Basic audio engineering - USB-MIDI cable, y adapter, stereo/mono/TRS/TS understanding

Background

I had decided to purchase a USB-MIDI cable online, and I was delighted to find a cheap one costing < $5.00: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001LJUVO4/ref=oh_aui_detailpage_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1. When it came, no setup was required other than plugging it in. It seemed to work well, transmitting notes from my keyboard (a Yamaha P95-B) to GarageBand. 

But the problem came when I depressed the pedal: The software did sustain properly, but it also registered a blatant E note. The E note is unacceptable for me because I use the pedal often when I play piano, and it completely interferes with whatever I'm playing.

Consequently, I searched online for a solution. It seemed many people had had this issue: "Pedal plays an E???" (Apple discussion thread). Unfortunately, there was no clear answer. When I search for solutions online, I try to find multiple sources that describe the same answer - not only to get multiple perspectives for more information, but also for higher confidence in the solution.

Some people in stores suggest the problem is on the software's side, or the keyboard's side, or the pedal's side. This is possible, but in this specific case of the pedal playing an E note but also doing the sustain properly, I have found the issue to be in the specific cable. 

One answer in the Apple discussion at https://discussions.apple.com/thread/3122897?tstart=0 describes that the cable is the problem, too:

Well, my problem has been solved.

I coughed up AUD$49 and bought a branded USB-to-MIDI cable and the sustain problem has disappeared.

But there's no explanation for why a more expensive MIDI-USB cable might solve the issue for people in general. So I called Yamaha to ask about the keyboard, and see if it was truly the keyboard's problem or the cable or something else. This is what I learned:

Solution

Basically, there are 2 kinds of MIDI cables: "class compliant" and "proprietary." Class compliant are the cheaper ones, typically $3-15. These can work for basic use, but they lack support for the appropriate drivers, so they may behave erratically, playing arbitrary notes or not registering sounds at all. Proprietary ones are more expensive, usually >$40. These support the appropriate drivers.

To set up proprietary MIDI cables, you must ensure your computer has the proper drivers; if not, go through an install process to obtain them. For Mac, that amounts to simply downloading the right driver from this site: http://download.yamaha.com/search/detail/?site=usa.yamaha.com&language=en&category_id1=16277&category_id2=16279&category_id3=16298&product_id=107905&asset_file_language=EN&asset_id=57163. He said that the "UX16 USB MIDI driver" would work for me.

In summary, the problem was that the cheap cable that I had ordered lacked the proper driver support to interpret the pedal properly. According to the Yamaha support person, proprietary MIDI cables have proper support for these drivers, so buying a proprietary MIDI cable, which is more expensive, and then downloading the right driver on your computer is likely to solve the issue.

Why get a MIDI-USB cable to begin with?

My friend on the phone was of the talkative type, and he went into much more detail than I had anticipated. I'm grateful he did so because he actually helped me solve a bigger issue in my plan to record better music with my keyboard.

The whole reason I wanted a MIDI-USB cable was to record my keyboard playing more precisely. However, MIDI-USB cables don't transmit sound; they just play an existing sound on the computer in the GarageBand or Logic Pro library. The quality of the sound file may be better depending on the library of sounds available, so Logic Pro's library may sound better than GarageBand's library. But the point is that since no sound is transmitted through the cable, the nuances in piano playing are lost - you know, that expressive musician stuff. Granted, MIDI provides lots of benefits. The notes are editable in digital audio workstations (DAW) like Logic Pro, and you can change the instruments easily after recording. But for me, the nuances of music are more valuable, and I intend to record songs in one go and with minimal editing with a DAW anyway.

Understanding terminology

After explaining that I have a Scarlett 2i2 interface by Focusrite (http://us.focusrite.com/usb-audio-interfaces/scarlett-2i2), which accepts 2 inputs, he gave me this recommendation:

To keep nuances of the keyboard, I should get a Y-cable. Specifically: "a Y adapter/cable with a stereo miniature male on one side and a mono 1/4 inch male on the other side." I didn't know how to interpret this initially, but after asking around and reading, it's not so difficult.

• male refers to the pointed end of a cable; female refers to the hole/receiving end of the cable.
• 3.5mm (about 1/8 inch) is the common size for plugs into laptops and mp3 players. Think Apple earbuds or the typical headphone jack of a laptop - that's 3.5mm. 1/4 inch is the larger size for lots of audio equipment.
• So, by "miniature" he probably meant 3.5mm (1/8 inch), since 1/4 inch is probably the standard among audio engineering.
• I had told him I had a way to connect my regular headphones to my keyboard, so this is probably why he said "miniature". But my method requires using a converter from a 3.5mm female (F) to a 1/4 inch male (M). So, getting a 1/4 inch on both sides for the cable works better because then I don't have to use the converter.
• The converter is like this Hosa GPM 3.5mm TRS Adaptor.
• There are two types of sound systems: mono and stereo. 
• From http://www.diffen.com/difference/Mono_vs_Stereo:
• Stereo (or Stereophonic sound) is the reproduction of sound using two or more independent audio channels in a way that creates the impression of sound heard from various directions, as in natural hearing. 
• Mono (Monaural or monophonic sound reproduction) has audio in a single channel.
• Since stereo reproduces sound in 2 independent channels, it makes sense that the y-adapter splits off - the end with one part is the stereo side, and the end with two parts is the mono side.
• You can differentiate Stereo and Mono by looking at the number of stripes on the metal part. The stripes are insulation; the metal contact bands are the channels, with one extra for ground. So 2 metal bands means mono, and 3 metal bands means stereo. This explains those TS/TRS abbreviations we see on lots of cables/converters.
• TRS = tip ring sleeve = names of 3 metal parts = stereo
• TS = tip sleeve = names of 2 metal parts = mono

Finally, this is the cable I ended up ordering: http://www.amazon.com/Hosa-Cable-STP203-Dual-Insert/dp/B000068O1P/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top/190-6296940-4917419. You can see the metal bands right in the picture.

The 1/4 inch stereo side fits into my Yamaha P95-B's headphone jack, and the two 1/4 inch mono sides fit into my Scarlett 2i2 interface's two inputs. They work great.

Diagram of how to connect

(Scarlett 2i2 Interface here)

Mono 1/4 inch male 

Input 1 Input 2 - make sure to switch both to *Line input mode!* 

\                 / 

 \               / 

   ---------- 

          | 

Stereo miniature male 

(Keyboard here)

Then I can put headphones into the Scarlett and listen to myself play as I record.

proximity, possibility; throwing vases at windows

the problem is the proximity and possibility.

we throw vases at windows to see which breaks first. do I create a way out, or merely shatter my inner art?

--

this angst is wreaking havoc. the walls must be talking, the ceiling wagging a finger, the floor holding me up so I don't fall any further.

the human mind is not ready for this crazy burst of technology around us. our brains do not have the capacity to handle what our hands create. we no longer use handcuffs to lock up criminals, and tying our hands up makes no difference because they have built a thousand things to set them free. 

isolation is a tower you have to climb to see the fruits at the top; but when you get to the top, do you actually want to look down? you just look into the horizon, the beauty of the skies around you.

heartstrings and infinity

If you ever get to infinity
You will find me there
For tomorrow I will climb
The elementary stair.

I will climb to the very top
Open up the door
Look at all the ages
Lying on the floor.

-One Mind

--

Humans are naturally more responsive to physical phenomena than abstract phenomena. For example, children acquire language far better if they experience conversation from other human beings in person versus on television. Similarly, physical interaction with writing and paper tends to feel more satisfying for many, as many people report. [Reference.] Musical instruments capture a physical appreciation as well. There is something more satisfying about interacting with a mechanical device, such as a string instrument, with bare hands. Granted, some may feel that keyboards are more versatile than real pianos because of the possibility of combining a variety of sounds, such as the regular piano sound with strings or vocals. It becomes questionable what constitutes the boundary between mechanical/technological and not.

--

you tie my heartstrings around my wrists and hang me from the very stars I gaze at; then you pluck the strings with your tantalizing guitar picks, stealing melodies from my memories and casting them into the void. but I find a way to bring them back, to reel them in and retie the bow at my heart, and fire arrows of solitude stone dipped in choir music at your calloused hands

143 feel, fall, conclude

those who have this close sensitivity to the world stand apart from the cold, unthinking, shielded ways of others; it's the difference of a recluse and a social frequenter - those who feel in quiet times, let moments seep by, and those who cling to the external world's praises and shouts. a strength and a weakness, this sensitivity. much more a weakness in these times when I deal with the odd opacity of those around me, the strange sense that there's something more there, yet teasingly let in only to be declined.

when I see something in the distance, I like to believe that I can feel that object there, feel the armies of clouds floating as I fly high above, feel the armchair rocking as I depart it at the airport, feel my momentum swaying the world behind me in my footsteps.

this here is my greatest strength and my greatest weakness. I wonder who can appreciate that.

this chapter has concluded though. I have tried to turn the page, and I think new words are about to meet my eyes. the problem is that my fingers are restless and sometimes want to turn back and glance at those twirling words of what happened and develop theories around them - but that is when your strength becomes your weakness: you overthink. not everyone has that order of thought, and when they don't and you deal with them, you end up deceiving yourself. remember, just hypotheses - nothing else. be objective.

hypotheses are not dreams.

--

mutual improvement with another would be fantastic.

--

why can't you just free me of this stockholm syndrome?

treasure mine

every time I see paragraphs of text; cabooses of words connected to form trains and trains of meaning; musical notes spread out across pages and pages – every time I see such things, I see a treasure mine of wealth, information, exploration; a mysterious depth as deep as space itself.

sensing

How do I truly internalize this wonderful summer? I feel as though I am squeezing a sponge to force out the oceans and oceans of happiness that had occurred, but I just can't quite squeeze hard enough; as though there is always more cold refreshing water to unleash, to seep out and hug my hands, to cleanse, to imbibe, to smell evaporate through your nostrils... This feeling. The endless layers that keep appearing no matter how many times I peel the onion. The depth in each word that was spoken - I yearn for it to be felt; the ephemerality of each smile - I yearn for it to be collected into a wooden box, locked into my heart, with the key tossed off a cliff. There is a force around me, a feeling from the mountains I see beyond the plane wing and clouds, the soft glow of light smeared by a paintbrush of God, stroking the horizon, painting a perfection that everyone else doesn't seem to yearn for; a touch of it, a smidge, is all my throat thirsts for, all my body aches for. I feel a mysterious force hovering about each object, each motion, each spin of a wheel along the cold concrete, each breath from the winds around the clouds I the distance. It tickles the edges of my senses, eliciting the tail end of a thread of my mind. I feel like I could swallow all oceans and still not fully quench this sensation at the edge of my senses.

the game

the investment game is like reaching into a murky pool of water to dig for riches. many people aren't willing to go deep enough after dressing up in such a nice tux for so many years. they cringe when their sleeves are drenched in a soggy cold mud; they wince when the water coldly kisses their knees and reaches up their thighs; they can't handle this seduction.

but there are others, the clever ones, who use fishing rods to let the bait draw in the gold. these patient others let rain clouds drift away while they strum their guitar to songbirds under the sun. it's a witty trick, a ritual. triumph and disaster are just different costumes worn by the same creature to them. and the beauty is that they can play along their lives with no stress as life goes on.

all it requires is picking the right pond.

sacrifice

Definitions:
Source One - sources of intrinsic happiness
Source Two - sources of extrinsic happiness

it is now apparent to me that Source 1 and Source 2 are in such strong conflict that this balancing act is possibly the biggest challenge of my life. every party, every social invitation yields nothing but revisitation when I return to my silent abode - my safe haven of One. and perhaps better so, because between the two sources of happiness, it is One that drives me to work harder, learn more, ponder deeply and seek benefits for the larger world. it is One that ignites the fire and keeps it burning into a roaring flame capable of devouring forests... but instead, One directs the flame to carve wood together to build fortresses, kingdoms, castles.

complacency is not an option.

to cast aside all others would be a paradise enclosed in steel walls no one will ever break through unless I make a breakthrough.

do I really have to choose between the two? is Two such an alcoholic beverage, a shot glass that shoots me in the foot, preventing me from walking the restless way I always do, preventing me from sprinting at my heart's content? do I want to have a permanent crutch by my side - fall into potential complacency blinded by this deep love we all search for, a love we ironically call "the one"?

is balance possible? can we find even ground between the two - but odd plus even is always odd; nothing can deny 1+2=3. as long as my strength lies in One, I will remain my true self, even if slowed down by Two; even if slowed down by finding that one true love we call "the one".

independence day

truly a day of independence - exploring and composing words of my own, definitions that capture observances that strengthen how we approach problems: Source 1, Source 2, cringe obstacles

--

soft morning sounds fade in through the window, car echoes slipping from the pebble-strewn street and levitating to hug the trees in the suburban landscape. quiet tones fill up the waking blankets, never organized, and a delicate array of petals drift about, sinking away, to the earth. this street could be a lily pond.

maybe the inspiration should stretch to make others see through your eyes: to captivate and inspire others to do good work, to live up to values, and alter all those things we never think about.

it's a pretty serious time for change, adjusting my view, yet it's important to never look too good nor talk too wise. stay humbled and kind, but the aloofness should never degrade to eery icicles dripping from poorly insulated ceilings, ready to drop, stone cold. instead it should be a quiet warmth, perhaps a candle, that directs it's kind light and heat this way and that, occasionally settling to be someone's bonfire.

why mind writing is important

mind writing: just spilling your mind out in writing. why do it?

-unify conscious and unconscious
-materialize thoughts as a whole

-the power of knowing the true name - you get closer to it
-improved sensitivity to the world, observation
-improving communication, articulation
-augmenting calm reflection, 'feel' instead of think; world peace tendencies

crack, thunder, snap awake

we write so often but don't read the journeys of others closely. what comes of this then, words lost to a void...

this art; feel

what kind of people, what community, to strive for? they may never even be there to embrace each other in the same room. I may never feel their touch, so why create this community? sometimes, you don't know what you're looking for. maybe you want this peace and anonymity rather than enduring the barks and calls of the world; you're sensitive, after all.

it all comes down to the goals, the feelings you want to embody. a peaceful life could follow from working in an existing realm. only start something meaningful - better than creating a monster or a distraction. maybe games are the delicate, picturesque creation that can truly tell something meaningful about the world around you. a quiet story. the story that remains in on hearts as we live out our lives. there must he something beautiful there. text. speech. gathering experiences, words from the world. living a life of words. I think that is a cute world to create. from text. something artistically small that you can fit in a locket and carry with you around your neck.

something about reading and art. a tiny art project. cute like that.

a cute, tiny art project

gather words from the web. tell a short, quiet story of someone's. engage by having the ...

--

I finally figured out what the hell this is! It's a unifying experiment, trying to bring my unconscious and conscious together - with every word, every outlandish merging of scraps from the corners and depths of a mind, letting each thotdrop rise to the surface take whatever sculpted form it takes - whatever word it feels most nearly encloses its identity.

woodwork

I'd like to know more people who make silence so enjoyable. more people who can feel their surroundings so closely, be touched by the subtleties.

prayer keeps me grounded, anchors me to this calm paradise, self-discovered. it wouldn't hurt to know someone who could also taste this peaceful quiet too, though. you must create your own happiness before others can enrich it.

--

serendipitous encounters with kind strangers who show me their condo and drive me to my place to stay.

the woodworker who puts "all his love" into his work – his amazing work that takes what we discard and turns it into masterpieces. this man, an inspiration.

--

a perfect place for quiet thoughts, reflection, independent exploration before the frenzy arrives for the summer. these next few days will be for recollection, calm, growth;

peace, subtleties, yearning, loss – it's trapped inside this container that is me, this container that grows smaller the more time I spend interacting with others, but bigger the more time I spend by myself. or is it the other way around?

kind strangers' freshly minted words bandage my bleeding cuts; but the people I know, the ones who don't say what I wish they would, that hurts the most.

going forward

probably not entirely fair, how it works – but it's over now...

a pillage of thoughts and words, green chairs on blue lawns, orange skies on white chocolate clouds and spurts of quiet. practice practice practice, and when you pause to take a breath, it's there, to relax, to calm down; to keep thoughts to yourself; there's not much..

law walks by and wonders if there's anything left. he had been training on his own while I was away for the semester. not punching numbers in a calculator, but running, stretching, juggling knives in the air, breaking spells from glares from strangers; coldness and sensitivity, trained at once.

but it's nice to find a deeper warmth glowing in fiction. the greatest friends come from anywhere, and the time you spend with them feels just right. we celebrate our quiet, independent hours in a comfort only we understand. those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.

--

we tend to owe our greatest gratitude to those very things we take most for granted.

--

soft hums of planes overhead. I'll be on one soon, with ev and law by my side, and we'll play about and relax in the coming gardens we have. exciting. I don't feel a dark cloud overhead; actually, I feel a soft glow from the ground beneath my feet, almost making me levitate into the air. 

I dislike the smirks I sometimes see. even worse, the cold words that accompany that false but seemingly genuine smile. I saw that today, and it hurt, the viciousness, but now law is binding up the wounds and throwing knives at the invisible wall that came up to knock it down. it's none of the person's business anyway - a passive-aggressive remark on personal desires; the peace and quiet is a lot calmer with the wall come falling down on her; death, in the dark passage storm cloud kind of way. law and ev each do the genuine smile that's truly from the heart, the kind that melts barriers and draws hugs; real people that feel; relatable; not that silent arrogance that lights fires and burns corpses and makes lightning want to strike twice each time you try to leave your car.

rain falls, the ground is wet, it's safe to walk, the stream in the sky is a beacon of hope, or a foretelling of good times ahead.

too observant

listening so carefully that I hear the rain of electricity from the headphones around my ears.

--

I could tell the interest wasn't there (or perhaps I misread it): when holding your hands up in the air felt like holding two weights that were waiting to be let free to drop; when I sat upright and pointed out the planet (star?) that was in the sky, and you inched farther away, to the point I thought you might fall off the bench, just barely sitting on it; when my adventurous spirit is blocked by mundanity or some form of emotional containment -

do people release as much as they take in? the words and spirit from the air... perhaps missed, not registered, not truly absorbed. or do some people, like black holes, swallow the brilliance – the light – from heartfelt expressions in the air, deep into the recesses of their forms, and never express free what they consumed?

--

sensitivity is the double-edged sword that lets you appreciate the fresh air of nature but feel the cutting pain of ice on skin. the suffocating feeling is not one to live with long-term. it's better to vaporize the dust before it settles, distill the foggy ghost of empty words and midnight doubt - I had no idea how someone could take away my breath the wrong way: by suffocating the expressive part, the lively part, the part that sparkles normally in sunlight, but now is flat, the fizz gone from the carbonated thirst quencher.

aftershocks

when the book fair, which had fortified countless white tents all over campus, preparing for battle grounds as the normally calm spaces became swarmed with book lovers, yapping children and loud-drum music; when the book fair, in its literate cannon-firing glory, trumpeting (in a good way) growth and education, aspiring authors and books on how to live; when the book fair, zapping life into this weekend, magnetizing campus grounds to pull in tangled paperclip-cars jumbled about parking spots...

when the book fair finished, I found myself drawn to the after state. the sea of voices replaced by the soft scrape of a rake sweeping away trash; the background rumble of moving trucks to ship away the vast piles of white - chairs, tents, stands, decor; an odd kind of quiet that turned campus into a different kind of magnet, one that repelled the visiting bibliophiles and attracted this quiet kid from his off-campus apartment instead.

it's as though the aftershocks have awoken the reflective, serene side of this place. vibrations humming to the heart instead of the brain, unlike all those forts and forts of books.

a yawning segue.

ghostly white chairs saluting all those remaining to clean up campus: the modest workers. the chairs bow before an empty stage. a white seagull comes to pick what pickings remain.

the air is fresher.

somehow, this is more interesting than the actual fair.

limitation

suddenly, the flute seems like a limitation; a case of glass around a greater creativity trying to shatter through.
the limits of tone and sound bounded by this invisible barrier, muting a beauty bashing its head on the transparent solid, feeling the endless smoothness mask it's explosive - but inert - possibilities.

revert inside

after any big party with excessively loud, sensory-exploding music, I feel a desire to curl up inside and be more reflective. it's the calm, quiet tunes that flow more regularly - the small enjoyments that piece together such a happy life. I like variation from time to time, but really - the flashing lights and booming bass amid meaningless yelps of 'yeah!' 'put your hands up!' or some other stupid content... really? excitement and thrill is good now and then, but put you can do that without having superficial banter. can't the world have a deep conversation?

it does have deep conversations. there are definitely communities like that. but what community am I striving to create?

--

how do we share fragments of our minds to the right people with just the perfect level of connection/intimacy? that would be a great thing to build a community around. like the private tumblr of yours - quickthots.tumblr.com - some slivers of thoughts (many inappropriate), but what purpose do they serve if they are completely private?

one reality is people don't care so much about others' rambling thoughts - or do they? they care about select people.

perhaps, you can make a game out of it. let the user leave a trail of breadcrumbs, a sequence of puzzles, that only someone who knew you in person and someone curious about your thoughts would go through. then, if they made it through, they'd be rewarded with the password to your private blog - where they can hence see private thoughts, musings, lalala.

an interesting product idea^^.

but who would be so vain? who would be so curious about another? am I? I would be curious about another friend - my good friends, mainly.

would anyone try me? probably not. but I can leave a trail anyway, and that'd be fun.

is this a viable community? is this a community that you would want to create?

stretch the mesh

the usual emotion: a tremor, a sea of waves, soaking up after a nice story.

I want to do something with stories.

train hopping.

--

it's important to exercise this habit of blending words together to quake the groundings of knowledge tied up in knots in your brain, in hopes of undoing some loose ends, perhaps unraveling some startling breakthrough.

exercise, stretch the mesh of words dangling from the ceiling, ready to drop onto the floor for you to grab like apples for newton.

that soft touch, that faint inspiration; it's lurking inside you. I think it will never leave, not till your last breath. maybe even then it will stick with your spirit.

that little person inside you is unraveling a scroll that's too big for his arms to hold wide. poor guy - he can't see the whole thing at once. he has to internalize parts of it; really feel the meaning reaching and spreading through every fiber of his being.

breakthrough in our cultural times - it's lurking there, inside you, ready to come out... just keep questioning, keep looking, searching, feeling that firewood burn and burn away...

--

when you can't feel it all
the fire lurks and cuts away
your solid molds in faint and fall
crisp mornings flaked insane

the message to burn out, out
in your heart ache's doubt, doubt
the reality quakes the ground beneath
you hold on tight: it's more, release

This is the message you want to hear
to end your rage and let it fly
This is the message you want to hear
to snap off the light and dive to rise

This is the message you want to hear
to end your search and call for tran-
quickly -quility comes to race
feel the heartflakes fall in place

green island serenade

soft tremors in this earthquake skin – all at the delicate sound of familiarity. home.

even though I barely understand.

union is so important. whose blood line. creation. there's a beauty, you have to admit, in this existence; biology.

something moving, swooning the feathers from embers burnt adrift from the sky

touching the soft embers - do they burn you or not.

missing symbols to capture this feeling, soft coolness; just out of reach, this language, this voice, these words, this history, this familiarity; this burning reach to understand and feel; but do you actually want to know?

yie zi suo de chao ing ming ming de yue guang de di xing; zai zhe yiang gu nian - ni wei se me hai? muo muo hai...

feel

startling serenity

the odd tremors of happiness bubble and froth inside, yet the smile doesn't break out ceaselessly on your lips; it's an odd state of mind, the kind that wakes you up at 4am and spurs you to write, not out of pain, but out of startling serenity. when achievement - the fulfillment of dreams - fixes all the cracked mirrors in one fell swoop, you find yourself staring at your reflection in wonder. this calm after the storm you've prepared for so long, dreaming as a little kid, realizing as you rise through your prime. I reach out my hand and feel for the tiniest remaining drizzle (umbrella cast aside); feel for any last bit of incompleteness.

it's internal: the obstacles are set up for yourself by yourself, and you recognize that you're only 1% of what you could be.

the full flow that consumed you 8 hours ago, that same flow you strive to master, to pour your mind through and imbibe in any given moment with a single encapsulating breath, swallowing your ship whole; the captain, the crew, merged, unified. all in the zone.

still must learn to inhale and exhale
the tempo through each vein;
train the ship to roll
in tempo with the waters;
synchronize the heartbeats
of each crew member.

internalize

the present. a powerful idea that you must regularly internalize, seep into your subconscious. a sponge with all the seas soaked inside, but not spilling one bit.

one second passes, and you feel your surroundings...

--

"when will you realize me?" law asks. he isn't spinning a dagger or twig in his hand; rather, a firecracker. "let me be the firework artist inside you."

--

stay close to your arts, your feathers dipped in black ink, dripping at your command, twirling at your fingertips. tell a story with the arts around you; analyze out of curiosity with the probabilistic, machine tools you gather in research; but ultimately, pour out the expressions from the contained orbits of planets that drift about that teary child scribbling madly away, talking to himself, dancing with tiny toys in his hand.

--

"thanks for being honest."

they hadn't said a word, but I could feel it. the breath churning the sea and capsizing my ship. the only one aboard.

It's not about them. Their perspective or any of that - ignore it. It's playing for yourself. Feel yourself wanting to express at that particular time-space moment. It just so happens there are others there.

--

probably too sensitive

--

is there a message brewing inside - a witch's pot stirring slowly with colorless fumes drifting up, sealing the ceiling's cracks shut, condensing and dribbling down the stone walls of a dark cavern where you claimed - "hermit" - away from people, away from yourself. cubes and puzzles lay strewn about the stone floor, where you lay a fuzzy carpet, the kind that makes you sneeze. the pieces of the puzzles are coming off. some you tore off in frustration. of their complexity. or of their simplicity.

the message: keep it short. the world is too vast to allow such drawling tempos and sinking melodies that vaporize, launch us into a stupor midway through. we're shrinking our time capsules and downsizing the time range. perhaps cutting off keys from the keyboard, too.

constraint creates creativity. brevity, expressiveness.

drink this message whole and let the grapefruit boil and steam your throat as the revelation startles your intestines and makes you heart pound more meticulously, more carefully - not with speed, but with precision, with daring, with bravery, with concision and alacrity.

also - the pains of your days should be stored in a bottle to drink later so you can fuel the flaming arts, the pouring inclination of thoughts, that expressiveness. it fills you up like a bottle and tosses you out to sea, and you "know not where you're going for the ocean will decide" - where will you wash up? you don't know, but at some shore on some island where you can find a cavern to brew a pot of colorless fumes and a drink to pour onto the walls and melt a message there, something for the next person who washes up on shore to internalize.

sunset is opening the cracks of the ceiling of this cavern, letting moonlight in.

we step out to the moonlight - it's so bright, it feels like sunrise. we stretch. we take out our chisels. it's time to start chipping away at this cave, the surrounding stone; start carving a masterpiece. do you have enough pain to fuel it?

--

true talent and ability. kind and modest. quietly inspiring. what a human being to be friends with.

dissipate

what is this lethargy - this sluggishness around me?

the smoke dissipates as the workload comes on. he rubs the smog off his curved glasses, leaving a gray spot on his shirt. a strange silence consumes him as he bumbles about in his apartment...

--

hypnotism - a very real thing - exploiting the weaknesses (?) of the mind. more evidence of this bodily burden. how do you know you're not hypnotized right now? like how do you know you're not dreaming... the same question. our identity is a bumbling mess that relies on our memories, but even those aren't secure. the wheel breaks the butterfly, but the butterfly may not have noticed, flapping about to fly up to the sun while it is actually falling. it doesn't know. a faded collage brushes its paint across my face, making me look silly as I sit about and lay claims to "depth" not "breadth" in my work, when he really knows nothing. clever whims, yells, lost and searching - you have to trust that you don't know what you want, as always, and that this breadth for the remainder of your time here is breadth that shall leave an imprint, more than just footprints on sand that washes over within the day, but actual burn marks on the gaps of your imbibing heart and mind; subtleties that drive your subconscious. yeah, that. it's still lurking, or sleeping, or standing by watching, as you try to train to master yourself, but you have to train the subconscious to work in unison with your conscious. find that peace and calm, that complete unity in action and work. the clutter should vaporize; wisps of faint white drifting upward and then blowing away with the wind.

it's hard to see, but the subtlety
shakes the ground beneath your feet
can't walk straight without watching
the silent guidance which you can't keep

trust that you don't know - trust that it's all in the process, all in the process, all in the process...

away but together

law sat across and folded his hands. his eyes beckoned me to describe the dream.

she got married - later scene, different situation, we were cuddling before a movie, head down on her lap; inner trappings of my thoughts, a subtle representation of things on my mind?

law didn't say anything and instead vanished.

we went to meditate before sleep in the first hour of new year's.

--

as much as you love them, you also want to get away from them.

"imagine a smooth lake before you," ev began, "so smooth, the surface looks like glass, not a ripple across the sky's refl– "

"no," law cuts in, pushing her aside. I keep my eyes closed in the process. "don't imagine. open your eyes. it's there."

I open, and the glassy surface is before my feet. musty woods surround the portal of the lake. I bend down and touch a finger to its surface...

tiny waves glide across like figure skaters, bouncing and colliding to form some unintelligible pattern.

the moment I lift my finger out, the skaters vanish. the ripples stabilize as though they never were.

law nods as he watches. all the rage seems to have left and sunk to the depth of the lake in that soft touch. my finger isn't even wet.

I sit back in the chair. after I sit, strangely, I find my feet on the surface of the water, still glassy smooth. the chair's front legs are in the lake also. the chair wasn't there before.

"don't turn around. instead, close your eyes." law advises, but his voice seems farther away. I can tell that I am not where I was. I feel as though I'm in the middle of the lake.

I close my eyes. the smoothness of the lake can be felt through the pores of my skin.

the chair tilts forward and I plunge in. I open my eyes -

not underwater, not in the sky, but back in my room, with law and ev there, by my side, as though nothing happened.

together, in all our journeys, regardless of whoever is outside this bedroom's door.

--

those shrieks and absurd songs out the door and downstairs. go away, law and ev say, to the noises about. that internal peace should not be disturbed by...

those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.

"to think them beneath you, yet still look up to them and constantly keep yourself in check. their words have no bearing - only you are you." law says, one hand on zy shoulder. tell them, "don't tell me what I should do; I am me and you are you; you may make recommendations, and I may consider; but in the end, this mind is my nation, and no one else is allowed."