The composer is dead

I had a nightmare. Something about faces and suspicious beings.

I remember trying to call out your name, and that time when I was having a nightmare in your apartment and how when I could finally shout out your name I woke up and found you there in my arms.

I thought about you, and how you would know what to say.

I need you.

But you don't need me.

I can't.

You are manifested in so many symbols, and your meaning is everywhere to me. But you are nowhere to be found, even when you are sleeping in my arms.

-----

The funeral is in 7 hours. I still can't grasp the concept of death. The idea that someone I knew for so long simply just disappeared -- well, I can't understand that. I've known plenty of people who have died, and yet death has not happened to me, in the sense that I am 21 years old and still can't acknowledge the magnitude of its meaning.

Robert Ian Winstin, teacher, composer, conductor, and friend. You will be missed, but your legacy lives on.

Photos of memory and the process of songwriting

1. My room; 2. My room; 3. Justin's farm in New Market; 4. Justin's farm in New Market; 5. Justin's farm in New Market; 6. Justin's farm in New Market; 7. County fair; 8. Grisha in the attic; 9. Katie and I, listening to Abba; 10. Concert hall

I was cleaning out my computer and found a few photos that I thought were beautiful, either by the composition or the meaning behind the event. Together, these photos probably will not make sense, but I like it that way. Life does not make sense.

---EDIT --

The other day while at work I was thinking about a song on mandolin. When I came home I picked up my mandolin and starting playing the chords, and as it turned out the words I conjured up in my head did not fit the actual chords when sung out loud. I didn't feel like the combination of words and music were speaking the same language, or communicating the same message, making the entire creation ineffective. I'm still searching for a formula, and I don't mean that I want my music to be formulaic, but that I want my music to communicate emotions in the most turbulent and unexpected way possible. How does one compose a piece that when exposed to the ears the listener feels like he has been suspended in space and time while colliding into a wall of nothingness?

Beckett on Film, or one is what one is

As a library assistant I usually have to do bitch work, which means the petty, tedious work that is a pain to do but needs to get done. Currently, I'm working on checking the internet resources and making sure there are no dead or broken links. I normally get restless and antsy, but lately I've been looking at a good lot -- yesterday I got to watch BBC productions of Shakespeare plays and, today I had to watch one of my favorite works put to film, Waiting for Godot. It's not exactly the easiest thing to read through and it certainly requires a lot of patience. It reminds me of navigating a city with a friend who just happens to lead you to mishap after mishap. It's like the meaning of life never gets manifested, at least in this work.

I'm driving to Virginia Beach tomorrow to spend the weekend with my family. I haven't seen home in so long.

Kimchi Blue, I love you

Kimchi Blue Chantilly Dress - Ivory $98

This dress is absolutely beautiful, I am in love with the small details and care put into the creation of this piece. From the adorable fabric buttons to the lace designs to the puffy sleeves, this dress would be perfect paired with two-tone oxfords and perhaps some cable knit tights in the fall. This dress is versatile, could be worn in any season, dressed up or down. I like how this is very 1930s-bride-like -- it recalls a sense of innocence and playfulness, with a hint of purity.

With that said, I can't wait for this to go on sale. =[

Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Money, the bane of my existence

Tiny Windows Dress - Lavender $118

I have been -- or trying to be at least -- so well-behaved with not spending money, really I have. I've adopted a conscience that accompanies my thought-process when debating my purchases. And then this dress comes along and everything goes all downhill from there. I literally can't afford to be so irresponsible, so why can't I just grow up?

Can't sleep

“There are so many things I want to say to you, but time’s caught me up and now I’ll never say them — except that I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you and every moment since.”

All of a sudden, I am both happy and sad once again.

Fresh blogging

Hope you like the new layout! I am finally done with May-mester (and gen-eds for that matter), and now have all the time I want to do whatever I want. What better way to spend my time on a Saturday night than create a new template/CCS layout for my blog? Yes, this is my life.

Anyway, today I took apart an old Mennonite dress I picked up at the thrift store a few weeks ago. Going to tailor it up a bit so that the fit is more flattering and A-line in structure.

My house is now completely empty, and being a 100+ year old Victorian house, it is also quite eerie. The doors creak so much louder now that everyone is gone, and this afternoon, Grisha and I found a possibly dead bat up in the attic?? Not sure what to make of this, because we also found a ton of bat poop (guano) so I am afraid we have a colony of bats living in Camelot. I screamed as high as I could because I've never seen a bat, and this caused Katie to run upstairs. Probably not the best thing to do when your attic is the host of a colony of bats...

Roxanne, the lame librarian

I'm so antsy right now. I think installing StumbleUpon on my computer at work is probably the worst idea I've ever had. I can't get through these library documents without clicking for a new tab to Stumble. :( le Sigh.

BIG HAIR

In need of a hair cut. Someone, plz help a sister out.