The Perils of a Heat Wave ~and~ Awareness, Etcetera.

Good Thursday, Friends;

I DO NOT CONSIDER it a diminutive topic of conversation to begin this post by addressing the prevailing matter of the recent days' heat. In fact, I think it something of an error on the part of the supposed luminaries ("They") who made the proclamation that subjects pertaining to weather should be dismissed from the lexicon of 'meaningful conversation'. Though I would undoubtedly argue that we humans have more in common than not, in awareness of my propensity for the 'unravelling premise' I will stay on course by attesting that the ethos is perhaps the most evident example of our congruency. Therefore, when I speak to you of the weather, I am in essence acknowledging our common plight. It is a pure and innocent example of empathy which can be observed universally and with predictability. I say, there is nothing small about that whatsoever!

The 'heat', as I so mildly put it, seems to be asserting itself as a governing force of nature which exists only to hinder productivity and to impose its ferocity upon the hearts of those unfortunate souls who happen to be within it's unprejudiced sphere. It is as a resistive blanket upon our aspirations which in-turn has an apparent affect upon our emotions. In the past few days, I have met some of the angriest people that I remember to have ever encountered. A look around at a stop-light to the scowled faces within opposing air-conditioned cabs has been another contributor to my viewpoint. We are not only inconvenienced by the inferno of our subjection, but we have a tendency to come away from its grasp with the newly-assigned charge of continuation. Somehow, we find it our duty to pass the baton of harshness which we so readily accepted. I mean this to imply that we are indeed NOT victims to the sun and its tenacity, but that we underestimate its ability to impress its harsh inertia upon us. Be conscious and be nice. That is all I am saying!

Don't
Shoot the
Messenger!

Mister Hazelwood

An Eye-Opening Paragraph

Good evening,

I have been absolutely absorbed lately by Nathaniel Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables. I am love-struck and bewildered by the level of genius whereby it was composed. Throughout the course of my read I have continually been humbled by this man's ability to interpret and articulate those human conditions which I often attempt to express though apparently fall short! I would like to share one such example of this. Written over 150 years ago, it is amazing the degree to which it applies today:

There is sad confusion, indeed, when the spirit thus flits away into the past, or into the more awful future, or, in any manner, steps across the spaceless boundary betwixt its own region and the actual world; where the body remains to guide itself, as best it may with little more than the mechanism of animal life. It is like death, without death's quiet privilege, - its freedom from mortal care. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne (1851)

Wait, Mr. Hawthorne, until we devise a thing called a Television. You would recoil in horror!

That is all,
Mister

The Mystery of the Elusive Electron, by J.S. Hazelwood

Ah, Tuesday.....One of my seven favorite days! Having just peeled myself from the twilight, I am in a singularly juxtaposed state of half-waking / half dreaming. Let's see where this goes, shall we?

I suppose I should continue in the spirit of my previous transmission, where I had intended to elaborate on the specifics of my proprietorship, Innerverse Music. Firstly, I must express that as virtually all other facets of my existence, the definition in this business is in a constant state of flux. It is my apparent nature not only to accept change, but to seek it out where it exists (kind of like George W. and his "axes of evil"). I don't really know how to describe how a thing or an ideal can become obsolete in my mind within a matter of moments. It has been a profound struggle of mine to come to terms with the fact that others are not riding the same Space Shuttle Discovery. However, I will attempt to explain my function despite my categorization-evading inclinations.

My background is in the mathematics of electronic circuitry. For some five years I sat through a multitude vocational courses of electronics, the first of which had as an adjunct a depleted old teacher on the verge of retirement (to the 'Electrical' isle at Home Depot) named Mister Curry. That first year was devoted to classroom studies to include Ohm's Law and Kirchhoff's Laws of current, mathematical understanding of electronic circuitry and components, etc. This was a fascinating time for me as it seemed to describe more than the fundamentals of a trade. It was more like peering into the divine essence of the universe. The flow of electricity, as one begins to study it, is not completely unlike that of water. (Water is liken to divinity in practically every faith) It takes the path of least resistance, yet in great proportions can exhibit incomprehensible power. I was dumbfounded to find that most of what we 'know' about electricity is in theory, that there are very few 'Laws'. In short, the more I learned about this elusive form of energy, the more of a mystery it became. I was drawn to it's understanding in suspense as though it were some omnipotent Hitchcock film. In the following years of the course Mr. Curry grew more and more detached, allowing his students to do as they pleased. Most spent the three hours each day in un-related conversation. I, however, was not capable of the abandonment of these studies. Surrounded by materials for the development of circuitry - test meters and the like, I began a two year self-guided course of electronic experimentation. At the close of my final year, I was awarded a Certificate of Achievement as were the other twenty-or-so students (who probably to this day do not know what a capacitor does). Yet, I was also given the honor of "Student of the Year" by Mister Curry on the very year of his retirement. (He had been teaching the class for some thirty years). The announcement was to be in the newspaper and so I was interviewed and therein asked the question "What are your career plans". My un-delayed response was "Musician". When the paper was published it read "Electrical Engineer".

To-day I am both. I write and perform music in a professional capacity, yet I am also something of an 'Electronic Handyman'; specializing in the workings of audio and video systems, intercoms, alarms, security cameras and virtually anything else with an analogue electrical pulse (wait, that would make me a physician wouldn't it? .......Frankenstein???) I have made peace with the digital realm, acquiring a proficient understanding of its principles, however its 1's and 0's seem cold and sterile to me in comparison to the elegant flow of the enigmatic Sine Wave. To me, a circuit that coerces the energy of our own origin through a series of conductors and semi-conductors, engaging the magnetic coil in a relay, and hurdling itself through the void of a vacuum tube, is liken to the poetry of a steam train. Why have so many songs been written about trains and so few about integrated circuits?

Awake now,
Mister J.S. Hazelwood

A Parenthesis in Time

Good Sunday morning,

I find myself in particularly good spirits to-day, as it happens that I shall take a day of leisure. It is not often that this occurs, for I am perfectly devoted to my career as a way of life. This is not to suggest that I have chosen a mode of labour which does less than augment my skill-set and sensibilities, or to imply any sort of dis-satisfaction. Indeed, not. Instead, I come to you this morning with an awareness that life is a grand exercise in duality, and that redundancy is the precursor for that condition which seems to be the plague of our time, apathy. Alas, if we have not succumb to this zombie-state through the rigors of corporate or industrial shim-sham, we, of undisciplined mind have subjected our impressionable hearts to the addictive binds of intemperance, and so arrived at the same place by way of prescribed medication. This, I believe, is the dominating plight of man (particularly in America). Therefore, I take this day of rest as suggested in a multitude of ancient texts, to restore balance to my senses, i.e. to be "centered".

As I alluded-to earlier, I have been consumed in day's-of-late with the rigors of my life's work. Aware I am that it calls for description at this juncture, I am afraid that a simple trade-classification would not serve well to signify the complexities that one might perceive in a thorough explanation of my utilitarian function. Therefore, I will do just that:

It may be surprising to some, the diminished degree to which this publication has presented as a topic matters pertaining-to my own corporate enterprise, Innerverse Music. It does, in-fact, represent the culmination of mine and Mrs. Hazelwood's efforts and the sole fount of our wealth. It is a blanket which covers every facet of our pursuits, joint or otherwise, yet most explicitly Mr. and Mrs. Hazelwood. This is to say, 'our musical ensemble'. An evolving and elusive entity (even to our-selves) Mr. and Mrs. Hazelwood is a true 'experiment' in every sense of the word. I, as a man of science, have set-upon the task of songwriting, or rather 'composition', with the methodology of an inventor, discarding all assumptions and pre-conceptions. As opposed to re-creating the Can Opener and packaging it for sale with the exonerated "As Seen on TV" sticker, my objective has been to re-create the affect of the original creation of the can-opener, or perhaps the Cotton Gin. There is no doubt in my mind that though Eli Whitney was intent upon the assemblage of wealth, his prime motivation was to address an apparent need in society. In fact, I have read a particular essay which suggested that Whitney was quite aware of the political implications that his invention would have. The cotton gin may have been the very thing that made the abolition of slavery economically possible. (Okay, I heard that cynical hush. If you doubt the power of song, perhaps you should revert to paragraph 1 and consider the level of apathy which has muted your sense of wonderment). What I mean to express here is simply a correlation between ones intentions and the proportional usefulness of their renderings. Subsequently, the underlying intention of the music of Mr. and Mrs. Hazelwood is utilitarian. Therefore, I do not find it self-serving to divulge that Mrs. Hazewlood and I have been told repeatedly that our music is "refreshing" or that it "scratches an itch". It was contrived to be and do just that. Aside from this creative pursuit of which I could ramble on forever, there are indeed other tasks which contribute to the business of my work-week....

It is unfortunate timing, I know, but I have just checked the clock and found it in the inconvenient position of Twelve-and-Twelve. I must return now to the serenity of this lovely Sunday afternoon, and procure for myself a cup of tea.

On the
Seventh
Day,
J.S. Hazelwood

Experiment in Sobriety ~and~ Good Manors

Since our last rendezvous, I have been quite engaged in a particular cycle of experimentation. It began on Saturday with the Hypothesis that I could possibly ingest a copious amount of Gin without the ill-effects often associated with the practice. It was a singular experiment in that it began in Process well before Hypothesis. Therefore, I found it difficult to regulate the administration of the proposed subject of experimentation. Furthermore, in my zest, I made the critical error of introducing too many variables (beer and wine) to render any reliable data as to the human dispersion of Gin. As one would easily surmise, these irregular proceedings did not lend themselves to the Scientific Method and so my experiment was inconclusive. I was, in-fact, left with the result which my fellow scientists have often achieved - Hangover. This, followed by a two-day experience of 'mental desensitization' or perhaps more accurately, 'stupification' has been the embarrassing outcome of my botched rigmarole. To-day, as I am just beginning to reclaim the necessary level of lucidity, I will attempt to revisit the subject of my last transmission in its literary candour.

As I offered before, Mrs. Hazelwood and I have recently been committed to the pursuit of a Higher Estate, if you will, a more befitting domiciliary environment for our daily doings. As I stated, we did manage (after a rigorous search) to deem a particular edifice "to our liking" and to place an official decree of our offer into the writhing hands of the executor. However, since that naive conveyance we have been deeply engaged in a chess-match of climbing offers. Upon the approach of pecuniary exhaustion, we were impelled to cry "check" in significance of our final offer. It would prove to be "check-mate", as our formidable opponent did concede to the terms therein. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, we shall move within a month.

The proposed manor, I must detail, is no more than a few city-blocks from our current abode. It is quite a bit more modern and so (to the satisfaction of Mrs. Hazelwood) is seemingly void of phantasma. Though I do admit I might mourn the loss of this element within my creative space, I believe it will be somewhat liberating to move forward in my endeavours without the aid of ghost-writers. Perhaps I will establish a more credible mode of invention, save convention. Interestingly enough though, the cellar (presumably built as a bomb-shelter) contains an established work shop, perfect for the rigors of mad science which have been dominating my consciousness of late. Left to my devices, not to mention various and sundry electronic devices, it is incomprehensible at this moment what sort of ingenuity could occur in such a space! (I find it endearing to imagine that if some parallel blog on the part of Mrs. Hazelwood does exist, it might portray the wondrous possibilities presented by "The Kitchen").

That is all for to-day. I hope you will excuse any expressed remnants of my week-end's befuddlement. Indeed, my head is typically "in the clouds" as-apposed-to the clouds being in my head.

Clearly,
I Shall
Return,
Mr. J.S. H, E

Home is Where You Weave Your Web

Good Morning,

As the mysterious entity of time has been so generous as to grant me a short reprieve from its relentless, spiraling plight, I sit here once again in write of another web-log. In the immediate days past, while fusilladed with necessities of a pecuniary nature, I have repeatedly witnessed the Moon's reluctant quitclaim to the zenith and the Sun's subsequent dominance of this precious real-estate. It's rays have darted through the panes of my study as through a prism, casting its tyrannical beams about the room as to annihilate any remnants of moonlight that may be seeking solace here. Likewise, a multitude of spiders had apparently crept from their hiding-places and begun their own claim of my space. Upon entering my creative quarters for the first time this very morning, I was hastened by the impressive obstacle of arachnid ingenuity - a cob web of inordinately intricate construction in the doorway. My presumptive mind wonders if perhaps more than dormancy had allowed for this burst of handy-work. Had the invertebrates in fact helped their selves to the stagnate overabundance of creative energy which I had left un-packaged upon my writing desk. Indeed, it would have been stale upon my return anyhow.

The sky this morning is overcast, and so I am entreated with the endowment of invaluable writing-moments, equal only in terms of time-compensation to cell phone minutes. This room that I have mentioned, has become my retreat within the Hokum House, my vantage-point from which to gaze upon the world in an entranced state. I have labored frantically in this domiciliary allotment on blog, and song, and other form of memoir day after day for the past several years. Following these sentiments, I must divulge a bit of intelligence which within my countenance has given rise to a tumultuous storm of simultaneous delight and dejection. Mrs. Hazelwood and I are to move! Yes, for some time we have been actively engaged in the search for a new estate and have recently happened upon an available edifice which has piqued our interest to the degree of contractual obligation. Mere formalities, including but not limited to pecuniary relinquishment stand in our way of the violent yet triumphant upheaval of our roots.

With this disclosure, I will leave you short. That assiduous Sun has managed to pervade the shroud of cloud-cover that had been my affecter of borrowed time. Weather permitting, I will continue this promulgation to-morrow.

At a loss
not of words,
Mister J. Hazelwood

Independence = Transcendence

Dear Gentlepersons,

Upon returning from my travels, I was overwhelmed to find a barrage of tasks in wait before me. Conquer them I did, however, for I concluded that crying would only serve to prolong my efforts and perhaps to render me a 'sissy'. To-day, I have no other requirements lade upon my weary shoulders save this periodical. And that, my sorely missed friends, is hardly an albatross! Quite the contrary, it has become an eagerly anticipated waking-point in my mornings to adjourn with you upon this hallowed ground within the mysterious parallel dimension which is the Wold Wide Web. Therefore, I am literately yours until a time when I shall either run out of wind or be late for my regularly-scheduled massage.

To-day is a holiday for you, my American readers. Independence day, to be exact. Indeed, I hope you find this day to be the celebration of its intentions, reveling in the triumphs of the past and full of hope for the future. Indeed, patriotism is a sore subject for many in a country of economic decline, and others might even suggest that it borders on treason to express such a degeneration in national morale. It would seem to me that the word "Patriot" is a partisan word, vacillating in its implication based upon its asserting political party. As a registered Independent and with the benefit of objectivity, I say this: If I feel disgruntled by any course which my government undertaken, it is my human and national right to feel this way and I will not be scrutinized. However, as I have come to understand the laws of attraction, it makes absolutely no sense to dwell upon that which is wrong, lest I manifest more of it! This is not to say that we should whitewash any facet of our understanding. Yet, let's not pick at the scab of adversity until a necessary appendage has rotted off from infection. It does indeed take all kinds, my Democratic and Republican friends. And so, on this day of Independence, let us set aside our animosities and gather in the spirit of what this day is truly about - Little tiny explosions radiating the sky in collective bursts of color, and alcohol.

By the
Twilight's
Last Gleaming,

Mister Hazelwood