4 minutes 44 seconds| A tribute to transcendetalist and poet, e.e. cummings. Edward Elgar is a possible musical influence here, as well. I imagine a certain Englishness to the pomp and circumstance of the rousing finish.
The time stamp records 1/09/10 as a start date. These classical compositions proved challenging, for reasons I explain in my notes about mixing music, which can be found among the post-excerpts pages.
My life divides between periods of creation and periods of revision. By revison I mean remixing music or revisiting finished canvases. This is less true for painting because, in recent years, I paint so little. My writing is exempt from these cycles since it incorporates both writing and editing simultaneously.
Novel-in-Progress, excerpt 34| Lowell experiences another strange day at the tower, where he again meets with opposition from a sticky door:
The entrance door to the tower was still cracked, although he anticipated resistance in the post door at the top of the landing—it gave freely with his thrust and sent him tripping over his feet.
The well-lit room was like stomping into a puddle of ice water, and, seeing himself asleep in the chair in front of a desk, Lowell’s conscious mind was rived.
Will sought its ground and propelled him upright, out of the seat and facing the same doorway. He expected to confront himself, or someone else, standing in it, but no one was there. The tower door nonetheless creaked with sinister memory, as if someone had bounded through it in the second before.
The observer flung off clinging beads of perspiration, certain that it had been he on the other side of the door pushing. He tested his legs, and then his mettle. Creeping onto the landing, a look was tossed cautiously over the balcony rail, down involute steps that incised and split, almost into even halves, a formidable shadow. The man’s assessment of his ontological state was less clear than the pounding beneath his breastbone, for it was the dilemma of the measuring device used to determine subatomic states: The device is drawn into a ghostly existence by the ghostly existence of what it observes.
As with his dream—since it could be no better described than a dream—the monumental stillness in the air possessed the tenacity of a voyeur, and surely an idle half-hour more endurance of it would turn into a lifetime if Lowell did not leave at once.
Fright had overtaken his judgment, and too the satisfaction he would have derived from castigating a tardy coworker. The opprobrium was left for another day, and the observer fled expediently by elevator.
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