3AM Thoughts

We write to express. We music (yes, I just used music as a verb) to express. We art (again, verb) to express. We aren’t just what we create, we are the process of the creation. We are the verb. That is what it is about creating that makes it so fullfilling – the expression itself, as a verb and not as a product. So why do we get stuck?

3AM Selfie of “Stuck”

Well. I’ve been sitting here now for two hours and not only am I stuck on the music I have in my head but can’t seem to get to come out, but also on this post. I don’t know where to go from where I started. So, let’s converse in the comments instead. Let’s write this post together.

Do you get stuck? How do you get unstuck? Are we REALLY stuck or just on pause? What factors contribute to your blocks in creativity? What factors, environments, or actions contribute to removing those blocks for you? Let’s talk…

#SpreadMusicNotHate No.1

So I saw this challenge in the blogging community where you share a favorite song of yours each day, in no particular order, and as many days as you like (so we’ve got an eternity’s worth here in my “favorites” playlist 😂), and share why you love the song.

#dailymusicalinterlude

For day 1 of the #FavoriteSongsChallenge to #spreadmusicnothate, I give you one of my favorite film songs (and yeah, there’s a lot of scores in my favorites) – Vide cor Meum, from Ridley Scott’s adaptation of Thomas Harris’ book, “Hannibal.”

There’s no reason I love the song other than it’s incredibly moving to me and I am, behind closed doors, a hopeless romantic who loves Dante Alighieri, beautifully moving classical/orchestral pieces, and Hannibal (one of my favorite novel and film trilogies).

Vide cor meum (See my heart) is an aria composed by Irish composer Patrick Cassidy based on Dante Alighieri’s Vita Nova, specifically on the sonnet A ciascun’alma presa, third chapter.

The translation from the lyrics (and the Vita Nova) is:

While thinking of her
A sweet sleep came over me
I am your master
Here is your heart
And on this burning heart
Your heart
(she) obediently fed
Then I saw him (Amore) leaving in tears
Joy became bitterest lament
I am in peace
My heart
I am in peace
See my heart.

The music (not to mention Sir Anthony reciting Hannibal’s interpretation of the Vita Nova) of “The Burning Heart” (another song, from Hans Zimmer’s Hannibal score) is also fabulous.
WTH. I’ll share both for day 1. LOL 🥰❤️

From The Burning Heart:

“He woke her then,
And trembling and obedient
She ate that burning heart out of his hand.
Weeping, I saw him then depart from me.”
Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her
And find nourishment in the very sight of her?
I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight… and ache for him?

Fun related fact: Dante’s “Inferno” is one of my favorite books. Should we do a favorite books and favorite films tag, too? I say yes. I like seeing the things that make you who you are and having a bit of artistic culture in the mix. There’s more to the world than memes, politics and conspiracy theories. 😉

I love insomnia. 🙂

Unafraid

Good morning. 👋 Welcome to this morning’s ramble, which has brought me to the deep, sudden and unexpected realization that in my “oversharing,” I’m not crazy or weird at all. I’ve let certain people almost covince me that I am at different times in my life, and there’s always been a sort of overshadowing insecurity in me about that, off and on. This morning I feel as though, well, I’m not crazy at all. I’m just unafraid to express myself (and pretty good at it, too)…

Last night, I ended up watching “The Monster Calls” with my son, who couldn’t sleep. You wouldn’t think a movie like that would help him sleep (spoiler alert, the mother dies of cancer), but after watching it and cuddling close and having a good cry together, he slept just fine.

I, on the other hand, have been awake most of the night and wondering what I did to deserve such an amazing kid to help me through my own troubles. This morning (as of 4:33, when I’m writing this), I still feel physically horrible (that hole in stomach, you know) and fairly anxious (because I wasn’t expecting the graphic cancer/death ptsd triggers in that movie), but I also feel so happy and grateful deep within. That boy. I just love him so…

After a brief nap I can’t sleep again, so I just keep alternating between watching him sleep and typing away on my laptop, banging out my frustrations and fears and pain into the same, now monotonous and annoying, adjectives and analogies. I suppose it stems from being so bored with what my eyes and my mind keep seeing that I decided to imagine my laptop as this classic Smith-Corona (thumbnail photo) instead of the 8-year-old MacBook that it is.

Oh, the memories… Even down to the color, it’s just like the Smith-Corona my mother wouldn’t let me touch as a child despite my desperation to caress and become one with it. I literally felt like it was a sin to touch that typewriter and that I’d go to hell if I did (thanks again for the ridiculous, guilt inducing religious undertones to EVERYTHING in life, Ma). I think that typewriter is what made me aware that I wanted to write in the first place, and that my oversharing now is some strange, delayed rebellion to that feeling from childhood.

Hashtag psychology, you know?

I was always obsessed with that typewriter. If a child can covet, that’s what I was feeling. Then, when I was 13, my mother sold the damned thing for $40 in an estate sale after my grandmother died. When I asked why, she explained that she just didn’t want it anymore. So why couldn’t I touch it if she didn’t really love it? And, since she knew how much I loved it, why couldn’t I have had it?

The ridiculous truth is, I’m still sad about that… Anyway, now if only I could get my insomnia/malnutrition induced delusion to include the clickety-clack and the ding…

Ramble over… Hope y’all have a lovely, inspired day out there in the world. Make it count. All the love to you. 

❤️😘✌️🙏🏼

C.