Rise and Shine

Eat This, Mystery Man!

OK, so Tom Spence accuses me of ordering him to write for this blog. Then he does so and includes me in the category of the talented. I'm even mentioned in the same sentence as Mozart, one of the greatest musical geniuses the world has even seen or heard. Of course, to put it in context Tom did write, "they are the talented, from Mozart to Jester Jeeves." In other words, if we consider the talent spectrum, Mozart is at one end and Jester Jeeves is at the other. Oh---I get it now, Tom is saying that I am talented, but just barely. Well, with this post, I hope to make him eat those words. I mean just look at the Rise and Shine image above, which by the way is not meant to offend anyone, be they Baptist, Bread Boy, or otherwise. If that's not a stroke of evil genius I don't what is.

Anyway, I don't make this stuff up---I just call 'em like I see 'em. And what I saw was a church signboard around Easter time. As I drove by, the Pillsbury Dough Boy jumped out of that inspirational dimension and into my head. I felt that I owed it to the world to share my vision of doughy divinity. Armed with my meager talent, digital camera, and minuscule Photoshop skills, I crafted this image from my imagined inspiration. Hopefully no Parkview Baptist Church-goers or Pillsbury corporate lawyers are among the millions of Jeev Jago Studios' fans.

Postmodern Progess

After our brush with the vicious Vista memory monopolizer on Tom's laptop we transfered our Vegas video editing to my old but operational desktop running on the comparatively expeditious XP. Frame by digital frame, Postmodern Times is coming together in a way that
can only be described as miraculous---or amazing, anomalous, astonishing, astounding, awesome, extraordinary, fabulous, fantasmo, far out, freakish, gas (?), heavy (?), incredible, inexplicable, magical, marvelous, monstrous, numinous, phenomenal, preternatural, prodigious, spectacular, staggering, strange, stupefying, stupendous, superhuman, superior, supermundane, supernatural, supranatural, thaumaturgic, the utmost, too much, unaccountable, unbelievable, unearthly, unimaginable, unreal, wonderworking, or wondrous.

Well, not really, but Tom and I are very excited about our progress. And now there's even the possibility of premiering Postmodern Times at a summer festival in Florida next month!

I feel like Stravinsky

Igor Stravinsky, considered by many to be the most influential composer of 20th century music, tried his hand at the written word at one point in his career. He said, "I experience a sort of terror if I sit down to work and find an infinity of possibilities open to me. No effort is conceivable."

Andy Rooney, who relates this anecdote, tells us that Stravinsky conquered that terror by turning his creative urge to the seven notes of the scale and writing music. "For then I have something solid and concrete," Stravinsky said. "I am saved from the anguish of unconditional liberty."

Rooney, himself, turns not to the piano, but to the essay form. He says, "The essay offers a writer a great deal of freedom but falls short of offering the 'unconditional liberty' that stopped Stravinsky. The essay provides a writer boundaries within which he can go to work. Confinement is conducive to creativity."

I, as a Renaissance man of mystery, dabble in both the literary and the musical, but I drown in the terror of perfection paralysis. And I find little solace in the solid and concrete of the seven notes or the boundaries of the essay.

Creative inspiration comes from another dimension. Some seem unable to access it at all---they feel themselves untalented. Others, to different degrees, are given access and the ability to bring back and materialize in our 3D world what they perceive in the realm of inspiration---they are the talented, from Mozart to Jester Jeeves. Still others are given access to perceive, but are cursed by the inability to communicate---they are the frustrated sufferers.

As a certifiable frustrated sufferer, I struggle with what Stravinsky expressed about writing: he could perceive an infinity of possibilities, but felt powerless to express anything in the face of the unlimited. That's me, that's how I feel, that's my struggle, and in spite of all of that, Jester Jeeves has ordered me (yes, ordered me), to pull my weight on this blog.

What to do?

Hey, I just noticed that I've written over 300 words---that must count as a blog entry. It should also count to get Jester Jeeves off my back for at least a week. I've been saved from the anguish of unconditional liberty by the confinement of blogs. Maybe blogging is my thing.