again, with the sleeping to noon, though i was wide awake with an insufferable hardon at about 7am, from 7am till probably 9:30, waiting for it to go away, too tired and nearly-asleep to walk it off, the morning wood, no the all-night wood, a bothersome phenomenon i formerly thought was a sign of good health (it can‘t be a sign of sickness, can it?) but my belief that nocturnal hardons lasting all the night is a healthy thing is based solely on a line from “Kiss of the Spider Woman,“ the William Hurt film, in which William Hurt sees his cell-mates morning woody and says “Healthy!“ or somesuch. I can not sleep through that any more. maybe i never could. lately i‘ve been woken up by it. lately meaning, since years and years. if i am just falling asleep and i sense the rising in my crotch then i wake up, annoyed, and i‘m just like aw man… and there‘s nothing sexual about it. you can‘t fuck with it, i‘ve tried, it‘s like fisting with a broomstick.
anyway…
i played at the piano this afternoon. ragtime, mostly, though i lurched from Rameau and Handel to Ragtime, zapping 2 centuries and hearing in my thick head the musings of the writers and editors of the old classical music magazines with which i have occupied my time this year. i have branched out from those magazines a bit, discovering other old magazines of that vintage, including photography magazines from the 1880s, dealing less with photos and more with technique and technologies, but neat-o all around i‘ll stick to focus for now but that realm of music magazines from the early 20th century has a lot of neat stuff roiling around in addition to what i‘m dipping in to these days. i was laughing at the content from a 1916 issue decrying “futurists“. some of the criticism was meant to be withering and dismissive but i think it was actually spot on and commendably descriptive of the aesthetics and philosophies of the “enemy“.
enemies.
enemies.
enemies.
