ah... concert's tomorrow... and i'm all unsettled and everything...

the fact remains that we have had so few practices together... and we're going on tomorrow having hardly rehearsed anything... there's so much more i want to tell them... but so little time...
but i have to say i'm so proud to be part of this... there's something there in that makes this all so special... and i don't even know how to describe it... how often can we throw a piece at a band and have them perform a week later...?

hmm... was wondering how valid is it to think that true artists must suffer as a result of the immense gift of creation within them...

must they suffer...? must art necessarily lie in the cradle of agony and be borne by the carriage of anguish...? i mean... ultimately...
isn't art a celebration of life...? isn't the entire process and aim of art to showcase life in all its myriad aspects... the condensation of the emotions and activities that run from one dawn to the next... one season to another... this spring to the next and this life and all that come after... into their combined magnum opera...? and perhaps one day one final magnum opus...?

or is it a constant process of pain...?

pain that is revenge against the cursed few blessed enough to see life for all its infinite blackness and beauty... pain because they alone know the depths of human baseness... pain because they see the ultimate glory and wonder of everything that they in their prison of humanity can never attain...

is that why my life sometimes seems so cold...?

when i can hear perfection... and know that i may come ever so close... yet never touch it... is it a gift of hope or despair...?

ah... questions...
i am not depressed... neither do i despair... i just write for the sake of it... never forget that pisceans are after all optimists... eternal dreamers... maybe that's why they close the entire cycle... while aquarius... bringer of truth... opens it...

ah... the sky's a real beauty today... an ocean veiling its secret beauty...

"...Yon orange sunset waning slow:
From fringes of the faded eve...
...Till over thy dark shoulder glow  
Thy silver sister-world..."
- Alfred Lord Tennyson, 'Move eastward, happy earth, and leave'