a day in the life of piano monkey

http://youtu.be/86dSerwbIMw death be not proud, from holy sonnets of john donn, set by benjamin britten; ian bostridge and graham johnson *ronandini pieta, 1564 this eve, i will go up north to meet family, now we are five, not six. wait, we are six this evening i think.  the wee one will be with us.  in small fragments, embedded deeply in each heart, continuing to pulse and send the warm blood out, right to the fingertips and little piggies, then back, carrying worries, happiness, disappointment and of course, joy. when i was a kid, i saw my family as: 3 + 3 = 6 three little unruly kids and three adults. when i moved out, i saw it as: 1 + 3 + 2 = 6 me, loner, adults who deemed me crazy and bros years later, then my older bro moved out: 1 + 1 + ( 3+1 ) = 6 gabe never moved out. in fact, he was well on way ton convince the three adults to buy a house with basement apartment, so that he may live like a proper baby brother. then he rolled the car and that was...

Henry Ossawa Tanner, Resurrection of Lazarus, 1896, Public Domain. the shortest verse of the bible intrigues and baffles me: Edákrusen ho Iēsous jesus wept (john 11:35) ?! as a child in sunday school, it was impossible to understand: why would he? he could do anything? and he does?! why are YOU crying? in the story, lazarus, his best bud, is dies.  jesus heard that lazarus is ill, however, got there too late- lazarus was no more. he wept. now, that makes sense. what does not make sense:  then he resurrects lazarus.  in my eyes, jesus had nothing to cry about- may be he mustve cried because the rest were crying- much like bunch of children, when one starts to cry, the rest often joins in.  may be he cried to show that he belonged with them, in common experience of death of lazarus.  but it wasnt like he was never going to see lazarus- didnt he come to talk about afterlife? one must believe in it to convince people about it? if anyone was goin...

http://youtu.be/J_jW5X3szMw  so many thoughts and people wafting through my mind today- like the famous crossings of shibuya, tokyo. as season changes, snow and mountains of workload melts away, to make room for the new. underneath it all, there they were- fragments of pasts and what may become future. the night time solitude draws out the most tender feelings- they hibernated underneath the storm of mundane tasks of daily grind, till the softest new leaf could break through the smallest crack of the proletariat asphalt. though theyve been there for the entire winter, only getting noticed now- carrying the smallest portion of what the stories may have been- who did that toy ring belonged to? did she cry when she lost it? who wouldve tossed that fag end? in frustration or jest? in bravado or with reluctance, knowing that's the last one in the box? they lie naked on the sidewalk, in faded glory.  as people pass it by, stepping on and on. pot of tea sits, 4am bitte...