The Art of Loneliness

The house is being haunted by spooky noises.  I think.  There are vague thumping and bumpings and creaks and pops.  I heard them last night, uncertain.  I walked outside, not sure if there wasn't something going on out there.  I'm still not knowing.  The sound seems to come from somewhere else but from the house as well.  I cannot figure it out, and it is unnerving me.  

Now it is New Year's Eve, and all the world goes mad.  

T sent that last night from South Beach.  It is what I am missing, I guess.  It is what people do.  

There will be no champagne cocktails for me tonight unless I make a sparkling non-alcoholic Bellini.  

I won't.  It will be another, simple night alone at home.  

There was a nice article on Schubert and the Art of Loneliness today in the Times (link).  I don't know much about classical music.  I listen to it, sometimes, but I am not a student.  The titles alone confuse me.  

"Symphony 8, pt. 2, D minor"

They make nice movie scores, of course, but after listening to Schubert for fifteen minutes--yes, it is lovely--I am ready for some jazz from the '50s (the golden years) or something from that musical genius, Duke Ellington.  Ellington certainly knew what to do with classical music, didn't he?  

But Schubert is alright.  His music would make a good score for the loneliness of those two windows at the top of the page.  I am haunted by such things, sad windows to unknown rooms housing broken, lonely people.  

"Four walls."  That's what Bukowski said a man needs.  With four walls, he can make a stand.  Bukowski loved classical music.  Some have tried to illustrate this by creating Bukowski playlists. . . if you are interested (link).  I think the link will work,  If not, it is Spotify's "Classical Bukowski."  It might give you some insight into the works--but I doubt it.  

I don't know much about loneliness, either, though it is possible I am beginning to learn.  I've always been much a loner, but not so very lonely.  I often have chosen solitude over the spectacle as I will tonight.  But somehow missing Christmas this year has put a little hole in me.  Maybe I shouldn't have quit drinking until tomorrow.  

I heard a bit of an NPR piece while driving yesterday.  It was on psychological emergency workers.  I think that is what they said.  I thought about putting a voice memo in my phone so I could remember the term, but I was going through some curves and thought it best not to drive one-handed.  I thought at the time I might remember but was also pretty sure I wouldn't.  

I didn't.  

I don't.  

But man, I thought, there is some real bullshit in the world.  

"Dr. Amygdala was the first emergency responder to the scene.  Immediately, they observed the potential traumas that might arise and quickly got to work."

I'm actually a bit traumatized using the word "they" as a singular pronoun, but it is what the times call for.  Language evolves, I know, but this is a throwback to my hillbilly roots.  I guess "those people" had it right all along.  

I might give Schubert a try tonight as the hoi-polloi light fireworks to traumatized people's pet dogs.  I have never noticed cats being affected so much by fireworks, but my dog Wiley was inconsolable when they went off.  Never could figure that out.  

I guess I am not really suited to be a psychological emergency worker after all if that is any indication. . 

You know what the amygdala is, don't you?  Just checking.  I think a lot of the subtle things I do here get lost on the speed readers.  Trust me.  I've studied Joyce.  I use a lot of what I know about his writing here.  

Sure, you can scoff if you like.  Not always, sure. . . but I do.  I should probably use more Chekhov, though.  Joyce began by imitating Chekhov in "The Dubliners."  There is a lot of loneliness in that collection.  

Oh those windows.  Such windows.  

I guess I'll leave you with Schubert in case, like me, you will be alone tonight.  I think I'll celebrate early, though, with a good Greek dinner.  

After a drink with mother.  I guess I'll make those non-alcoholic Bellini's after all.  

Jesus--I just remembered that I had an entire series of photographs called "Lonesomeville."  I should have led with that.  

And. . . UPDATE!  Just after I posted this, I went to IG and had a message from Q that would have fit nicely with today's post.  Funny how things work.