Monday, November 09, 2009

Verily, I have seen the light

(and lo, very bright it is too) *

What this means is that I'd like you to pay very close attention to these bits of music, please. In particular, the high notes, which are to be found at circa 0:56...(in the word "Jerusalem")

and (if you are still coherent from the winding beauty of that thing), at circa 1:00...(in the word "Abend")

Well? I hear you say. Well yes, well indeed. For what are those notes? By my count, you see, they must be a (super high) C and a (pretty much super high, too) G, aka the high notes where God lives. Why so? Of course, mostly by the fact that they make me cry (proof positive if ever there was any for the existence of a divine being), but also, let us analyse the notes themselves. C is for "see". G is for - oh yes - "God". Or, if you want to take the other attitude to musical notes, they could be called "do" (as in "do") and "sol" (as in "sun"). See God. Do sun. Do we need more proof? So you could say I have found God, and that means it was well worth the extended Lenten excess. (And, at the end of the day, if I've counted wrong and they're *not*, after all, a C and a G - which they are - we still have the cry factor to prove our point).

It has been brought to my attention that I've had rather a long Lent. True, true. But do, if you please, take a look at the exact dates of my personal Lent. Wait a minute - how many months, exactly? Yeeeees. These things sometimes take a while to, shall we say, gestate.

* I have, of course, had to do some cutting and pasting on this photo so as to make it appear I still have my former, original face, stuck as I now am with the face of - oh woe - Eric Idle


Anna MR said...

And before you say "no, Anna, you've got your dates wrong" - I know. But premature gestation is still gestation. Shut up.

(Hello, by the way.)


Reading the Signs said...

Eric, thank goodness that you are still here - you know how I feel about you. Speechless right now (15,002 words, Sees, and a very sore bum).

trousers said...

Beautiful indeed - my personal high point was, I thought, around the 49 - 50 second mark in the second piece, how could anything top that? Those intervals definitely did things for me. But then, you were right: the 1.00 mark topped it.

Anna there are intriguing and wonderfully eccentric nuances happening here again already, and that's only meant in a good way: for may I say that the existence of this post has made my day. Lovely to see you my dear.

Montag said...

This is wonderful.
And it is a great fairy tale-like saga...I know I certainly felt like the hapless Samwise trudging after your Frodo...

I have not been amazed by another person in the longest time, and here is Anna and her 2 sisters, standing like the three beautiful Fates...

(think about it: when is the last time a fellow human being "amazed" you? doesn't happen too often.)

Eric said...

Dear Signs,

Hello. I bet you're wondering why I'm here, sitting in Anna's yard, without a stitch o'gear. Well as it happens, my budget has expired, and Anna's got me trapped by my *****cles (I'm *tired*).
And so although you know I never bitch, there's not a single funny side to bunking with this bitch.

So if you see this, Signs, come save my ass. Or else it may just happen that I pass. (Out.)

Yours truly,



(Oh - Neil's here, too. Save us, Signs. Please. You are our only hope.)

Anna MR, (seriously) impressed said...

15,002?! Sees, you rock the rockest rockin'.


Anna MR of the Intervals said...

Dear young housut, stop right there with the praise already. You're embarrassing me. (Glad things were done to you, though. We aim to please, dear heart, we aim to please. Although sometimes it takes us a while.)

Most lovely to see you, too.


Anna MR of the Floating Frodo Fates said...

Samwise Montag, I thank you.

(Suddenly sort of lost for words, you know. Thinking about it, though. Amazed.)


Reading the Signs said...

Eric, you are quite wonderful and it is you who must save me.

Anna - do you mind if I talk to you both at the same time? Running all day between choir rehearsals (doing Mozart's Requiem in Edge church on Saturday, Sees, you should be there/here!) and the notebook, bashing out the words, so running now (to bed) and no time to say anything but Mwah!

See how The People love you?
Yes, Eric, I mean you too.
But mostly I think they love Icemaiden. Sorry about that, but you and I can still have a thing going. Am I still here? After Montag (dear Montag, hello!) expressly advised me to stay away from Blogoslavia whilst word-bashing?

I go, I go - look how I go - swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.

Anna MR (avec Eric) said...

Yes, Signs, hie thee to a bashery. That would be the joint opinion of us both (i.e. Eric and moi). Enough of this love talk. Enough of all talk, in fact (singing, however, in particular in preparation of the weekend's Edge Mozart Arena Spectacle (for which I wish you many broken legs and share your wish to be able to join you there, in body and not just in spirit), yes, singing, however, is allowed. For the time being. So watch it).

I am bashing, too, but something way less exciting than you. As a hint, I can let it slip that it begins with an "e" and ends in a "y" and there are a couple of s's and an a somewhere in between. It is killing me. Verily. And, just to illustrate the extent of my woes, it is in Finnish, which, I will have you know, has longer words and hence being on page nine and a half has only got me to a just under 2,5K word count (luckily they measure these things by the page. I need twelve. I must have twelve. Never mind the quality, yes, check out the total length of my amazing piece. Fnarr. Fneek. Shh).

So yes, right, to a bashery, go, Signs. Puck right off, and make us proud. I am allowing Ms Dogot to rescue me from my lengthy and wise ponderations for a while.


PS Eric insists on sending you one more for the road. It may be that while it was perfectly alright in my view for you to address us both in the same letter, he may have felt slightly miffed. There's a certain vindictive quality to this greeting he sends - as if he's saying "I've plenty other takers, if you're going to cold-shoulder me", or something. Ah well. As an artiste, he is mayhap a mite delicate.

I really need to shut up. So does Eric, really. Shut up, Eric.

That should do it.


trousers said...

Though not quite an anagram, should we not refer to the Anna MR/ Eric dual entity as Americana?

No? Oh.

Anna MR said...

Oh housut. No, I'm afraid. My experience with Americana consists largely of a childhood under the guidance of the St. Louis Penguins (and very strict guidance it was, too), and a year spent in a place which many will, in their flippant style, call "Paradise".

But I do see what you mean - even though it's not quite an anagram. And please, please don't get me started on anagrams. I love them too much and can easily ruin my life trying to construct something "funny" out of "housut trousers" (how'd you like being called sutures or shout for a while?).

Otherwise, we're sweet.


Reading the Signs said...

That was pretty hot, Eric. Before your convent days, I'll be bound, for it did not strike me as particularly penitential. You look a bit girly, which is all to the genderbendy good. And you also look a bit - now look here, don't get me wrong, and I'm definitely not dissing you, I mean why would I, but I'm just saying because you know it struck me: well, a bit gay. For which three hurrahs, what? I should coco! Is that the time? Must go and refresh my drink (minces away to fetch an Amstel).

Writing an e***y, Sees? Son of Signs could bash that off for you in a couple of hours. He has done that kind of thing, you know, for rich SoBs who canot be a**ed to do it for themselves. Say no more on't - but 'tis something to bear in mind for the future when you're a Boffin with loads of Phletters after her name.

Anna MR said...

Verily, Signs sees, I am prepared the say "phluck the phletters" right now at this moment in time. For I mailed the phlucking e**ay (with no help at all from SoS, I would like to point out) at exactly 01:53 this morning. It was nowhere near as astoundingly brilliant as it might have been, right enough, but it is done and dusted and sent and gone and that, as they say, is that.

(This is me speaking, by the way. Eric is sulking in a corner because you said he looked girly and gay. He says he looks ├╝ber manly and strong and just like a Big Muscular Heterosexual Male. It is true the fame and fortune may have warped his self-perception some - but I never said that, k? K.)