest of the year is mostly not there in my memory. Having an apartment was, I think, actually a hindrance to socializing, since I had a place on campus I could retreat to after class was done. I watched a lot of movies I never had access to previously.

During my second semester, my parents sold the one house I had lived in for my entire 18 years of existence (in St. Jacob, IL), and over my spring break we moved to Collinsville, IL and a much nicer house. This was much closer to Webster, and this allowed me to become a commuter in my sophomore year. It was during this time that I finally began socializing, as much of my free time was spent in the music lounge with other people. Sophomore year was also a blur (or a bore; I am starting to just skim now).

Junior year, much like high school, was probably the best. I was working in the Music Office with a bunch of lovely ladies. I wrote music for the play Cloud 9, which was produced by the Webster University Conservatory of Theatre (or whatever their official title is). Friendships were deepened. I began voice lessons and participated in Opera Studio, to my delight. It was the first time I felt my compositional abilities were reaching a significant quality. 

I came back for my senior year 40 pounds lighter, after fixing my diet. For No-Shave November (and to annoy my girlfriend) I grew facial hair, much to my aesthetic improvement. It was the first time in my life that I felt good about my looks.

From this. . .

. . . to this.

(The nose remained just as large.)

However, it was also my busiest and, in a way, most harrowing year. My senior composition recital, which I had planned for November, was pushed back to March; I had financial troubles; during the second attempt at a recital, I was also composing and rehearsing music for another Conservatory show, The Wonderful World of Dissocia; applied lessons for piano, voice, and composition; regular school work; a relationship: all this made for a crowded year, which didn't end until the very last day of finals (yesterday, the day before graduation). I am very much relieved.

(Start here if you skipped.)

My first lesson from college is that it is too expensive. I urge you, reader, to find a different route if it is possible, or find whatever free money you can. Just avoid loans. They will be a millstone around my neck for some time coming. There is much I could have learned elsewhere for much less. This does not mean that I regret going to Webster, specifically, but if I knew now what I knew during senior year of high school, I likely would have opted out of college.

It would be improper to say that I met amazing people in college. One meets astounding figures in history, where they have no chance to change anymore. Rather, I now know some of the most dynamic and promising people I have ever been privileged to meet. Even a long life is much too short to get to know people, but in overview, these past four years are crowded with vitalistic individuals, and I can't help but be awed by the greatest gift they have given me, a future to look forward to with impatient earnestness, both for myself and them. It may well be that we founder in seas of misfortune; it may well be that we achieve Fame; but whatever will be, I will not take it in with an apathetic heart. The promise of my peers is exceedingly promising.

The world and I are much different now than in 2007. It has not been made safe for anything, let alone democracy. I feel much more out of touch with the way things are, and where they are heading. Now that I am a full blown anarchist (anarcho-capitalist, to be exact), my hopes for the world at large have darkened considerably, as the people rush headfirst into totalitarianism. I run to freedom. Liberty has replaced art as my raison d'etre, and as an artist, I will forever seek freedom in my works (I will delve into "protest art" or the like; I am too pure an Aesthete for that). Yet, all is not bleak, and a considerable amount of people are realizing the truth, as well as The Truth. Events in the Middle East bring hope that individuals of the world will, one day, find true freedom.

Finally, I feel very much a composer. I can now say that every ladder up that I discover reveals another ladder up, and so. I do not know where I will go, but I do perceive a way forward, and that is good enough right now. After much schooling, I am eager to put it to use. Discovering one's passion is a favorite goal of Modern Person, but it is rather hollow if one doesn't realize that the best pleasures are the difficult ones, the ones that cause initial grief but eventually provide sublime fulfillment. For me, a difficult pleasure is something that continuously leads you to ever greater but also more difficult accomplishments, where every height reveals an even greater height. So one's passion in life must be or be filled with difficult pleasure.

At graduation, I sat in the presence of some of my favorite people, and I can only hope that at least one of them think the same of me. All I can say is, it is done. And now it starts.

Now for a thing of beauty:

Befitting the bright dawn of hopeful future, here is my absolutely favorite bit of music, the second act finale of Mozart's The Magic Flute.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

A Decade of Music, Part 3a

In Part 1, I wrote about my piano exploits; in Part 2, voice. This part is for composition, which is for me my whole musical experience. I am a composer, and that is why I am a musician. It is not that I am a pianist or singer who dabbles in composing, but, as I am finding, a singing composer who is well-skilled in playing piano. Performance never was and currently is not my goal in music, and quite frankly, I dislike performing. There is something about it that, instead of allowing me to open up, causes me to implode. With composing, the wall of the musical score frees me from this. (A similar thing with opera/musical singing: like Carol Burnett, I do not like singing as myself, but as a character, I feel liberated). The game of composing is also more enjoyable than the physical exploits of playing or singing (I don't like practicing all too much, in other words). And I like to listen to and enjoy music as I am involved with it, which solo performing rarely allows me to do, so involved am I in the physicality of it.

I began composing almost before I began learning the piano. In the interim between dropping the saxophone and taking up the keyboard, my mind was awhirl with music winding about and coming out in humming. Then I saw an infomercial for a set of Classical CD's; I loved the music instantly, and I thought to myself that I could write music like that. At the time, the only thing of music I had was an instruction book for saxophone, which had a little music theory inside. Barely understanding what was going on, I created my own staff paper using notebook paper and tried to think through the notes; this is difficult when you don't have an instrument nor perfect pitch. Luckily, I had started tinkering with a friend's piano, so I had some help. My first piece was quite ambitious: a multi-movement suite for piano called Egyptian Sunrise (inspired by those dinky exercises one sees in beginners piano books). It was unfinished and ungodly, since a.) I knew nothing about Egyptian music beyond the stereotypical harmonic minor scale, and b.) I still composed most of it away from the piano (in my head). But it was a start, and I at least had the good sense to abandon this hopeless project.

A year or two went by with what amounted to experimenting; the only thing I can remember writing in that time was a little march for piano inspired by the spring, which I would reuse for a string quartet. During my freshman year, I saw a production of Side by Side by Sondheim, and this led to two things: a desire to write musicals, and an attempt to pick out one of the songs that I really liked, "You Must Meet My Wife." Though I failed at figuring it out, the resulting melody led to my first truly worthwhile piece, "Morning Suite" (what was it with me and suites?), an impressionistic work before I really knew anything about Impressionism. Then, in the summer between freshman and sophomore year, I composed a three movement piano sonata, which I was really proud of. Looking back on it, it has several lovely melodies, but as whole . . . it is juvenile. Around this time, I was also learning how to use Finale (Notepad), and being able to have more legible scores. One day, I timidly played for my choir teacher my sonata, and she suggested that I submit it to the Illinois All-State Composition Competition. Encouraged, I worked on getting it into ready form, but time was running short, and I was beginning to think that "Morning Suite" would be a more suitable option, so I submitted that instead. I was astounded when I was awarded third place in the keyboard category. Repeating this success next year "The Inspired Rag," the lack of compositional self-esteem flitted away, and from junior year on, I was determined to become a composer. 

A Decade of Music, Part 2

I have been singing for almost as long as I have been playing the piano. In 7th grade, I joined my first choir, a standard group, and soon thereafter the school's show choir. I was also involved in musicals, though I never had a major (singing) role. My singing voice didn't develop the same way my friends' voices did, and though I got solos, they were rarely the leading ones. This began changing during high school, though even then, I was relied on more as a section leader (partly because of my piano skills, which allowed me to help people learn parts). What those who got the bigger/better parts had that I didn't was voice lessons. My parents simply could not afford to pay for both piano AND voice lessons, I didn't have a job, so I just didn't bother. Nevertheless, I had a very good choir teacher who helped me learn the basics of good vocal technique.

When I arrived in college, I could sing quite decently. Up to then I had been singing baritone, which was a compromise for the fact that I just didn't know which way my voice would go, tenor or true baritone/bass. By my fourth semester, I had changed to the tenor section, for the low notes were starting to hurt.

As mentioned above, I had been in musicals all throughout public school; then I had two years during college when I was involved in no shows. The only opportunity at Webster for a non-theatre major to be in a musical production was to join the Opera Studio. I love opera, and, as I will discuss in the next part, want to write them, so this was a perfect thing for me. I avoided the Studio for two years because I wasn't taking voice lessons and lacked confidence in myself; enough people convinced me that I had a good enough voice for it, so I auditioned at the beginning of my junior year. We had to have two pieces, and wanting to show my versatility (and thinking I might still be a baritone), I learned "It is enough" from Mendelssohn's Elijah and "Blow, Gabriel, Blow" from Cole Porter's Anything Goes. Since I gave my earlier spot to someone who needed it, I was last to go, and the judges were tired, enough so that I only got to sing the first one. It was enough, apparently, because the judges were blown away, it seems. I was asked if I took lessons, I replied in the negative, and Professor Gaspar, the head of the voice department at Webster, worked on changing that. However, the problem then was the same as it was before: I just couldn't afford to take two lessons. Thankfully, higher ups worked their magic and I received a scholarship that allowed me to pursue voice.

My teacher, who was one of the judges, was pretty much certain from the start that I should be a tenor. He told me that, though I sang the Mendelssohn wonderfully, it was both too advanced for me (which I was afraid of) and didn't fit my voice quite well. I had to retrain myself to accept that what I heard was not what others heard, and that what I thought was a rich sound was actually dying before leaving the mouth. There was also some nasality. To fix both problems, I learned to focus my sound in a very forward place; though this has led to some negative comments on my juries, my teacher tells me that it is but a step in a process. The way forward is up, literally.

Since the field of vocal music is so far-flung, I'll spare myself the effort of compiling a list of favorites (yes, lazy talk), and just give you what is for me, at the moment, the perfect song, Franz Schubert's "Gretchen am Spinnrade" ("Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel"). What will forever abide in my mind is the move, towards the end, to iv7 (subdominant) after a steady buildup.

Anarchy is Not Mayhem

Note: I wrote this in January 10, 2011 with the intention of submitting it to my university's newspaper. The following is an exact copy of a Facebook note I posted for people to comment on. After taking their suggestions, I decided against sending it, for various reasons (laziness being one of them).

This is an editorial I plan to submit to the Webster newspaper, the Journal.  Please let me know of any faults with grammar and such.  And please keep in mind, I believe the maximum word count is 750, which I kept under, so condensing was required.

Anarchy is Not Mayhem

"Blood will have blood."

-Macbeth

    Force is to be understood here as aggression, the outright disregard of another's will and property.  Several of the Ten Commandments could be summed up thus: Thou shalt not use force.  Murder, rape, vandalism, theft: these are all force; included also are the denial of rights, really a form of theft, and the enforcement of one's decrees on another, which is truly a form of rape.  In essence, force is the transgression of property, whether it is a person's own self or things outside himself but under his control.  When you have someone who seeks to deny you the right to use your property peacefully, they are declaring force; when you have others who claim violence as a means to retrieve this right, they too are declaring force.  I shall be blunt: the former is the instance of government, and the latter is the instance of the popular concept of the anarchist.  Yet, here is a paradox, for one cannot be one or its opposite if they are in truth the same (this dilemma arises with Democrats and Republicans).  If, as I believe, government is the monopolizing agent of force, then how can an anarchist, one who is anti-government, also employ force?

    I came to write this because, as a professed anarchist, I was dismayed by recent events that have made the news.  First, there was the shooting at a school board meeting in Florida on December 15, 2010, at which the gunman had spray-painted an encircled "V," possibly alluding to V for Vendetta.  Then there was the recent massacre in Arizona involving Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, in which six were murdered by an unstable fellow.  In this case, those who knew him personally say he was quite liberal, but the media, such as the New York Times, are trying to make him an example of the recent resurgence of the right-wingers.  A case closer to home: on a brick retaining wall near the new pathway at our university, someone spray-painted an encircled "A," supposedly emulating the anarchy symbol.  Though these are supposedly the  actions of anarchists or far right-wing nuts, they are examples of force.  These people are not fundamentally anti-government, only disturbed and mislead individuals who used the same measures the government does. [In addition to these, I add the recent summary assassination of Osama bin Laden.]

    Which brings me to what initially inspired the first notion to write this article.  I was given an anarchy magazine that one can find in the basement of the Pearson House (English building of Webster University).  The things I read were repellent.  In the name of anarchy, these hedonists were committing acts of trespassing, vandalism, theft, physical harm; they supported Marxist ideals, which in actuality are only possible by means of the most despotic government; and were otherwise faux-intellectuals.  These detestable people do not despise the government because they hate its use of force, but because they are jealous of its monopoly on it, just as it is itself.

    For one to truly be an anarchist, one must not fight fire with fire: "Government is not reason, it is not eloquence, it is force; like fire, a troublesome servant and a fearful master," to quote George Washington.  One must renounce the fire itself, to remove the mantle of force.  Though I am against government, I deplore the violence visited upon its members, such as Congresswoman Giffords, because it only perpetuates the problem, because "blood will have blood"; to use force would make me that which I abhor.  Therefore, just as surely as government is aggression, anarchy is peace; do not let upset, deranged, or narcissistic people let you think otherwise.    

The Death of an Enemy

America's relation with Osama is a stinking history. In Obama's speech, he conveniently left out that before Osama was our enemy, he was our ally, that the weapons we gave him and his cohorts to combat the Soviets were later to be used against us. Then we invade the Middle East, fight for ten years, slaughter thousands, to find one miserable wretch. He will be replaced, and the American government will continue its endless war to repeatedly eliminate the top man. Warmongers thrive on bogeymen, or, as George Orwell so named him, Emmanuel Goldsteins, the man concocted by Big Brother to give a center of hate for the masses in order to control them.

Now, they have buried Osama at sea. My suspicions concerning the veracity of this kill are even greater now. The American government has been wrong (i.e. lied) before about the deaths of targets, and I wouldn't put them above doing it this time. The number one proof that THE Osama bin Laden is no more is now residing in Davy Jones' Locker.

This is, again, a rank history of events. The terrorists (rather, those foreign terrorists) do not, for the most part, want to destroy us because of our liberty and prosperity. Osama may have particularly nihilistic reasons for his actions, but the only way he was able to recruit common people was to entice them with solid, pragmatic reasons for the U.S. is the enemy. Most of these can be boiled down to this: our government meddles, violently or otherwise, in their affairs. Just as we would never tolerate some other entity fixing and even controlling our business, so to do they not appreciate it. Our impossible War against Terrorism (rather, foreign terrorists) is the most meddlesome affair yet, and the only thing it has accomplished is a deepening of resentment and destruction-lusting hatred among peoples who otherwise would, most likely, like us.

I do not rejoice the death of Osama bin Laden. It will not end anything. As the American government has been dealt blow after blow, this will be used to give it some momentary reprieve, a curtain of success to hide the wretched fraud hiding behind it. He will be replaced with some other Public Enemy #1; the blogger Lew Rockwell posted some comments from a Darien Sumner on a blog, one of which was that the invasion of Libya made a little more sense, since Gadhafi can now be the new Osama for a while. I will be ecstatic when the American Empire recedes to its own shores and, at least, resumes being the American Republic.

Now for a thing of (relevant) beauty. In my last concert at Webster University, the choirs and orchestra performed Ralph Vaughan Williams' Dona Nobis Pacem, which was written between the World Wars. It was quite a bizarre experience singing this piece, then coming home to learn that Osama was dead. Anyway, this is the gorgeous third movement, "Reconciliation," with text by Walt Whitman.