Composer

Composer: (n) a person who writes music, especially as a professional occupation

In the classical field they refer to them as “the Masters.”

These are the folks who wrote symphonies, operas and other various styles of composition, which have endured to the present day.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Please understand, in their time, many of them received no attention, zero appreciation and often suffered criticism and poverty.

It would seem that their greatest accomplishment was that they died. Once they died, a sentimental streak went down the backbone of all the critics, and they began to view their music from a less cynical position.

So now we consider them geniuses–and we take the composers of our day and ostracize them, cheat them out of opportunity and often make them live in poverty (just so they can die quickly and have their music appreciated).

It is a bizarre system which seems determined to continue because it receives great funding.

 

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Attribute

Attribute: (n) a quality or feature regarded as a characteristic or inherent part of someone or something.dictionary with letter A

Marley had been dead for 7 years, and the only two things said about him came from Ebenezer Scrooge, who proclaimed him “a good man of business,” and others, who surmised that he was a cheap son-of-a-bitch.

Even though I recognize the value of leaving behind a history of my thoughts and feelings by writing and creating, in 30 years I will be judged by a single attribute.

What did I do to make other people’s lives easier?

That’s it.

If you’re of the mindset which contends that you’re on the planet to defend righteousness, or on the other side of the scales, to “eat, drink and be merry,” you may be sadly disappointed by the legacy you leave behind–because forced righteousness makes humans miserable and a philosophy of open-ended vice creates its own vacuum of angst.

What have I done this week to make people’s lives simpler, more gentle–shoot–more possible?

Being grouchy, picky, anal, selfish, giggly, scatter-brained or invisible really are not attributes, but instead, human vices we wink at, assuming that the person tied to them is basically useless to us.

  • Are you finding problems and solving them or just discussing them, or perhaps making them worse?
  • Are you bringing good cheer to situations of tension, or a can of gasoline to a forest fire?
  • Are you believing for the best, or joining those who chase conspiracies, insisting they’re not theories?

For what will I be known?

When it’s all said and done, and clichés like “when it’s all said and done” have been abandoned, I will probably be known for the silliness I brought to others.

They might actually read some of my works because they desire to possess such a gypsy joy, but it will be my attribute of child-like appreciation which draws them to my compositions.

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Absonent

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Absonent: (adj.) discordant or unreasonable.

Actually, my “discordant brothers and sisters” in music thought I was the unreasonable one. Almost universally, they decided to pursue a life of making absonent compositions that were completely atonal and vacant melodic and harmonic tenderness. They contended that all the possible linkage of notes had already been achieved, and anything done now would simply be a rehashing of former inspiration.

I just found it sad. It’s very similar to going to a meeting and having the moderator inform all those attending that it was decided not to do much of anything because everything that was brought up seemed to be either impossible or just a remake of old ideas.

When did we become so cynical? When did we discover we lacked faith in the abilities that pulsate through our bodies–so much so that we can’t take the chance that something original could spring through our gray matter? Why do people feel intelligent nowadays by finding reasons that things should not work instead of taking the time to champion a cause and risk trying something that could be beneficial?:

I don’t know.

But in a six-year period, I sat down and wrote twelve symphonies. I did. I don’t know if they’re great. I don’t know if someone would listen to them and insist they heard hints of “this and that” and garnishes of “whatever.” In the moment I composed them, they were original to me, and they thrust my soul light-years ahead in awareness and jubilation. That can’t be bad, right?

So the next time you get around someone who insists that the intellectual approach to any situation is to be discordant or nasty, just quietly slip away to your room, write a melody that comes from your heart, and sing it with the confidence that it is yours and yours alone.

For after all, in that moment … it truly is.