On nights like tonight I can't help but think of Glen Gould. They sent his recordings into space on a satelite containing a timecapsule like record of human civilization. This has nothing to do with why I think of him though. I watched 32 short films about Glen Gould and a scene of the neurotic pianist self medicating with his own personal mixture of pharmaceuticals while glancing out a window onto a winterscape with blowing snow. It is this image that this evenings blowing snow and flurries fixed in my mind. Glen was apparently obsessed with the idea of the North. I often have similar thoughts of my own, the alluring calm of the isolation and seemingly cleansing nature of a scouring wind. Then however I realize that I'm freezing to death and thinking way too much about the weather and find myself happy with my current location.
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lostinage:
I hate the cold.. god damn cold. I never pictured the North calming though, if its calm i only see it as being before the storm and then the thing stricks like a damn savage beast and gives ya frost bite on your ass.
ninjagrrrl:
i used to be good at playing Bach too.