Bow Down To Her On Sunday

 

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I went to Winnipeg a couple months ago to help my mother sift through things she wanted to get rid of, accumulated paraphernalia, she wanted to pair down. Among the things she discarded were paintings and sketches. When I realized this I thought about preserving it since I love a lot of her work but when I got to the room I found she already destroyed much of what she wanted removed; ripped in half.

She also made a pile of work she was keeping many of which I never saw before and they were awesome. I realized she has stuff she’s attached to and stuff she isn’t and so do I. I don’t want anyone to hear songs that I haven’t finished or read lyrics I didn’t like that were in notebooks.

Salt’ n Pepa kind of summed up this point better than me 20 years ago

So I took her pile of ripped up paintings to the garbage dump which leads me to Shostakovich.

Can you imagine?! If you go to his wikipedia-

In 2004, the musicologist Olga Digonskaya discovered a trove of Shostakovich manuscripts at the Glinka State Central Museum of Musical Culture, Moscow. In a cardboard file were some “300 pages of musical sketches, pieces and scores” in the hand of Shostakovich. “A composer friend bribed Shostakovich’s housemaid to regularly deliver the contents of Shostakovich’s office waste bin to him, instead of taking it to the garbage. Some of those cast-offs eventually found their way into the Glinka. … The Glinka archive ‘contained a huge number of pieces and compositions which were completely unknown or could be traced quite indirectly,’ Digonskaya said.”

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Due to a composer “friend”? What an asshole. Let’s take a moment to listen to one of the kings  of string quartets.

4 thoughts on “Bow Down To Her On Sunday

  1. Mimicreature

    I have so much poetry and drawings that should never see the light of day. I, often, wake up with a burning need to write about something odd from my dreams. Once I’m fully awake, I’ll have a look. Here’s one of the brilliant lightening strikes, just as an example.

    She drives a cab
    She loves the cheese
    She wants to tell him
    He smells like cheese

    Wow, right? It goes on in that vein for about 30 lines. My family and friends seem to understand, my need for creative release doesn’t always include publicizing my creations. In fact, most times, I’m just writing or slapping paint on canvas to open the pressure gauge. I think I might kill a bitch, if some ‘friend’ had the nerve to confiscate my intellectual property. Thank the gods of technology for shredders.

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  2. Lula

    P.S. If I was the sort who was popular on Twitter, and wrote, HERE something with a #sign at the beginning of it… would the comment reach that greater world???

    I’m not popular on Twitter: why should I be? If someone as ingenious as Bob Wiseman hasn’t yet reigned in the legions of Twits… who is the Average Joe, to assume a throne, in that kingdom?

    But here, I’ll Tweet one I recently liked, which was #HeidiTrumpsTrump. Let us see what, if anything, becomes-of that comment.

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