Can being together can be deforming?
Why do you not do what I do?
If you did do what I do would I like that?
If I did what we all like to do would we like that?
Where do our lines of definition end?
If my eye sees yours do you realize it?
Do we have a collective eye?
Is it to be found?
When do we resolve to complete this series?
If time is ever moving are ideas then constantly being recycled?
What isn’t being recycled?
Does wiping our slates clean accomplish anything?
Does covering ourselves with grit and grime accomplish anything?
Are you interested in something?
What was it that I said?
Why do you resist the urge to stop seeing as I do?
Now that I have inquired, may I inquire again?
Do we have a folklore?
If we did would we be focusing on it?
Didn’t we say we would take care of this?
If we didn’t say we didn’t care than do we?
Is there any reason to even ask if we do?
Would I ask a question if it were pictures not sounds?
If questions are pictures are they blurry or sharp?
How many can we make?
How many can we stop making?
What do we do if beauty only exists when there is more than one of us?
What do we do if it can only be achieved alone?
Do I need to know when to stop?
How can we unwind the details?
John Cage’s message is that there is no message. A symphony of sounds may lead one to notice them, or not. For Cage, following a method is just following a method, he’s apathetic to it. His focus is to channel what we find rather than translate it. Urgency and action create movement. He mentions how his composition procedure and formation of paragraphs result from “chance operations”: he funnels things which are happening as he writes his music into his music. Cage says that seeing things as they are is seeing them as impermanent, therefore there are no informed operations in his approach. Nothing replaces anything, it just creates more things.
“I know nothing. All I can do
is say what strikes me
Elena said, “you should take care of yourself and not care what is happening outside around you.” I told her my stomach hurts but I want to go out to dinner anyways. As we walked down Dekalb avenue I passed a woman crying on another woman’s shoulder. I watched them for a moment through sideways glances and grew to be impressed by the grace that the woman holding the other contained. Minutes later I too felt sad. I bought a latte and was mean to the staff whom I see every day. I was unhappy about their approach to servings of milk per servings of expresso. It was raining and I had to get on with my day.