
On a quiet back street in Toonerville there is a haunted house. Obviously four meddling kids and their talking dog are looking around inside, but they won’t find anything. It is my dark place. I am the only one that can go inside and discover what truly is there, for the dark things inside are all a part of the dark side of Mickey.
But Mickey doesn’t have a dark side, you try and argue. Micky is all goofy giggles and nerdy Dungeons and Dragons jokes. Mickey is all cartoons and silly stories and he makes us all guffaw.
But I can assure you, everyone has a dark side. Without darkness, how can anyone recognize the light?
So, I have to go inside the old Ghost House every now and then and take stock of all the furniture, and make note of everyone… and every thing that has been living there. I go in there now because I am starting to rewrite a very dark story that I really have to get down on paper in novel form. It isn’t a true story. Ghost stories never are. But it is full of true things… old hurts, old fears, panics, and ghosts of Christmases Past.
There was the night I was stalked by a large black dog when I was nine and walking home from choir practice at the Methodist Church. We are talking Hound of the Baskervilles sort of big damn dog. I knew every dog that lived in town in those days, but I didn’t know that one. Maybe it wasn’t actually hunting me, but I ran the last two blocks to my house that night faster than I ever knew I could run before.
There was that cool autumn afternoon when he grabbed me and pushed me down behind a pile of tractor tires in the neighbor’s yard. He forcibly got my pants down… and what he did to me… It has taken more than forty years to be able to talk about what happened. I wasn’t able to talk about it until after I learned that he had died.
There were the nights spent in the emergency room. Severe potassium depletion… chest pains that could’ve been heart trouble but weren’t… The morning when my blood pressure was so high I thought I was going to die in front of my second period seventh grade English class. And the terrible waits in the emergency room when someone I loved was serious about suicide… that was the most terrible of all.
I am not frightened by the grim reaper in the same way that Shaggy and Scooby are. I have spent time in his company too many times for that. I do not fear him. In some ways he brings welcome relief. And I do believe I can beat him in chess and at least tie him in checkers.
So, yeah, the dark resources are all still there… still in place at the bottom of a deep, dark well. Bad things do wait in the future… but they are in the present and the past also. I am not a slave to fear and evil has no power over me. So, I think I can safely write a horror story. And I admit I am not Steven King. But I don’t want to be him. I want to be Mickey. And that is certainly scary enough for me.



















Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor
You should listen to the music. Not only is it beautiful, it is the perfect description of the now. Yes, I am a touch depressed, and the music is deep blue. But there are such strains of the bittersweet and angelic light, that Albinoni must be speaking directly from his heart into mine. This music paints my soul.
The sky reflects my mood with lurking dark blues and obscuring clouds incapable of completely taking away the sun. I finally had enough money to visit the doctor today. I had an infection in throat and sinus. I got medicine to heal the sores, and the medicine will prevent pneumonia, and probably saved my life.
My family was whole and together for the holidays, though three of us were sick for a good share of it and unable to spend the time together as we would’ve liked. Still, even though we had to take number one son to DFW Airport in the rain and send him back to Marine world, we got to see him and share good times with him, no matter how short. Deep blue with angelic violins of musical light. He made it back safely. I have more days and probably more months to live and write. And the music of existence continues to quietly play.
I continue to collect photos of new dawns. Here is December 27th.
It is possible that Tomaso Albinoni did not write the Adagio in G Minor. It is believed that it was cobbled together as a sort of hoax by his chief transcriber, Remo Giazotto. He apparently took old Dresden manuscripts and made this beautiful piece as a reflection of the work of Albinoni. Albinoni,a prolific composer of the 1700’s, beloved by Johan Sebastian Bach, wrote opera scores that never quite got published, and so,even though he is a composer of many musical works, most of them are lost to history. Yet, how can such a thing be considered a fake? The music touches my soul. From Albinoni’s soul, through Giazotto’s, to mine, and, hopefully, thence to yours. Listen to it. Really listen. You can’t help but understand what I mean. Even if you can’t stand classical music. Though, if you truly can’t stand classical music… I weep for thee.
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Filed under classical music, commentary, Depression, family, feeling sorry for myself, forgiveness, humor, illness, old art, review of music, strange and wonderful ideas about life
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