Archive for Beethoven

Workout log 16 Nov 2012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on November 16, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Stair climbing, walking and resting for 20 minutes first thing bigod.

In worse ostensible shape than when I got here in spite of first injection intended to alleviate the prostate cancer, but the truth (die Warheit and not die Wann) is that there is, as the Thai neurologist pointed out last August, more going on down there.

Specifically possible bone marrow involvement (as distinct from bone) and a clot which I visually detected the other day, beating out Ultrasound Guy,screaming through greylands, flaming.

It was cheech and chong or Rush Hour Two:

(Me) Chit, mon, there it is
(UG) Where it is
(Me) See? Is that a clot? Looks like a clot. Kinda red you know?
(UG) You got it man [nailed it]

But this discovery of COURSE means more Fun, specifically a scraping out of marrow followed by 48 hours of unconsciousness followed by a right leg swollen four times normal to the thigh and hip joint which makes movement to say the least amusing.

Always happens on the ground in front of the computer in my experience with John Nash. “Oops, what’s the max size precision? 32 bits [it was 1991]. Microsoft just blew it.”]

Now, I have no intention of being Baron Munchshausen as if I am self-curing, and pulling myself up to the moon by my hair but I’ll do so if I have to and I am able to. The oncology team is working hard but for the same reason I wanted to focus “like a laser beam” within my area of expertise of compilers, the oncologists have their own sub-oncological specialities and may regard the feedback from metastasis here in the form of a clot as messy indeed.

But we now have to hammer said clot. I have learned how to self-inject the med, should have learned that a long time ago you asked me. It’s real simple, with basic works: fold some fat or muscle and in she goes. ‘Course don’t forget to depress the plunger. Baby stuff. Kurt Cobain could do it in his sleep. Together with 99% of my generation. I dunno, unscrewing the top of a bottle seemed overall simpler.

And there’s no point in staying further with this…100 HKD per night is still money, and I need to hump around. Motion is the key, according to my docs and Merck and everything I see, because motion causes circulation and circulation reduces edema.

With difficulty, in this particular situation, which means that I shall have to at one and the same time accept a natural sloth in which I don’t do anything perhaps all day, but THEN arise and shine any way for my nature is not predetermined…cue Spinoza.

OK. Here I am at the base of the dark tower again, and there are those glory steps. Right, you swine, this should read well in the Morning Post.

Besides, I haven’t been out in the Light for a MONTH.

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Workout Log 14 July 2012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on July 13, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen! (Beethoven’s own variations, not St Saen’s)

20 minute free dance with weights to St Saens’ variations on Beethoven’s Eroica theme. Very tired from yesterday’s long workout had slept 12 hours to recuperate.

Queen Mary Day 3

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on June 1, 2012 by spinoza1111

Cavatina

The Cavatina of Beethoven’s B flat string quartet (listen!) is a healing hand which also admonishes. The doctor has just given me good news.

The back pain is noncancerous in origin. It’s caused by osteophytes which are a normal degeneration of bone as one ahem ahem ages.

We still have Crazy Lymph Nodes with Stuff: cancer cells; the two swollen nodes will be removed 18 June for a full biopsy. The probabilities are converging on prostate cancer, the male scourge, and many of these are slow growing.

My theory is it came from Red Bull and Monster Khaos energy drinks, for I think of myself as a young swinger and stud, a wild and crazy guy, the man who reads Playboy, James: James BOND (da da DA da)…and when I don’t feel like that, when I start channeling my Father at his worst, moaning and groaning, I hammer down an energy drink.

It is my layperson’s understanding that self-manipulation of male hormones (energy drinks contain testosterone) is bad for prostates. I thought I was a smart guy, and I am in a way, but I have been in denial about my age. This is probably because I am, in Jane Austen’s words, in want of a wife to chide me about this and many other matters.

When I was but thirty and one
I wanted to have fun
And now I’m sixty two
And I eat the leek of bitter rue.

But I am responsible for my choice
‘Twas made with a loud voice
And it was better than to fall
Into Despond and make my family miserable.

Indeed it was the first fork I took
With any thought not found in a book
All of this was said better by Robert Frost
In the road not taken. But O the cost.

(C) 2012 Edward G. Nilges. Moral rights are asserted my sons will need the money if my output ever gets popular, dammit. You know, like Emily Dickinson or something. When I think of the trivial crap that passes for self-confession nowadays, unleavened by any Kultur…I know damn well that this crap I write is Campari, or the Green Fairy. Not for everyone. But today, in a world that’s “hot, flat, and crowded” that is the kiss of death.

The fact is little kids are admonished by the mothers on the MTR to give the seat to the nice old Lao-Shih teacher. If I give my seat up it’s to some guy who looks like one of the Three Immortals, the Huang or Yellow Emperor who lives under a mountain when he’s not shopping in Hong Kong, may he have “ten thousand years” by which I mean immortality.

The false admonishment to not be sentimental or maudlin is a product of entertainment culture which trivializes everything. Hey, this is my party and I’ll cry if I want.

Grosse Fuge (Listen!)

Discharged today. Oh let this High Culture be without apology a monument to the human suffering I saw here and to the professionalism of the doctors, nurses, staff and blood take-butt ache dudes at Queen Mary Hospital, right down to the pissed off blood pressure taker at dawn:

Pissed off guy: BLOOD TAKE!

Me: Butt ache?

POG:BLOOD TAKE!

Me: Yes, my butt aches.

POG: “NO, TAKE YOUR BLOOD”

The Grosse Fuge to which my Father said “turn that crap down”. He thought it was modern. It wasn’t. It was written by a man wracked with pain and deafness in 1825, as the Holy Alliance destroyed the political hopes of a generation and tried to turn back the clock to the ancient regime.

Finale: Free Dance (Listen!)

How to prevent the fiend, and kill vermin was the Good Son’s mission in the old play.

I wash hands like George Clooney in ER following the chart and even using my elbow to turn the faucet on and off. I note that each bed has an alcohol spritzer so I use it.

Queen Mary is more verminous than a prestige hospital in America but no more verminous than County.

Crapping is an adventure in Hong Kong despite the advanced level of this place. One is well advised to carry alcohol pads or toilet paper and to check for TP before doing the actual deed.

Erica Jong, in Fear of Flying, was horrified by the little platforms in Germany where one can conduct a solemn inspection of one’s bowel movement; but in old age, it is a point of wisdom to do this. I am not going to share the condition of my movements online. There are, after all, limits. But everything is apparently pukka.

The water pressure in China is less which often results in floaters, a sort of Et In Arcadia Ego (I too am in Arcadia, as Poussin knew), and it’s frustrating to have to leave one’s own.

Queueing for the loo is a reality even at times for men. Women in America are familiar with the rather sad lines of their Fair Sex, dressed smashingly, at the opera, waiting to use the can. In Hong Kong it is a reality even in the posh IFC male loo, and for the women especially on Sunday, when the Filipina and Indonesian helpers lengthen the queue, chattering like birds of paradise.

In mainland China, a fairly idiotic socialist decision (akin to a decision, documented in Jung Chang’s Wild Swans, to not provide central heating south of the Huang) was to create equal numbers of men’s and women’s cans. But there are probably more women’s cans in the IFC of Hong Kong. Nonetheless, queueing occurs.

But I digress.

State of Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 5 Jan 2012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on January 5, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Knucklehead Flibbertigibbet Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Sweet Old Zydeco Sound of Clifton Chenier (le Roi du Bayoo)’ as of 5 January 2012”, acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60*80 cm.

Oops, the Dark Land between her legs is now the sea, for I live in a drowned world: Lamma Island and Hong Kong were mysterious, and perhaps accurst, or sacred, or both, mountain peaks at the end of the last Ice Age, when the seas had receded into frozen glaciers and the lands between China and East Timor were grasslands.

Which means she’s on the edge of a cataract of recent rain falling into the sea behind her and needs to mind the music and the step.

The tree’s giving way before her elbow is a disaster and it’s going to take more than a delicate spray of flowers against the sky to correct this; it makes it seem that the trees and the elbow are in the same plane and they aren’t.

But after my experience, a couple of years ago, with pentimenti on the portrait of Aung San Syu Kyi, I no longer fear making corrections: I’d tossed it aside because the eyes were out of joint, but started on it again a few months later, doing major eye surgery and the result was my best work so far.

My source technique (based on egg tempera painting as taught in Daniel V Thompson’s book) forbids correction and is unforgiving, but this is nonsense. “Shoots (zuschammen) into the mirror writing of its opposite”.

Grandiosity and its inverse depression are going to have to fight it out between themselves in the corner, since creating something new while listening to the strains of Bach, or Scott Joplin’s “Genuine Negro Ragtime”, is the most fun I can have with my clothes on.

Dancer clothed in light #2: Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on May 15, 2011 by spinoza1111

Edward G. Nilges, “Dancer Clothed in Light #2: Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense”, pen, pencil and Gimp, A4 size, 10 May 2011

DIE GEFANGENEN O welche Lust, o welche Lust, in freier Luft den Atem leicht zu heben! O welche Lust! Nur hier, nur hier ist Leben, der Kerker eine Gruft, eine Gruft. O welche Lust usw. Wir wollen mit Vertrauen auf Gottes Hilfe bauen; die Hoffnung flüstert sanft mir zu, wir werden frei, wir finden Ruh’, wir finden Ruh’! O Himmel! Rettung! welch’ ein Glück! O Freiheit, o Freiheit, kehrst du zurück? Ein Offizier erscheint auf dem Wall und entfernt sich wieder. EIN GEFANGENER Sprecht leise, haltet euch zurück! Wir sind belauscht mit Ohr und Blick! DIE GEFANGENEN Sprecht leise, haltet euch zurück usw. Wir sind belauscht mit Ohr und Blick! Sprecht leise, ja leise, leise. O welche Lust usw. Sprecht leise, haltet euch zurück usw.

Beethoven, Fidelio: will open a new window

The underlying figure drawing is here. Caution, it is not child or work safe.

A Young Violinist Practices

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on December 25, 2010 by spinoza1111

Edward G. Nilges, “A Young Violinist Practices Beethoven”, 25 Dec 2010, pencil, pen, fuser, conte red chalk and gimp modifications, each drawing of 3 A4 size

Poem to Sundry Notes: Glenn Gould Plays 15 Variations and a Fugue

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on December 12, 2009 by spinoza1111

Poem, to Sundry Notes: Glenn Gould Plays 15 Variations and a Fugue on Beethoven’s Prometheus Theme

The tears of the Philistine are the laughter of the Gods,
Laughter benign and shrewd,
And Dionysius died for your sins
Upon the bitter rood.

Ludwig knew a fuguey tune
Let it have his way with him
Read the blighter as a rune
Nothing really scared him.

You can never blaspheme me,
Said Jesus Christ in Heaven
That’s why I died upon the tree
So that your sins they are forgiven.

Prometheus, ’tis said, stole the fire
And gave it to Pandora
Who op’d her box of hope and dreams
Somewhere east of Bora Bora

So come now and dance with me
Upon the threshing floor
Of the starry galaxy
It’s Katie bar the door.

Edward G. Nilges 13 Dec 2009