Last night, I went to see Hilary Hahn at Disney Hall, picking Grim up at 6 pm sharp. We took the 118 to the 5, and - unbelievably, we were in the Disney Hall parking lot by 6:46. You might say the shabularity was in scarce supply on that one. With an hour 14 to kill, we took a walk down to the Wells Fargo Center and The Colburn School across the street, where my former choir director is on the faculty. The Hilary concert was close to sold out. We had awesome first row center balcony seats. I've seen Hil in recital several times (recital is without orchestra), and even at promotional in-store appearances (Amoeba, The Apple Store in Santa Monica) and once at Club Largo, but I'd never seen her play an entire show solo, with no accompaniment, no piano, nothing, until last night's all-Bach program. Only one word can suffice: tremendous. What a life-enhancing experience, especially with what I am going through right now. She played the Bach Sonata #1, then the Partita #1, which totaled 45 minutes straight through, just HH and her violin, playing Bach, no sheet music, from memory.
I love memory.
There was a 20 minute intermission, then she returned to play the Partita #2, an intricate and superlative piece incorporating passages of what is called the affektenlehre (I learned that term from Dr.Joseph Farrell). The second Partita saw Hil display the full extent of her compendium of astonishing techniques and artistry. There is no better violinist in the world, and when all is said and done, many will say she is the greatest who ever lived. I am privileged to have seen her 23 times now, second only to Rush at 32. One day, she will pass them if she continues to tour. The concert lasted two hours including a 20 minute intermission. For an encore, Hil played the well-known section of the end of Partita #3, receiving a standing ovation.
We drove home with no traffic, Grim using his iPhone to Google (or whatever the AI is called) info on Bach and on Hil's violin, a Vuillaume. That got us talking about, and him Googling, Antonio Stradivarius, and I learned something new, that Stradivarius was a trade name. The family name was Stradivari. That I had not been aware of.
I've been fortunate to see Eric Johnson and Hilary Hahn in the past three weeks. Two of the very greatest, and most spiritual musicians I have ever seen and heard, two giants who mean the world to me. ////
After dropping Grim off, I got home by 11 pm, and thus had time for a movie: 'Girl on the Pier"(1952), which made up in atmosphere what it lacked in plot. A police detective is taking his family by train to the seaside, to spend a weekend fishing. There's a carnival on the pier, run by "Joe Hammond" (Campbell Singer), whose younger, tempestuous wife "Rita" (Veronica Hurst) is a problem because she knows something about Joe's past, and if he makes her mad enough she just might tell. Joe's a boozer, but they make enough quarters (or the British coin equivalent), to keep him in gin, and her in the nightclub on the wharf. The vacationing cop's 12-year-old son fancies himself a detective-in-the-making. On the train on their way to the sea, the family meet a young reporter, who strikes up a convo with their 18 year old daughter Cathy. Add a macho male nightclub singer (Ron Randell) who's after Rita Hammond, and you've got your basic ingredients. Mix in 40 minutes of non-plot interplay, and you've got the basis of the movie. If you extracted all the extraneous material, you'd have 20 minutes left out of a 61 minute film. But it's still good stuff because of the seaside location, and the Veddy Brrrttitish 1953 culturespeak. The deal is that singer Randell knows that Joe Hammond is not the man's real name, and that he was behind a bank job 15 years earlier. Randell tries blackmailing Hammond, but the bank money's long gone. Hammond does okay on his fortune telling machines and other midway games, as noted, but he ain't rich, and what money he does have, he drinks away. Randell then switches tactics by demanding 500 pounds and Rita, Hammond's wife. The extortion plot is woven through scenes of the boy detective playing in the carnival's waxworks museum, in which he sees Randell later get murdered by a waxwork clown. "Can't have happened," his Dad the policeman tells him. "Them's all wax dummies in there." Mom and Dad fish and kibbutz, Cathy, the 18 year old daughter, and her just-met-him-today-on-the-train reporter boyfriend motorboat about in the bay. Randell surreptitiously meets with Rita Hammond, until he gets killed, and that's your movie, until kiddo sees the clown in motion in the waxworks. His Dad and the coppers didn't believe him the first time, but now he can prove it. Two Big Thumbs Up, with the obligatory Clown on the Run on the Pier ending. The picture is razor sharp, and as the end credit says, "This is a MAJOR PRODUCTION". ////
And that's the only movie I have for the moment, due to the concert and the other stuff going on. I want to say that I don't feel good about calling Lillian names, and I apologise for the one I used in the last blog. That doesn't take away the fact of her extreme cruelty to me over the years, or the fact that she basically stole ten years of my life, but her behavior must have an explanation because very few young women behave as she did. There are only two possible reasons for it, in my opinion. One would be some possibly identifiable ego insufficiency. The other would be that she was a victim of sexual abuse. Every girl (and every boy as well) starts off in life as a child. If a child is pre-sexualised by abuse, extreme behavior can result, and Lillian's behavior was extreme enough to qualify as psychologically aberrant.
I would not even write about it, had I not been the one who's paid the price. I didn't know, when I went down to Terry's apartment on the night of September 1st, 1989, that I was opening up a monumental can of worms. Lillian was involved with a group of people who are as demonic, and as organised and secretive, as child molesters. I paid the price when Jared Rappaport kidnapped me, and I am still paying that price today. I live with what happened to me every single day of my life, and on top of that, it has never been acknowledged. It all adds up to a weight that's incredibly heavy to bear. Right now, I am barely surviving, emotionally, knowing what I know about how my life has been thrown in the trash by pretty much everyone I ever knew. My whole life, except my time with Pearl and my childhood, has been one big deception. I don't know how much longer I will live, but we'll see, in that time, whether the Earth is run by God, or by Satan.
In the long run, the monsters involved, the predators, will wish they'd only gone to hell, and if they are in hell when I die and cross over, I will pull them out of hell and they'll wish they could've stayed there.
Imagine waking up one day, and finding that half your life was a deception, and that the girl you loved and who you thought loved you, was involved in activities a porn star would find embarassing. Again, Lillian likely has abuse in her past. This ring was like a child molester ring, but it preyed on adults with borderline personalities. Marshal Lester should not be allowed to remain a free man. CSUN should be torn down, for harboring Jared Rappaport, Ray Tippo (deceased), and Eugene Carpenter (who, when he dies, will endure unspeakable torment unto eternity). CSUN is a despicable university that hides adult sex rings. Jerry Sandusky and Penn State are amateurs in comparison. CSUN should be razed and turned back into a squash field.
Northridge Hospital should be torn down, the ground be left to purify, the butterflies and hummingbirds return, then, a long time from now, it should be turned into a park. A new protocol should be in place for anyone calling themselves a doctor. Doctors should be the most scrutinized profession in the world, because many of them are demons, and the human race cannot afford to have even one non-Hippocratic doctor. This is how ugly this thing is.
Somehow, I got saddled with all of it, and my life was thrown into the trash. But I'm still here, and as long as I have left any time left, which may not be long, I am going to do all I can to expose what happened. I know that the bad guys have the authorities neutralised in their favor, and that I have no power on that score. And I know all the people formerly in my life are soulless, and without conscience, they literally have none, which is why they cant feel responsible for, or acknowledge, their actions. They have never cared about me. It's a heck of a thing to know all of this, and to have been the one who has paid the price, but my real world is the other side. That's where my friends are, my Mom, my Dad, and Pearl. The bad guys may win on this side, but I'll be waiting on the other for the rematch. ////
And that's all for today. My blogging music was Handel's Rodelio Opera. I send you Tons of Love, as always. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
No comments:
Post a Comment