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Cabin Cousins: Part 5 The Gales of November. Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connections. "Hmm" Melissa said, her face still buried in the pillow. She shifted and turned her head, and I moved to her side with one arm and a leg still draped over so we could look into each other's eyes. "Wow. That was..." She sighed. "...Wonderful." I smiled and kissed her cheek. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did." She squinted at me. "Are you sure I'm not dreaming, and you're just a figment of my imagination?" She said playfully, though I could tell there was something serious behind the question. "I'm real, and I'm right here, in your bed, and I love you." She searched my eyes for a moment, rolled onto her side, and pulled me in close, kissing me deeply. When we stopped kissing to catch our breath, she whispered. "It's our bed, and I love you too." We held each other in silence for a long while. I knew that she had something else to say, but I didn't push her. Eventually, she broke the silence. "Do you want pancakes? I want pancakes." Not exactly the soul-baring statement I was expecting, but now that she had said it, by damn I wanted pancakes. "I'll help." I had made pancakes exactly once before, and it wasn't a complete disaster, so I felt that my inclusion in the process wouldn't be too much of a hindrance. She got a distant look in her eye, then rolled onto her back, and covered her face with her hands with a groan. "I don't have any pancake mix." She peeked at me through her fingers and we both started laughing. I'm not sure why but we both found it hilarious but we roared with laughter. I playfully pushed her towards the side of the bed. "Well, get dressed. I'll take you out for breakfast." Still laughing, she got up and opened a dresser drawer. Stepping into a pair of light blue panties, she asked. "Are you getting dressed too, or are you going to go like that?" "I'm thinking about it." I quipped, eyes following her every movement. I loved watching her move. She had a litheness and grace to her. Cat-like? No, that's not quite right. Amazonian? Maybe, but that implies a stature and bulk that Melissa didn't have. She was fit, not body builder muscular, and she wasn't particularly tall, just shy of my own five foot ten. She was perfect, and my eyes couldn't get enough of her. Let's leave it at that. "You'll give the old ladies at Perkins quite a shock." She shot back, still laughing. With an exaggerated sigh, I rolled off the bed. "For the sake of the old ladies, fine, I'll get dressed." Chapter Sixteen. The plate clinked as Melissa set down her fork. "Ugh. I ate too much, but that really hit the spot." She had attacked her "tremendous twelve" meal with murderous intent. All that remained was a scrap of crust from a piece of toast, and some maple syrup residue on an otherwise clean plate. She had even swiped a strip of bacon off of my plate, an act that left fork marks on my brother's hands on several occasions. I looked at my plate, with its pile of hash browns and a third of a stack of pancakes remaining, and set down my fork. "I guess I didn't work up as much of an appetite as you, cause I'm stuffed too." Melissa looked at me with her special smile and mischievous eyes. "Well, you'll have to try harder next time." "I need to work out more." "I can help with that." She replied, and we both giggled, knowing the truth of it. "Let's start with a walk." We left the Perkins restaurant, and with Melissa navigating, we drove north out of Duluth on Hwy 61. We pulled off and parked where a little river crossed under the road and spilled through a steep set of rocky rapids to Lake Superior below. We hiked down a little trail, and she led me out onto one of the big rocks. The scenery was spectacular, and the water rushing past the rocks had a hypnotic quality. It hadn't snowed last night, but the wind was blowing hard off the lake, and the constant mist from the rapids gave the crisp early November air some real bite. We sat for a while without speaking. Just two people holding hands, taking in the scenery and the roar of the water. There was a Gordon Lightfoot song that had something about the gales of November, how did it go? "When I left home," Melissa began, just loud enough to hear. I turned and watched her, careful to hear what she was saying over the noise of the rapids. I had been hoping for, and dreading this moment, when she decided to get the details of her past out in the open. I resolved to not interrupt and to let her tell it at her own pace. "This was the first place I went." She continued. "I didn't know where to go. I didn't have anywhere to go." She sniffed. We were alone but had someone been watching, her running nose and the tears on her cheek might have been assumed to have been caused by the cold, but I knew differently. I could see the deep down hurt that was welling up, and my heart ached. I squeezed her hand, and let her talk. "Every night for two weeks, I'd leave school, then go up the hill to the mall and sit in the food court to do my homework. When the mall closed, I came here, and parked for the night right over there." She pointed up to the little parking lot where my truck was. "I'd wake up, scrape the snow and frost off the windows, and go to school. I didn't tell anyone because then I'd have to explain why I was sleeping in a car in February. I had friends, but not close friends, you know? Like, not the kind of friends that I could talk to about..." She trailed off and wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve. "I had been lucky, it hadn't been as cold as it should have been, but then one night it got very cold. When I left the mall, I knew if I spent the night here again, I could be in serious danger. So I went to the laundromat. There was never anyone in there in the middle of the night, so I sat at one of the tables and fell asleep. The owner woke me up a couple of hours later, yelling at me that I couldn't sleep there, so I got in my car and came back here." She had been looking at the water as she spoke, but now turned and looked at me. I saw the fear and shame these memories invoked. I wanted to say something, anything to comfort her, but I knew that I should let her say what she needed to say, so I let her continue. "When I went to sleep on the back seat, I didn't think I was going to ever wake up, and I was okay with that. I didn't care that I was going to die. Nobody cared, nobody would miss me. The world would be better off without one more stupid girl. Why bother going on?" She looked away from me, east towards the vast lake, and her face twisted up in anger. "You know, the worst thing, the worst part of all of it, is they made me feel like it was all my fault. They had me so twisted up, that I believed that I was the cause of everything that happened." She turned back to me, the anger fading, leaving just a profound sadness. I wiped the tears from her cheek, and she leaned her shoulder against me. "Did your parents tell you what happened?" My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard before replying. "They were vague." She gave a little smile that was like a sunbeam on a stormy day. "I asked your mom and dad not to tell anyone. You're so lucky to have them." She looked back to the lake and spoke quietly enough that if her face had not been right next to mine, I wouldn't have been able to hear her. "When I was fifteen, when I started looking more like a woman, and less like a little girl, my dad started abusing me. Mom, she was drunk more than she was sober. She knew, she had to know, and she didn't do anything." As the River roared in its ceaseless path to Lake Superior, and the cold wind whistled and rattled through the leafless trees, Melissa spoke of abuse and divorce, lost jobs and social status, the failing of the system to help a girl who was too scared to ask for help and the blame that was assigned for all of it. "So that night, I remember when the state trooper knocked on my window." She gave a brief mirthless huff. "I thought he was an angel, with the way his flashlight lit up the frost on the inside of the window. I thought I was dead, that it was all over. I felt relieved." She shook her head. "The next thing I remember was being in a hospital bed, wrapped in electric blankets, and seeing the sunrise through the window. That trooper was there. He had stayed with me, way past the end of his shift, just to make sure I was alright. Turns out, when they went to my parent's house to see what was going on, my dad was out of town, and my mom ended up getting arrested for assaulting an officer and having a bunch of heroin. That's why she went back to him. Not for me, but for the money to buy her drugs. The trooper persuaded me to reach out to my friends. He said that people can be capable of unexpected acts of kindness, and I decided to believe him. So I called Ashley. We had always gotten along pretty well, and her parents were always super nice to me. They let me stay with them, which was really awkward at first. I just couldn't believe that a family could be so, so perfect. It was like stepping into an old sitcom. Maybe there was a little trouble now and then, but everyone loved each other, and it all worked out in the end. It was surreal, but eventually, I started believing that it was how families should be. That it was right and good, and normal." She looked me in the eyes then, and I saw her love burning through the hurt. "I didn't think that I would ever have that. I thought that there was no way I could ever open up and let someone love me, to be me, to be normal. Who could want me? Then your parents invited me back to the cabin, and I grasped onto a foolish hope that maybe you could. Ever since it's just been, It just doesn't seem real. Charles, I know you love me, but I'm still so afraid." I silenced her with a quick kiss on the lips. I held her cold, rosy cheeks in my hands and looked her in the eyes. "None of what happened was your fault. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. I love you, I will always love you. Nothing in the past, present, or future will stop me from loving you until the end of time, and when we're both gone from this world, I'll find you in the next and keep loving you!" Fresh tears streamed down her face, not tears of remembered pain, but tears of joyful love. She threw her arms around me and we held each other tight. Overhead, a hawk called, adding its little part to the scene of wind, water, and young lovers. Chapter Seventeen. Getting in my truck and leaving Duluth that evening was the hardest thing I had ever done. The only thing that gave me the strength to leave was the knowledge that it was only temporary. Soon, very soon, I would never have to leave her again. When I got home, Mom was at the kitchen table reading a newspaper. She greeted me with a smile. I had to be very careful with how I was going to handle this conversation. I didn't want to lie to my mom, but I also didn't want to tell her the whole truth. "How was your weekend? I didn't get a call from the cops, so it couldn't have been too exciting." "I was the cop! We went to a Halloween party dressed as the Village People." "Fun!" Mom exclaimed, giving me a beaming smile. "Yeah, and something else happened. Do you know how I can get my employee discount at any store? Well, we stopped at one of the stores in Duluth, and I ended up talking with the yard manager. They've been having trouble finding someone competent to drive a forklift, and if I transferred up there, they'd give me a raise and make me an assistant manager. He said I could start working up there in two weeks." All of these individual facts were technically true, but it still felt like lying. "Good for you! It's great to have in-demand skills. That's a long way to drive though." "Yeah, it would be like, five hours of driving every day." "Did you look into getting an apartment up there?" Mom folded up the newspaper and gave me her undivided attention. "After the school year starts, there's literally nothing cheap available." "Where would you stay then?" She asked, looking concerned. "Well, on the way home, I was thinking about who I know that lives up there. Rob lives in a dorm, so I couldn't get away with staying there long-term. But then I remembered that Melissa lives in Duluth, I could maybe call her and see if she wants a roommate." Okay, this last bit was a lie. I didn't feel good about it, but it had to be done. "Our Melissa? Have you called her yet?" "Not yet. I'm pretty sure I have her number in my phone." "You should figure this out sooner rather than later." She looked at the clock. "It's not too late, give her a call now." I made a show of finding Melissa's number as if I hadn't memorized it weeks ago. Melissa and I had rehearsed this moment. I had the volume on my phone turned way up, so my mom was sure to hear Melissa's side of the conversation too. "Hello?" Melissa's angelic voice asked after three rings. "Hi Melissa, it's Charles." "Charles! It's good to hear from you! What's up?" "Well, I'm going to be transferring up there for work, and I was wondering if you would mind having me as a roommate until I found a place of my own." Another necessary lie. "Yeah, I guess that would be okay. You're not going to find anywhere else to stay until the end of the school year. Even then, I was lucky to get this place, this spring." "So, you're okay with me staying with you?" "Yeah, it'll be fun. Like staying at the cabin, but I don't think my landlord would approve of campfires." "I'll pay half the rent, and utilities, and everything." "Naturally," Melissa said. "I was going to ask one of my friends if they wanted to move in. Only paying half the rent will make saving for school a lot easier." "Cool. So, I guess I'll give you a call tomorrow, and we can figure out the details?" "Yeah, okay." "I'm talking with my mom right now, so I should probably let you go." "Hi Mom!" Melissa yelled. "Hi, Melissa," Mom replied, loud enough to be sure that the phone picked it up. "Talk to you tomorrow, bye!" Melissa said, much quieter this time. "Bye." I had to be very careful not to reflexively say I love you. I put my phone away and noticed that my mom was studying me with a funny little smile on her face. Then in the most casual tone, she asked. "So, does she love you as much as you love her?" My heart nearly stopped. I couldn't respond. "That was a lovely charade. Unnecessary, but lovely." I couldn't speak. My brain frantically searched for words but found only shocked silence. "Oh, honey." She began, in a soothing motherly voice. "You're my baby. Did you think I wouldn't know? It was plain to see at the cabin that you two are in love. You spent the weekend with her?" I forced myself to reply. "Yes," I said, fearing that it was all over. I felt like crying. "Good," Mom said simply. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom knew about me and Melissa, and she was... Happy for me? "So, you're not mad about us?" "Oh, Charles. Love is so precious. It doesn't matter where you find it, but when you do, you hold on with both hands and never let go." My tears came then, flowing hard as I released all my pent-up fears and anxiety. Mom held me as I cried on her shoulder. She gently rubbed my back like she used to do when I was a kid. When my crying subsided, she held my shoulders at arm's length. "Now, tell me about her." I did. In the conversation that followed, I was more honest and open about my feelings than I could remember being to anyone other than Melissa. I explained how we knew what each other was thinking or feeling, just by looking into each other's eyes. I told her how I wanted to improve myself, to be a better person for Melissa. And, looking back on it with a touch of horror, I did my best to explain the connection I felt with Melissa when we made love. Throughout it all, my mother was nothing but caring and understanding. After all the fear of this moment, it was surreal. It felt so good, so liberating to tell her how I felt about Melissa. When I was done, I asked Mom. "Does Dad know?" "Oh, I doubt he picked up on it." "Are you going to tell him?" Of all the people in the family, I was sure that Dad would be the least likely to accept. He had always been very traditional. Kind and gentle, but with a very strict moral compass. "Of course. He's my husband. The way you feel about Melissa, I feel about him." She hugged me again. "Don't be ashamed. Love her with all your heart, and everything else will work itself out." She kissed me on the cheek and told me that she loved me. I told her that I loved her too, and said goodnight. I went to my bedroom, shut the door, and called Melissa. "What's up?" She answered. "I didn't think I'd hear from you until tomorrow." Deciding to just be direct about it, I said. "My mother has officially given us her blessing." The line was silent as Melissa processed this. When she spoke, I could tell that she was crying. "How did she find out?" She asked. I recounted the whole conversation. "See? I told you your mom was the best." "She really is." "So, what now?" She asked, with a bit of anxiety. "She said that she had to tell everyone because it's better to have it out in the open than have to keep lying to the family. I agreed." After a short pause, Melissa said. "Me too." As it turns out, my family's reaction was both better than I had feared and worse than I had hoped. My parents had called a family meeting and all of my immediate family, and their spouses, showed up. There were those like my mom, and my brother Mark, who were supportive and genuinely happy for me. On the other end of things, there were people like my second older brother, Stephen, and his wife, who were disgusted and called me a pervert. Most were somewhere in the middle, either not understanding and being polite about it, or just ambivalent to the whole issue. Then there was my dad. He just sat there the whole time, with a frown on his face, and never spoke a word. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed, or angry, or what, and it tore me up inside. He had never in his life been shy about voicing his opinion. After my mom, he was who I needed acceptance from the most. I desperately wanted him to say something, anything, but he never did. His silence cut deeper than any insult or accusation ever could. At the beginning, and with prompting from my mom, I had stood before everyone, confessing Melissa's and my love for each other, and that I was moving out to live with her in Duluth. After the initial shock and spectrum of reactions, I sat down and answered questions. Now, not being able to bear my father's silence any longer, I stood again, interrupting several side conversations. I addressed the whole group, but my words were meant for my father more than anyone. "Melissa and I truly love each other. Nothing you do or say can change it. Accept it, accept us, or don't. I don't care." Dad didn't react, didn't even look me in the eyes. I rushed to my room and locked the door. I curled up on my bed and cried, harder than I could remember ever crying before. The stress of the family meeting and my dad's non-reaction had utterly destroyed me. I held a pillow over my head to muffle the sounds of my uncontrollable sobs, and to hide my face from the world. "What if they're right about you?" A part of my mind asked. "What if you're just a sicko. That's what they all think." "No! I really do love her!" Another part of my mind answered. "What kind of weirdo falls in love with his cousin? What kind of deviant fucks someone in his own family?" "No! Our love is pure and perfect!" "Yeah, perfect. The perfect fantasy of a clinically twisted pervert! You're just taking advantage of a poor broken girl." "No..." I moaned aloud, holding my head in my hands. Sometime after, someone knocked lightly on my bedroom door. I ignored it, lost as I was in terrible contradictory thoughts. The knock came again, and I heard my mom's voice. "Charles, honey. Can I come in?" I didn't respond, knowing that right then I couldn't bear to face anyone, even my mother. "Oh, my baby." She said through the door. "All I want is for you to be happy. Follow your heart, everything will work out. I love you." Her words quieted the thoughts whirling through my mind, and though my sobs faded, the tears continued to flow. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I closed my eyes and imagined Melissa lying next to me. I thought about how if she were here, she would comfort me, and wipe the tears from my face. I could see her so clearly in my mind, see how her icy blue eyes would pour her inexhaustible love into me. Soon, my tears stopped flowing, and I regained a sense of peace. I felt awful for doubting myself, for doubting Melissa, if even for a moment. Our love is right. It is pure and perfect. She made me complete, as I made her complete. I drifted off to sleep, with a smile on my face, thinking about Melissa, and dreaming about the future. Chapter Eighteen. Charles copes with changes, but the biggest is yet to happen. The armrests of the padded chair where I was seated were a little too high to be comfortable, so I kept my hands folded in my lap. I gazed at the paintings of calm rural scenes hung on the walls of the spacious office. I wondered absently if they were real places or just the artist's impression of idyllic country life. I glanced at the woman in the matching chair positioned across from me. She was patiently waiting for me to continue my story, with an encouraging expression on her face. "I moved my things into Melissa's apartment a few days later and spent the night with her a couple of times when I had the day off. After the two weeks were up, I started work at the Duluth store and lived with her from then on. I think the only word to describe the years that followed is heavenly. I wouldn't have changed a single thing." "Tell me more about how your family reacted," said the woman, Dr. Clarke. "Did your father and brother ever come around?" "Dad? Yeah, he just needed a little time to process it. After that, he was as good with it as Mom was. The thing with him was, years before, before anyone knew what had been going on with Melissa's dad, he'd known that something was wrong. I'm not sure how, but he knew. After Melissa left home, he would call and check in on her. He paid to have her car fixed and even paid the deposit on her apartment. He always went out of his way to make her feel like she had people that cared. I think he loved her as if she were his own daughter, so the whole thing with the two of us was kind of a shock. When Melissa and I went to my parent's place for Thanksgiving, later that month; and he saw firsthand how happy she was, it wasn't an issue." "And your brother, Stephen?" Dr. Clarke prompted. "That same Thanksgiving, I ended up knocking him down with a punch to the face. He said that Melissa's family were all degenerates and that Melissa was just bringing that degeneracy to our family now. That was the last time I ever saw him." I forced my clenched fists to relax and laid my palms flat on my thighs. "Have you ever thought about reaching out to him? People can change a lot in twenty-four years." "No," I said firmly. "It was his choice to ostracize himself from our family, and I want nothing to do with someone capable of being so deliberately malicious. He knew that she was just beginning to heal the trauma that had been done to her; and had said what he did, specifically to hurt her. Someone capable of doing that will always be capable of doing it." "You might be surprised by how much people can change," She said, as she scribbled a few lines in her notepad. "Maybe," I said, brows furrowing. Those words had made their way into Melissa's nightmares. My fists clenched again, as I remembered all the times I was awoken in the middle of the night by her sobs. I remembered how helpless I felt, being able to do nothing but console her; and hold her until she fell back asleep. My knuckles were white, and my fists trembled slightly. I saw Dr. Clarke glance down at my hands, but she did not indicate what she was thinking. Therapists must make superb poker players. "Some things just can't be forgiven," I said quietly, forcing my hands to relax. "Again, you might be surprised. We can talk more about that next week." She set aside her notepad and glanced up at the clock on the wall behind me. "Now close your eyes, and concentrate on your breathing. Take a slow deep breath, imagining all your negative emotions as a tangible thing. Now breathe out slowly as all those emotions evaporate and exit your body like smoke. Again, deep inhale, and out. Good. Feel your mind become still as your breath carries away the pain. Once more, in, and out. Good." For some reason, this technique worked for me. If left alone, my thoughts naturally gravitated to the bad memories, and each one brought two more with it until I became overwhelmed. I would become mentally gridlocked to the point of not being able to function in everyday life. "When I say the word joy, what is the first thing that pops into your mind?" My eyes were still closed, and I smiled. "Melissa's face when she first saw me that October weekend reunion, at the cabin." "Good. Keep up your breathing exercise. All the pain is gone, only the joy remains. Describe the scene for me. What else do you see? What do you smell and hear?" A single tear rolled down my cheek. I'm not sure why I started to cry, whether it was joy in the image of her, so happy and full of promise for the future, or sorrow because that future is gone. I would never again see her smile. "Sunbeams cut down through the trees, lighting up smoke drifting from the fire pit. She passes through one, and her hair glows like golden fire. I smell the white pines, strong in the soft breeze, and the smell of burning oak. A loon call echoes up from the lake, and all around the cabin yard, there is the quiet burble of conversations and laughter." I wiped the tears from my face with a flannel shirt sleeve and looked away from Dr. Clarke. I still felt embarrassed to cry in front of another person. "That sounds lovely. Hold on to that moment, use it as a refuge." She glanced at the clock again and stood. I stood as well, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table to dry my eyes. She walked me to her office door. "Thank you for sharing today, Charles. I think you are doing very well." As she opened the door, she asked. "Have you gone to the aromatherapy shop we talked about last week?" "No," I said dejectedly. "I was going to, but..." I had meant to go, but sometimes certain things were just impossible to make myself do. Going into an unfamiliar place and talking to a stranger was one of those things. Sometimes I could, sometimes I couldn't. This hadn't been a particularly good week, and the thought of talking to someone new, someone who would ask questions about why I was there, questions that would bring up painful memories, was simply unthinkable. Yesterday, I had made it all the way to my car and had the key in the ignition, but then I just sat there, unable to make myself go through with it. "That's ok." Said Dr. Clarke. I knew she knew why I didn't go, and I had gotten to the point where I felt safe sharing my feelings with her, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of shame. "Addy is very good at what she does, and she has helped many of my clients. She's a friend." I nodded and started moving through the doorway. Ending conversations always seemed so awkward. I never knew what to say. "Thank you for being so open today, Charles. See you again next week." She was looking at my eyes, and I met her gaze briefly before looking away. In recent years, I had become very uncomfortable making anything more than the briefest of eye contact with people, especially women, so I was usually at a huge disadvantage when it came to reading people's motivations and emotions. In that brief glimpse though, I caught the impression of empathy and a real desire to help. It felt really good to know that someone cared. I gave her a genuine smile and left. I left her office with the intention of going directly to the shop she had recommended, but by the time I was in my car, I just... couldn't. This is what my life had become. I could go from being on the verge of drowning in a sea of sorrow to feeling positive and optimistic in an instant, then back just as fast. But mostly, it was what I called 'the gray'. I am self-aware enough to understand how it began. Instead of dealing with certain traumatic events, my brain decided that it was easier and far less painful, just to push them aside. The problem is, that those things don't just go away. No matter how hard you push them down, they keep bubbling back up, and you end up pushing everything away in the effort. Then one day you realize that living in the gray was the only way to survive because every little bit of emotion, good or bad, could open the gates and let all the pain come rushing in. I had pushed everything and everyone aside for the sake of self-preservation, and it was killing me. I knew I needed help. I knew that the person I was, wasn't really me. The problem was, I had been in the gray so long, that I couldn't remember how it was before, not really. I knew that I had been happy once, that I had hopes and dreams. But that was all gone, lost in the gray. Chapter Nineteen. The next day turned out to be one of the good ones. I was able to get myself out of bed, dressed, and in the car. I decided that I would finally make it to this aromatherapy shop Dr. Clarke wanted me to go to. I turned the key in the ignition, and my geriatric Honda Civic purred to life. I quickly released the emergency brake and shifted into reverse. I backed out of my parking spot with a sigh. There, I did it. The hard part was over, and now that I had started the task, it would be easier to go through with it. Don't ask me why that makes sense, I wouldn't know how to even start explaining. I enjoyed my drive across town. It was a beautiful day in Duluth. Down near Lake Superior, it was a little breezy and a comfortable 65 degrees, perfect for driving with the windows down. Climbing the hill on 194, the farther I got away from the lake, the hotter it got. By the time I got to the shop, it was nearly 80 degrees, and I had begun to sweat. A typical July day in the Twin Ports. I've always said, that this was one of the things I loved most about living in Duluth. It could be hot as hell up on top of the hill, but if the wind was right, it was always cool near the lake. I shut the car off and set the E brake. I wiped a bit of sweat off my brow, and it occurred to me that I was wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday and that I hadn't showered. Hit with a sudden wave of shame and embarrassment about meeting someone new in this state, I almost just left to go back home. With an effort of willpower, I opened the car door and stepped out. Task begun. I walked in and was greeted by a smiling older lady that I assumed was Addy. "Hi, um, Dr. Clarke sent me." Addy's smile widened. "Oh, come in, come in. I'm Addy." "I'm Charles," I replied, meeting her eyes for the briefest moment. "Pleased to meet you, Charles. How is Rose doing these days?" Dr. Clarke's first name was Virginia. She had grown up in Virginia, Minnesota, and I think she was still annoyed by her unimaginative parents, because she liked to use her middle name, Rose. I almost exclusively used 'Dr. Clarke' when speaking with or about her. "I've been seeing her for a couple of months now. She's nice." I never seemed to know how to answer questions like that. I grimaced inwardly at my awkwardness. "She's a sweetheart, and good at her job. I saw her for years." She led me over to a glass counter filled with hundreds of small labeled bottles. "So, are we looking for something to help you relax?" "Something to help me remember." I paused briefly, trying to find the right words. "Well, remembering isn't the issue." I felt a rush of awkwardness and a little bit of embarrassment in talking about something so personal with a stranger. My cheeks flushed, and I looked at the bottles in the case to ensure I didn't accidentally make eye contact. "I want to be able to focus on just the one thing." "Tell me about it." I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. "There's smoke from the campfire, mostly oak. Maybe a tiny bit of something acrid, like someone had thrown a plastic plate in the fire." As I spoke, I could hear Addy selecting a few bottles from a rack within the display case. "Pine trees. Even with the smoke, the pines smell strong." "Spruce?" Addy asked politely. "No, White Pine. The needles and sap are everywhere." "Anything else?" I took another deep breath but didn't reply. "Sometimes there's things around us that have a scent, but we're either too used to it, or its faint enough that we don't remember without smelling it. What else was there? Is this a campground?" Addy asked in what I recognized as being in a deliberately unobtrusive way. "It's a cabin," I replied, searching the mental image for things that may have a scent. "It's an old log cabin, surrounded by white pines. There's a log pile. My brother had been using the chainsaw earlier. My truck is parked in the driveway, it smells like gas because the tank leaks a little bit. Someone had mowed the little patch of grass in front of the cabin." "Is there anyone there, wearing perfume or aftershave?" I nodded my head in the affirmative. Addy gave me time to answer. "She..." I struggled to find words to describe Melissa's scent. How do you describe such a thing to someone? How do you describe a sunset to a blind person, or describe to a deaf person the emotions evoked by the Moonlight Sonata? She smelled like love, and I still smell her on the clothes I keep in her dresser. "You know how strawberry plants don't smell like strawberry? Not like the fake strawberry candy scent?" Of course, she did, but I went on. "A strawberry blossom. Delicate, faint, with just the promise of sweetness." "She was someone special," Addy said, in more of a statement than a question. "I ended up marrying her. She;" A tear rolled down my cheek. "Nine years ago;" I just couldn't force the words out of my mouth. I could tell Addy the exact date and time. I could tell her that we had just gone to see The Martian in the movie theater and that the night was clear and cool after the late August thunderstorm earlier that afternoon. I could tell her what song was playing on the radio. I could tell her the look on Melissa's face when the headlights crossed through the median in front of us. What I couldn't say, was physically unable to, was that nine years ago, Melissa died. "It's okay, dear," Addy said. She had a grandmotherly voice, full of kindness and understanding. For the briefest of moments, the power of that gentle voice made me believe that yes, everything would be okay. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll have something for you to try." I nodded and wandered away from the counter, absently browsing the candles and incense as I tried to compose myself. As I looked through the shop it occurred to me how posh the place seemed. High-dollar products are meant to be sold to people who have the luxury of ignoring price tags. I did not have that luxury. I felt anxiety and a general shame of the complete fuck up I had become. If this costs more than about forty dollars, I wouldn't be able to afford groceries this week. "Charles, it's ready," Addy called from the other side of the store. I walked over and closed my eyes as she extended a small glass bottle filled with clear liquid. I breathed deeply and conjured the scene in my mind. The scent of Addy's mixture hit me like a lightning bolt. It was like reading a book in the dark, and then someone turned on the lights. Everything came into sharp focus like I was there. The smoke, the pines, and, My breath caught in my throat. Buried deep within the mix there was something light, something so tenuous you hardly knew it was there. It was Melissa. In my mind, she threw herself into my arms, and I could smell her. I could smell her. "How?" I asked, looking her in the eyes for the first time since my initial glance. Addy smiled warmly, and I could see genuine care in her face, not just the politeness of a shop owner to a customer. "If she had been wearing perfume, it would have been harder. We remember scents much better than we think we do. Sometimes all we need is a little hint, and it's brought right to the front." Dr. Clarke was right, Addy was good. "Your idea about the strawberry flowers was good. They're very faint and don't smell like much at all, definitely not strawberries. But when you know that you have strawberry flowers, and you smell them, your brain brings up the memory of strawberries. Scents are all connected in our minds, and are rooted deep down at the very foundation of memory." Addy put a rubber stopper in the bottle and carefully placed the bottle in a velvet pouch with her shop's logo on it. She held it out for me to take. A tear dripped off my jaw, and I quickly wiped my face on a sleeve. "How much?" I started to ask, again acutely aware of my wrinkled clothes, my general lack of personal hygiene, and the depressingly small balance of my bank account. Addy cut me off with a raised hand. "Rose is a friend of mine, and any friend of hers is also a friend of mine." She pushed the velvet bag into my hands. "No, I can't;" Addy stopped me again. "Most of my clients just want something that smells nice in their bathroom, or to cover the smell of weed. I'm perfectly happy to take their money." She placed her hands on mine, still clutching the velvet bag. "It's very rare that I get to help someone. Take it as a gift, with my thanks." I was speechless, and fresh tears rolled down my face. I couldn't remember the last time someone was so altruistically kind to me. "Thank you." Was all I could say. To be continued in part 6. Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts, for Literotica.

Cabin Cousins: Part 5 The Gales of November. Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connections. "Hmm" Melissa said, her face still buried in the pillow. She shifted and turned her head, and I moved to her side with one arm and a leg still draped over so we could look into each other's eyes. "Wow. That was..." She sighed. "...Wonderful." I smiled and kissed her cheek. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did." She squinted at me. "Are you sure I'm not dreaming, and you're just a figment of my imagination?" She said playfully, though I could tell there was something serious behind the question. "I'm real, and I'm right here, in your bed, and I love you." She searched my eyes for a moment, rolled onto her side, and pulled me in close, kissing me deeply. When we stopped kissing to catch our breath, she whispered. "It's our bed, and I love you too." We held each other in silence for a long while. I knew that she had something else to say, but I didn't push her. Eventually, she broke the silence. "Do you want pancakes? I want pancakes." Not exactly the soul-baring statement I was expecting, but now that she had said it, by damn I wanted pancakes. "I'll help." I had made pancakes exactly once before, and it wasn't a complete disaster, so I felt that my inclusion in the process wouldn't be too much of a hindrance. She got a distant look in her eye, then rolled onto her back, and covered her face with her hands with a groan. "I don't have any pancake mix." She peeked at me through her fingers and we both started laughing. I'm not sure why but we both found it hilarious but we roared with laughter. I playfully pushed her towards the side of the bed. "Well, get dressed. I'll take you out for breakfast." Still laughing, she got up and opened a dresser drawer. Stepping into a pair of light blue panties, she asked. "Are you getting dressed too, or are you going to go like that?" "I'm thinking about it." I quipped, eyes following her every movement. I loved watching her move. She had a litheness and grace to her. Cat-like? No, that's not quite right. Amazonian? Maybe, but that implies a stature and bulk that Melissa didn't have. She was fit, not body builder muscular, and she wasn't particularly tall, just shy of my own five foot ten. She was perfect, and my eyes couldn't get enough of her. Let's leave it at that. "You'll give the old ladies at Perkins quite a shock." She shot back, still laughing. With an exaggerated sigh, I rolled off the bed. "For the sake of the old ladies, fine, I'll get dressed." Chapter Sixteen. The plate clinked as Melissa set down her fork. "Ugh. I ate too much, but that really hit the spot." She had attacked her "tremendous twelve" meal with murderous intent. All that remained was a scrap of crust from a piece of toast, and some maple syrup residue on an otherwise clean plate. She had even swiped a strip of bacon off of my plate, an act that left fork marks on my brother's hands on several occasions. I looked at my plate, with its pile of hash browns and a third of a stack of pancakes remaining, and set down my fork. "I guess I didn't work up as much of an appetite as you, cause I'm stuffed too." Melissa looked at me with her special smile and mischievous eyes. "Well, you'll have to try harder next time." "I need to work out more." "I can help with that." She replied, and we both giggled, knowing the truth of it. "Let's start with a walk." We left the Perkins restaurant, and with Melissa navigating, we drove north out of Duluth on Hwy 61. We pulled off and parked where a little river crossed under the road and spilled through a steep set of rocky rapids to Lake Superior below. We hiked down a little trail, and she led me out onto one of the big rocks. The scenery was spectacular, and the water rushing past the rocks had a hypnotic quality. It hadn't snowed last night, but the wind was blowing hard off the lake, and the constant mist from the rapids gave the crisp early November air some real bite. We sat for a while without speaking. Just two people holding hands, taking in the scenery and the roar of the water. There was a Gordon Lightfoot song that had something about the gales of November, how did it go? "When I left home," Melissa began, just loud enough to hear. I turned and watched her, careful to hear what she was saying over the noise of the rapids. I had been hoping for, and dreading this moment, when she decided to get the details of her past out in the open. I resolved to not interrupt and to let her tell it at her own pace. "This was the first place I went." She continued. "I didn't know where to go. I didn't have anywhere to go." She sniffed. We were alone but had someone been watching, her running nose and the tears on her cheek might have been assumed to have been caused by the cold, but I knew differently. I could see the deep down hurt that was welling up, and my heart ached. I squeezed her hand, and let her talk. "Every night for two weeks, I'd leave school, then go up the hill to the mall and sit in the food court to do my homework. When the mall closed, I came here, and parked for the night right over there." She pointed up to the little parking lot where my truck was. "I'd wake up, scrape the snow and frost off the windows, and go to school. I didn't tell anyone because then I'd have to explain why I was sleeping in a car in February. I had friends, but not close friends, you know? Like, not the kind of friends that I could talk to about..." She trailed off and wiped her nose on her jacket sleeve. "I had been lucky, it hadn't been as cold as it should have been, but then one night it got very cold. When I left the mall, I knew if I spent the night here again, I could be in serious danger. So I went to the laundromat. There was never anyone in there in the middle of the night, so I sat at one of the tables and fell asleep. The owner woke me up a couple of hours later, yelling at me that I couldn't sleep there, so I got in my car and came back here." She had been looking at the water as she spoke, but now turned and looked at me. I saw the fear and shame these memories invoked. I wanted to say something, anything to comfort her, but I knew that I should let her say what she needed to say, so I let her continue. "When I went to sleep on the back seat, I didn't think I was going to ever wake up, and I was okay with that. I didn't care that I was going to die. Nobody cared, nobody would miss me. The world would be better off without one more stupid girl. Why bother going on?" She looked away from me, east towards the vast lake, and her face twisted up in anger. "You know, the worst thing, the worst part of all of it, is they made me feel like it was all my fault. They had me so twisted up, that I believed that I was the cause of everything that happened." She turned back to me, the anger fading, leaving just a profound sadness. I wiped the tears from her cheek, and she leaned her shoulder against me. "Did your parents tell you what happened?" My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard before replying. "They were vague." She gave a little smile that was like a sunbeam on a stormy day. "I asked your mom and dad not to tell anyone. You're so lucky to have them." She looked back to the lake and spoke quietly enough that if her face had not been right next to mine, I wouldn't have been able to hear her. "When I was fifteen, when I started looking more like a woman, and less like a little girl, my dad started abusing me. Mom, she was drunk more than she was sober. She knew, she had to know, and she didn't do anything." As the River roared in its ceaseless path to Lake Superior, and the cold wind whistled and rattled through the leafless trees, Melissa spoke of abuse and divorce, lost jobs and social status, the failing of the system to help a girl who was too scared to ask for help and the blame that was assigned for all of it. "So that night, I remember when the state trooper knocked on my window." She gave a brief mirthless huff. "I thought he was an angel, with the way his flashlight lit up the frost on the inside of the window. I thought I was dead, that it was all over. I felt relieved." She shook her head. "The next thing I remember was being in a hospital bed, wrapped in electric blankets, and seeing the sunrise through the window. That trooper was there. He had stayed with me, way past the end of his shift, just to make sure I was alright. Turns out, when they went to my parent's house to see what was going on, my dad was out of town, and my mom ended up getting arrested for assaulting an officer and having a bunch of heroin. That's why she went back to him. Not for me, but for the money to buy her drugs. The trooper persuaded me to reach out to my friends. He said that people can be capable of unexpected acts of kindness, and I decided to believe him. So I called Ashley. We had always gotten along pretty well, and her parents were always super nice to me. They let me stay with them, which was really awkward at first. I just couldn't believe that a family could be so, so perfect. It was like stepping into an old sitcom. Maybe there was a little trouble now and then, but everyone loved each other, and it all worked out in the end. It was surreal, but eventually, I started believing that it was how families should be. That it was right and good, and normal." She looked me in the eyes then, and I saw her love burning through the hurt. "I didn't think that I would ever have that. I thought that there was no way I could ever open up and let someone love me, to be me, to be normal. Who could want me? Then your parents invited me back to the cabin, and I grasped onto a foolish hope that maybe you could. Ever since it's just been, It just doesn't seem real. Charles, I know you love me, but I'm still so afraid." I silenced her with a quick kiss on the lips. I held her cold, rosy cheeks in my hands and looked her in the eyes. "None of what happened was your fault. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. I love you, I will always love you. Nothing in the past, present, or future will stop me from loving you until the end of time, and when we're both gone from this world, I'll find you in the next and keep loving you!" Fresh tears streamed down her face, not tears of remembered pain, but tears of joyful love. She threw her arms around me and we held each other tight. Overhead, a hawk called, adding its little part to the scene of wind, water, and young lovers. Chapter Seventeen. Getting in my truck and leaving Duluth that evening was the hardest thing I had ever done. The only thing that gave me the strength to leave was the knowledge that it was only temporary. Soon, very soon, I would never have to leave her again. When I got home, Mom was at the kitchen table reading a newspaper. She greeted me with a smile. I had to be very careful with how I was going to handle this conversation. I didn't want to lie to my mom, but I also didn't want to tell her the whole truth. "How was your weekend? I didn't get a call from the cops, so it couldn't have been too exciting." "I was the cop! We went to a Halloween party dressed as the Village People." "Fun!" Mom exclaimed, giving me a beaming smile. "Yeah, and something else happened. Do you know how I can get my employee discount at any store? Well, we stopped at one of the stores in Duluth, and I ended up talking with the yard manager. They've been having trouble finding someone competent to drive a forklift, and if I transferred up there, they'd give me a raise and make me an assistant manager. He said I could start working up there in two weeks." All of these individual facts were technically true, but it still felt like lying. "Good for you! It's great to have in-demand skills. That's a long way to drive though." "Yeah, it would be like, five hours of driving every day." "Did you look into getting an apartment up there?" Mom folded up the newspaper and gave me her undivided attention. "After the school year starts, there's literally nothing cheap available." "Where would you stay then?" She asked, looking concerned. "Well, on the way home, I was thinking about who I know that lives up there. Rob lives in a dorm, so I couldn't get away with staying there long-term. But then I remembered that Melissa lives in Duluth, I could maybe call her and see if she wants a roommate." Okay, this last bit was a lie. I didn't feel good about it, but it had to be done. "Our Melissa? Have you called her yet?" "Not yet. I'm pretty sure I have her number in my phone." "You should figure this out sooner rather than later." She looked at the clock. "It's not too late, give her a call now." I made a show of finding Melissa's number as if I hadn't memorized it weeks ago. Melissa and I had rehearsed this moment. I had the volume on my phone turned way up, so my mom was sure to hear Melissa's side of the conversation too. "Hello?" Melissa's angelic voice asked after three rings. "Hi Melissa, it's Charles." "Charles! It's good to hear from you! What's up?" "Well, I'm going to be transferring up there for work, and I was wondering if you would mind having me as a roommate until I found a place of my own." Another necessary lie. "Yeah, I guess that would be okay. You're not going to find anywhere else to stay until the end of the school year. Even then, I was lucky to get this place, this spring." "So, you're okay with me staying with you?" "Yeah, it'll be fun. Like staying at the cabin, but I don't think my landlord would approve of campfires." "I'll pay half the rent, and utilities, and everything." "Naturally," Melissa said. "I was going to ask one of my friends if they wanted to move in. Only paying half the rent will make saving for school a lot easier." "Cool. So, I guess I'll give you a call tomorrow, and we can figure out the details?" "Yeah, okay." "I'm talking with my mom right now, so I should probably let you go." "Hi Mom!" Melissa yelled. "Hi, Melissa," Mom replied, loud enough to be sure that the phone picked it up. "Talk to you tomorrow, bye!" Melissa said, much quieter this time. "Bye." I had to be very careful not to reflexively say I love you. I put my phone away and noticed that my mom was studying me with a funny little smile on her face. Then in the most casual tone, she asked. "So, does she love you as much as you love her?" My heart nearly stopped. I couldn't respond. "That was a lovely charade. Unnecessary, but lovely." I couldn't speak. My brain frantically searched for words but found only shocked silence. "Oh, honey." She began, in a soothing motherly voice. "You're my baby. Did you think I wouldn't know? It was plain to see at the cabin that you two are in love. You spent the weekend with her?" I forced myself to reply. "Yes," I said, fearing that it was all over. I felt like crying. "Good," Mom said simply. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom knew about me and Melissa, and she was... Happy for me? "So, you're not mad about us?" "Oh, Charles. Love is so precious. It doesn't matter where you find it, but when you do, you hold on with both hands and never let go." My tears came then, flowing hard as I released all my pent-up fears and anxiety. Mom held me as I cried on her shoulder. She gently rubbed my back like she used to do when I was a kid. When my crying subsided, she held my shoulders at arm's length. "Now, tell me about her." I did. In the conversation that followed, I was more honest and open about my feelings than I could remember being to anyone other than Melissa. I explained how we knew what each other was thinking or feeling, just by looking into each other's eyes. I told her how I wanted to improve myself, to be a better person for Melissa. And, looking back on it with a touch of horror, I did my best to explain the connection I felt with Melissa when we made love. Throughout it all, my mother was nothing but caring and understanding. After all the fear of this moment, it was surreal. It felt so good, so liberating to tell her how I felt about Melissa. When I was done, I asked Mom. "Does Dad know?" "Oh, I doubt he picked up on it." "Are you going to tell him?" Of all the people in the family, I was sure that Dad would be the least likely to accept. He had always been very traditional. Kind and gentle, but with a very strict moral compass. "Of course. He's my husband. The way you feel about Melissa, I feel about him." She hugged me again. "Don't be ashamed. Love her with all your heart, and everything else will work itself out." She kissed me on the cheek and told me that she loved me. I told her that I loved her too, and said goodnight. I went to my bedroom, shut the door, and called Melissa. "What's up?" She answered. "I didn't think I'd hear from you until tomorrow." Deciding to just be direct about it, I said. "My mother has officially given us her blessing." The line was silent as Melissa processed this. When she spoke, I could tell that she was crying. "How did she find out?" She asked. I recounted the whole conversation. "See? I told you your mom was the best." "She really is." "So, what now?" She asked, with a bit of anxiety. "She said that she had to tell everyone because it's better to have it out in the open than have to keep lying to the family. I agreed." After a short pause, Melissa said. "Me too." As it turns out, my family's reaction was both better than I had feared and worse than I had hoped. My parents had called a family meeting and all of my immediate family, and their spouses, showed up. There were those like my mom, and my brother Mark, who were supportive and genuinely happy for me. On the other end of things, there were people like my second older brother, Stephen, and his wife, who were disgusted and called me a pervert. Most were somewhere in the middle, either not understanding and being polite about it, or just ambivalent to the whole issue. Then there was my dad. He just sat there the whole time, with a frown on his face, and never spoke a word. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed, or angry, or what, and it tore me up inside. He had never in his life been shy about voicing his opinion. After my mom, he was who I needed acceptance from the most. I desperately wanted him to say something, anything, but he never did. His silence cut deeper than any insult or accusation ever could. At the beginning, and with prompting from my mom, I had stood before everyone, confessing Melissa's and my love for each other, and that I was moving out to live with her in Duluth. After the initial shock and spectrum of reactions, I sat down and answered questions. Now, not being able to bear my father's silence any longer, I stood again, interrupting several side conversations. I addressed the whole group, but my words were meant for my father more than anyone. "Melissa and I truly love each other. Nothing you do or say can change it. Accept it, accept us, or don't. I don't care." Dad didn't react, didn't even look me in the eyes. I rushed to my room and locked the door. I curled up on my bed and cried, harder than I could remember ever crying before. The stress of the family meeting and my dad's non-reaction had utterly destroyed me. I held a pillow over my head to muffle the sounds of my uncontrollable sobs, and to hide my face from the world. "What if they're right about you?" A part of my mind asked. "What if you're just a sicko. That's what they all think." "No! I really do love her!" Another part of my mind answered. "What kind of weirdo falls in love with his cousin? What kind of deviant fucks someone in his own family?" "No! Our love is pure and perfect!" "Yeah, perfect. The perfect fantasy of a clinically twisted pervert! You're just taking advantage of a poor broken girl." "No..." I moaned aloud, holding my head in my hands. Sometime after, someone knocked lightly on my bedroom door. I ignored it, lost as I was in terrible contradictory thoughts. The knock came again, and I heard my mom's voice. "Charles, honey. Can I come in?" I didn't respond, knowing that right then I couldn't bear to face anyone, even my mother. "Oh, my baby." She said through the door. "All I want is for you to be happy. Follow your heart, everything will work out. I love you." Her words quieted the thoughts whirling through my mind, and though my sobs faded, the tears continued to flow. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I closed my eyes and imagined Melissa lying next to me. I thought about how if she were here, she would comfort me, and wipe the tears from my face. I could see her so clearly in my mind, see how her icy blue eyes would pour her inexhaustible love into me. Soon, my tears stopped flowing, and I regained a sense of peace. I felt awful for doubting myself, for doubting Melissa, if even for a moment. Our love is right. It is pure and perfect. She made me complete, as I made her complete. I drifted off to sleep, with a smile on my face, thinking about Melissa, and dreaming about the future. Chapter Eighteen. Charles copes with changes, but the biggest is yet to happen. The armrests of the padded chair where I was seated were a little too high to be comfortable, so I kept my hands folded in my lap. I gazed at the paintings of calm rural scenes hung on the walls of the spacious office. I wondered absently if they were real places or just the artist's impression of idyllic country life. I glanced at the woman in the matching chair positioned across from me. She was patiently waiting for me to continue my story, with an encouraging expression on her face. "I moved my things into Melissa's apartment a few days later and spent the night with her a couple of times when I had the day off. After the two weeks were up, I started work at the Duluth store and lived with her from then on. I think the only word to describe the years that followed is heavenly. I wouldn't have changed a single thing." "Tell me more about how your family reacted," said the woman, Dr. Clarke. "Did your father and brother ever come around?" "Dad? Yeah, he just needed a little time to process it. After that, he was as good with it as Mom was. The thing with him was, years before, before anyone knew what had been going on with Melissa's dad, he'd known that something was wrong. I'm not sure how, but he knew. After Melissa left home, he would call and check in on her. He paid to have her car fixed and even paid the deposit on her apartment. He always went out of his way to make her feel like she had people that cared. I think he loved her as if she were his own daughter, so the whole thing with the two of us was kind of a shock. When Melissa and I went to my parent's place for Thanksgiving, later that month; and he saw firsthand how happy she was, it wasn't an issue." "And your brother, Stephen?" Dr. Clarke prompted. "That same Thanksgiving, I ended up knocking him down with a punch to the face. He said that Melissa's family were all degenerates and that Melissa was just bringing that degeneracy to our family now. That was the last time I ever saw him." I forced my clenched fists to relax and laid my palms flat on my thighs. "Have you ever thought about reaching out to him? People can change a lot in twenty-four years." "No," I said firmly. "It was his choice to ostracize himself from our family, and I want nothing to do with someone capable of being so deliberately malicious. He knew that she was just beginning to heal the trauma that had been done to her; and had said what he did, specifically to hurt her. Someone capable of doing that will always be capable of doing it." "You might be surprised by how much people can change," She said, as she scribbled a few lines in her notepad. "Maybe," I said, brows furrowing. Those words had made their way into Melissa's nightmares. My fists clenched again, as I remembered all the times I was awoken in the middle of the night by her sobs. I remembered how helpless I felt, being able to do nothing but console her; and hold her until she fell back asleep. My knuckles were white, and my fists trembled slightly. I saw Dr. Clarke glance down at my hands, but she did not indicate what she was thinking. Therapists must make superb poker players. "Some things just can't be forgiven," I said quietly, forcing my hands to relax. "Again, you might be surprised. We can talk more about that next week." She set aside her notepad and glanced up at the clock on the wall behind me. "Now close your eyes, and concentrate on your breathing. Take a slow deep breath, imagining all your negative emotions as a tangible thing. Now breathe out slowly as all those emotions evaporate and exit your body like smoke. Again, deep inhale, and out. Good. Feel your mind become still as your breath carries away the pain. Once more, in, and out. Good." For some reason, this technique worked for me. If left alone, my thoughts naturally gravitated to the bad memories, and each one brought two more with it until I became overwhelmed. I would become mentally gridlocked to the point of not being able to function in everyday life. "When I say the word joy, what is the first thing that pops into your mind?" My eyes were still closed, and I smiled. "Melissa's face when she first saw me that October weekend reunion, at the cabin." "Good. Keep up your breathing exercise. All the pain is gone, only the joy remains. Describe the scene for me. What else do you see? What do you smell and hear?" A single tear rolled down my cheek. I'm not sure why I started to cry, whether it was joy in the image of her, so happy and full of promise for the future, or sorrow because that future is gone. I would never again see her smile. "Sunbeams cut down through the trees, lighting up smoke drifting from the fire pit. She passes through one, and her hair glows like golden fire. I smell the white pines, strong in the soft breeze, and the smell of burning oak. A loon call echoes up from the lake, and all around the cabin yard, there is the quiet burble of conversations and laughter." I wiped the tears from my face with a flannel shirt sleeve and looked away from Dr. Clarke. I still felt embarrassed to cry in front of another person. "That sounds lovely. Hold on to that moment, use it as a refuge." She glanced at the clock again and stood. I stood as well, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table to dry my eyes. She walked me to her office door. "Thank you for sharing today, Charles. I think you are doing very well." As she opened the door, she asked. "Have you gone to the aromatherapy shop we talked about last week?" "No," I said dejectedly. "I was going to, but..." I had meant to go, but sometimes certain things were just impossible to make myself do. Going into an unfamiliar place and talking to a stranger was one of those things. Sometimes I could, sometimes I couldn't. This hadn't been a particularly good week, and the thought of talking to someone new, someone who would ask questions about why I was there, questions that would bring up painful memories, was simply unthinkable. Yesterday, I had made it all the way to my car and had the key in the ignition, but then I just sat there, unable to make myself go through with it. "That's ok." Said Dr. Clarke. I knew she knew why I didn't go, and I had gotten to the point where I felt safe sharing my feelings with her, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of shame. "Addy is very good at what she does, and she has helped many of my clients. She's a friend." I nodded and started moving through the doorway. Ending conversations always seemed so awkward. I never knew what to say. "Thank you for being so open today, Charles. See you again next week." She was looking at my eyes, and I met her gaze briefly before looking away. In recent years, I had become very uncomfortable making anything more than the briefest of eye contact with people, especially women, so I was usually at a huge disadvantage when it came to reading people's motivations and emotions. In that brief glimpse though, I caught the impression of empathy and a real desire to help. It felt really good to know that someone cared. I gave her a genuine smile and left. I left her office with the intention of going directly to the shop she had recommended, but by the time I was in my car, I just... couldn't. This is what my life had become. I could go from being on the verge of drowning in a sea of sorrow to feeling positive and optimistic in an instant, then back just as fast. But mostly, it was what I called 'the gray'. I am self-aware enough to understand how it began. Instead of dealing with certain traumatic events, my brain decided that it was easier and far less painful, just to push them aside. The problem is, that those things don't just go away. No matter how hard you push them down, they keep bubbling back up, and you end up pushing everything away in the effort. Then one day you realize that living in the gray was the only way to survive because every little bit of emotion, good or bad, could open the gates and let all the pain come rushing in. I had pushed everything and everyone aside for the sake of self-preservation, and it was killing me. I knew I needed help. I knew that the person I was, wasn't really me. The problem was, I had been in the gray so long, that I couldn't remember how it was before, not really. I knew that I had been happy once, that I had hopes and dreams. But that was all gone, lost in the gray. Chapter Nineteen. The next day turned out to be one of the good ones. I was able to get myself out of bed, dressed, and in the car. I decided that I would finally make it to this aromatherapy shop Dr. Clarke wanted me to go to. I turned the key in the ignition, and my geriatric Honda Civic purred to life. I quickly released the emergency brake and shifted into reverse. I backed out of my parking spot with a sigh. There, I did it. The hard part was over, and now that I had started the task, it would be easier to go through with it. Don't ask me why that makes sense, I wouldn't know how to even start explaining. I enjoyed my drive across town. It was a beautiful day in Duluth. Down near Lake Superior, it was a little breezy and a comfortable 65 degrees, perfect for driving with the windows down. Climbing the hill on 194, the farther I got away from the lake, the hotter it got. By the time I got to the shop, it was nearly 80 degrees, and I had begun to sweat. A typical July day in the Twin Ports. I've always said, that this was one of the things I loved most about living in Duluth. It could be hot as hell up on top of the hill, but if the wind was right, it was always cool near the lake. I shut the car off and set the E brake. I wiped a bit of sweat off my brow, and it occurred to me that I was wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday and that I hadn't showered. Hit with a sudden wave of shame and embarrassment about meeting someone new in this state, I almost just left to go back home. With an effort of willpower, I opened the car door and stepped out. Task begun. I walked in and was greeted by a smiling older lady that I assumed was Addy. "Hi, um, Dr. Clarke sent me." Addy's smile widened. "Oh, come in, come in. I'm Addy." "I'm Charles," I replied, meeting her eyes for the briefest moment. "Pleased to meet you, Charles. How is Rose doing these days?" Dr. Clarke's first name was Virginia. She had grown up in Virginia, Minnesota, and I think she was still annoyed by her unimaginative parents, because she liked to use her middle name, Rose. I almost exclusively used 'Dr. Clarke' when speaking with or about her. "I've been seeing her for a couple of months now. She's nice." I never seemed to know how to answer questions like that. I grimaced inwardly at my awkwardness. "She's a sweetheart, and good at her job. I saw her for years." She led me over to a glass counter filled with hundreds of small labeled bottles. "So, are we looking for something to help you relax?" "Something to help me remember." I paused briefly, trying to find the right words. "Well, remembering isn't the issue." I felt a rush of awkwardness and a little bit of embarrassment in talking about something so personal with a stranger. My cheeks flushed, and I looked at the bottles in the case to ensure I didn't accidentally make eye contact. "I want to be able to focus on just the one thing." "Tell me about it." I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. "There's smoke from the campfire, mostly oak. Maybe a tiny bit of something acrid, like someone had thrown a plastic plate in the fire." As I spoke, I could hear Addy selecting a few bottles from a rack within the display case. "Pine trees. Even with the smoke, the pines smell strong." "Spruce?" Addy asked politely. "No, White Pine. The needles and sap are everywhere." "Anything else?" I took another deep breath but didn't reply. "Sometimes there's things around us that have a scent, but we're either too used to it, or its faint enough that we don't remember without smelling it. What else was there? Is this a campground?" Addy asked in what I recognized as being in a deliberately unobtrusive way. "It's a cabin," I replied, searching the mental image for things that may have a scent. "It's an old log cabin, surrounded by white pines. There's a log pile. My brother had been using the chainsaw earlier. My truck is parked in the driveway, it smells like gas because the tank leaks a little bit. Someone had mowed the little patch of grass in front of the cabin." "Is there anyone there, wearing perfume or aftershave?" I nodded my head in the affirmative. Addy gave me time to answer. "She..." I struggled to find words to describe Melissa's scent. How do you describe such a thing to someone? How do you describe a sunset to a blind person, or describe to a deaf person the emotions evoked by the Moonlight Sonata? She smelled like love, and I still smell her on the clothes I keep in her dresser. "You know how strawberry plants don't smell like strawberry? Not like the fake strawberry candy scent?" Of course, she did, but I went on. "A strawberry blossom. Delicate, faint, with just the promise of sweetness." "She was someone special," Addy said, in more of a statement than a question. "I ended up marrying her. She;" A tear rolled down my cheek. "Nine years ago;" I just couldn't force the words out of my mouth. I could tell Addy the exact date and time. I could tell her that we had just gone to see The Martian in the movie theater and that the night was clear and cool after the late August thunderstorm earlier that afternoon. I could tell her what song was playing on the radio. I could tell her the look on Melissa's face when the headlights crossed through the median in front of us. What I couldn't say, was physically unable to, was that nine years ago, Melissa died. "It's okay, dear," Addy said. She had a grandmotherly voice, full of kindness and understanding. For the briefest of moments, the power of that gentle voice made me believe that yes, everything would be okay. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll have something for you to try." I nodded and wandered away from the counter, absently browsing the candles and incense as I tried to compose myself. As I looked through the shop it occurred to me how posh the place seemed. High-dollar products are meant to be sold to people who have the luxury of ignoring price tags. I did not have that luxury. I felt anxiety and a general shame of the complete fuck up I had become. If this costs more than about forty dollars, I wouldn't be able to afford groceries this week. "Charles, it's ready," Addy called from the other side of the store. I walked over and closed my eyes as she extended a small glass bottle filled with clear liquid. I breathed deeply and conjured the scene in my mind. The scent of Addy's mixture hit me like a lightning bolt. It was like reading a book in the dark, and then someone turned on the lights. Everything came into sharp focus like I was there. The smoke, the pines, and, My breath caught in my throat. Buried deep within the mix there was something light, something so tenuous you hardly knew it was there. It was Melissa. In my mind, she threw herself into my arms, and I could smell her. I could smell her. "How?" I asked, looking her in the eyes for the first time since my initial glance. Addy smiled warmly, and I could see genuine care in her face, not just the politeness of a shop owner to a customer. "If she had been wearing perfume, it would have been harder. We remember scents much better than we think we do. Sometimes all we need is a little hint, and it's brought right to the front." Dr. Clarke was right, Addy was good. "Your idea about the strawberry flowers was good. They're very faint and don't smell like much at all, definitely not strawberries. But when you know that you have strawberry flowers, and you smell them, your brain brings up the memory of strawberries. Scents are all connected in our minds, and are rooted deep down at the very foundation of memory." Addy put a rubber stopper in the bottle and carefully placed the bottle in a velvet pouch with her shop's logo on it. She held it out for me to take. A tear dripped off my jaw, and I quickly wiped my face on a sleeve. "How much?" I started to ask, again acutely aware of my wrinkled clothes, my general lack of personal hygiene, and the depressingly small balance of my bank account. Addy cut me off with a raised hand. "Rose is a friend of mine, and any friend of hers is also a friend of mine." She pushed the velvet bag into my hands. "No, I can't;" Addy stopped me again. "Most of my clients just want something that smells nice in their bathroom, or to cover the smell of weed. I'm perfectly happy to take their money." She placed her hands on mine, still clutching the velvet bag. "It's very rare that I get to help someone. Take it as a gift, with my thanks." I was speechless, and fresh tears rolled down my face. I couldn't remember the last time someone was so altruistically kind to me. "Thank you." Was all I could say. To be continued in part 6. Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts, for Literotica.

The pod assumes a comfortable commissionary position as Owl Michaels and the Sausage Stallion cut it up on the state of the league after 6 weeks. We also demolish some takes and make some predictions as DFTK returns to it's natural home on Spotify. Outro music: “Moonlight Sonata” by Beethoven (⁠https://www.classicals.de/beethoven-piano-sonata-no-14⁠). Available for use under the CC BY NC 4.0 license (⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/deed.en⁠)

Send us a textDescriptionForm, Function, and Flourish: The Classical Sonata in 60 Seconds. Take a minute to get the scoop!Fun FactBeethoven's “Moonlight” Sonata wasn't named by him at all—the nickname came years later, when a critic compared its first movement to moonlight on Lake Lucerne. Beethoven might have rolled his eyes, but the title stuck, and today it's one of the most famous (and misinterpreted) sonatas ever written.About Steven, HostSteven is a Canadian composer & actor living in Toronto. Through his music, he creates a range of works, with an emphasis on the short-form genre—his muse being to offer the listener both the darker and more satiric shades of human existence. If you're interested, please check out his music website for more. Member of the Canadian League Of Composers.You can FOLLOW ME on Instagram.

I recorded and mixed 3 banjo tracks to create this banjo version of 'In the Cave'. This piece of music was written by the Finnish band Pepe Deluxe specifically to be played on the Great Stalacpipe Organ in the Luray Caverns in Virginia - (a recording of that is available on YouTube). While not a great piece of music, it is at once haunting and alluring. The structure of the piece is simple: a continuous 3 note arpeggio (adagio sostenuto), very similar to that found in Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, with a simple melody and sparse base line. It is in A minor and has a 12/8-time signature. Enjoy.

I recorded and mixed 3 banjo tracks to create this banjo version of 'In the Cave'. This piece of music was written by the Finnish band Pepe Deluxe specifically to be played on the Great Stalacpipe Organ in the Luray Caverns in Virginia - (a recording of that is available on YouTube). While not a great piece of music, it is at once haunting and alluring. The structure of the piece is simple: a continuous 3 note arpeggio (adagio sostenuto), very similar to that found in Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, with a simple melody and sparse base line. It is in A minor and has a 12/8-time signature. Enjoy.

Our show opens with Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, a favorite of philosopher Kate Manne, one of the sharpest minds dissecting power, privilege, and the politics of gender. Kate is a professor at Cornell University and the author of groundbreaking books like Down Girl, Entitled, and her latest, Unshrinking, which takes on fatphobia with the same fearless clarity she brings to misogyny and moral philosophy. Her work is a lifeline for understanding how injustice is baked into our culture, and how we can start dismantling it. If you've ever felt the weight of double standards, moral policing, or body shame, Kate Manne has words that will crack open your world and help put it back together stronger. Want to keep the conversation going? Join the Gaslit Nation Salon, live every Monday at 4pm ET. It's our weekly Zoom gathering where we break down the headlines, swap strategies, share survival tips, and connect with other listeners who get it. Sign up at Patreon.com/Gaslit. Discounted annual memberships are available, and we're so grateful to everyone who keeps the show going. Need a summer read to match the moment? Check out the Gaslit Nation graphic novel, Dictatorship: It's Easier Than You Think! Follow our cunning narrator, Judge Lackey, as he bumbles through the dark art of authoritarianism, clinging to power and dodging those meddling activists and journalists. Find it at your local library or at BookShop.org. EVENTS AT GASLIT NATION: August 25 4pm ET – Join the Gaslit Nation Book Club for a powerful discussion on The Lives of Others and I'm Still Here, two films that explore how art and love endure and resist in the face of dictatorship. Minnesota Signal group for Gaslit Nation listeners in the state to find each other, available on Patreon.  Vermont Signal group for Gaslit Nation listeners in the state to find each other, available on Patreon.  Arizona-based listeners launched a Signal group for others in the state to connect, available on Patreon.  Indiana-based listeners launched a Signal group for others in the state to join, available on Patreon.  Florida-based listeners are going strong meeting in person. Be sure to join their Signal group, available on Patreon.  Have you taken Gaslit Nation's HyperNormalization Survey Yet? Gaslit Nation Salons take place Mondays 4pm ET over Zoom and the first ~40 minutes are recorded and shared on Patreon.com/Gaslit for our community Want to enjoy Gaslit Nation ad-free? Join our community of listeners for bonus shows, exclusive Q&A sessions, our group chat, invites to live events like our Monday political salons at 4pm ET over Zoom, and more! Sign up at Patreon.com/Gaslit!

On this episode of One Indescribable Podcast… Adam H, Todd the Librarian, and TV Lindy continue their journey through every episode of Everwood by recapping Season 1 Episode 20: Moonlight Sonata. "Sell that to someone who buys malarkey." Thank you for joining us in beautiful Everwood, we can tell we'll get on just fine! Follow the podcast on Twitter @oneCXGpodcast! Find us @pianomanadam1 (Adam), @librariantodd (Todd), and @tvlindy (Lindy)! Follow Whirlwind Podcasts on social media @WhirlwindPods Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

We've got something quite unique for you this week: an episode of More Rosebud, in which Gyles meets one of the greatest composers who ever lived : Ludwig Van Beethoven. In this fascinating conversation, Gyles will find out about Beethoven's first memory, his challenging childhood in which he was forced to play the piano by his drunken father, and his ascent to genius, both aided and hampered by his encroaching deafness. In this conversation, Beethoven is brought to life by the writer and performer, Tama Matheson. What you are going to hear is a classic Rosebud interview, answered by Tama as if he were Beethoven himself. Tama is a brilliiant performer who has written and conceived a series of shows based on the lives of great artists - composers and poets - in which he brings these geniuses to life through performance, music, and meticulous research. Tama's amazing show about the life of Beethoven I Shall Hear In Heaven is at Opera Holland Park in London on the 6th and 8th August. Tickets are available here. Tama's own website is here. The Moonlight Sonata at the end of the episode is played by Jason Gillham. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The following episode is a teaser for our PATREON SUBSCRIBER EXCLUSIVE presentation of:      'MOONLIGHT SONATA' by Alexander Woollcott   To hear this episode in full subscribe at: patreon.com/nocturnaltransmissions

Today, April 2, 2025, marks the one-year anniversary of Vindication Day, when absolute, undeniable proof showing there's a non-human intelligence present on Earth was made public. Crime scene reconstruction expert Scott Roder, who operate Ohio-based firm Evidence Room, presented his analysis of various videos related to the Las Vegas alien incident of 2023 that shows there is some kind of NHI present on the planet. Just before midnight on April 30, 2023, a UFO made a hard landing in the backyard of Kenmore family of Las Vegas. Family members were immediately confronted with two eight-to-ten-foot-tall alien creatures. Roder and his team were finally able to offer definitive evidence a year ago that backs up the claims made by the witnesses who encountered the weird creatures.MOONLIGHT SONATA: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ludwig_van_Beethoven_-_sonata_no._14_in_c_sharp_minor_%27moonlight%27,_op._27_no._2_-_i._adagio_sostenuto.oggSupport Extraterrestrial Reality/Quirk Zone on Patreon:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.patreon.com/c/Extraterrestrial_Reality⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Check out my YouTube channel:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Quirk Zone - YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Extraterrestrial Reality Book Recommendations:Link to ROSWELL: THE ULTIMATE COLD CASE: CLOSED: https://amzn.to/3O2loSILink to COMMUNION by Whitley Strieber: https://amzn.to/3xuPGqiLink to THE THREAT by David M. Jacobs: https://amzn.to/3Lk52njLink to TOP SECRET/MAJIC by Stanton Friedman: https://amzn.to/3xvidfvLink to NEED TO KNOW by Timothy Good:  https://amzn.to/3BNftfTLink to UFOS AND THE NATIONAL SECURITY STATE, VOLUME 1:  https://amzn.to/3xxJvlvLink to UFOS AND THE NATIONAL SECURITY STATE, VOLUME 2: https://amzn.to/3UhdQ1lLink to THE ALLAGASH ABDUCTIONS: https://amzn.to/3qNkLSgUFO CRASH RETRIEVALS by Leonard Stringfield: https://amzn.to/3RGEZKsFLYING SAUCERS FROM OUTER SPACE by Major Donald Keyhoe: https://amzn.to/3S7WkxvCAPTURED: THE BETTY AND BARNEY HILL UFO EXPERIENCE by Stanton Friedman and Kathleen Marden: https://amzn.to/3tKNVXn

Today, April 2, 2025, marks the one-year anniversary of Vindication Day, when absolute, undeniable proof showing there's a non-human intelligence present on Earth was made public. Crime scene reconstruction expert Scott Roder, who operate Ohio-based firm Evidence Room, presented his analysis of various videos related to the Las Vegas alien incident of 2023 that shows there is some kind of NHI present on the planet. Just before midnight on April 30, 2023, a UFO made a hard landing in the backyard of Kenmore family of Las Vegas. Family members were immediately confronted with two eight-to-ten-foot-tall alien creatures. Roder and his team were finally able to offer definitive evidence a year ago that backs up the claims made by the witnesses who encountered the weird creatures.MOONLIGHT SONATA: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ludwig_van_Beethoven_-_sonata_no._14_in_c_sharp_minor_%27moonlight%27,_op._27_no._2_-_i._adagio_sostenuto.oggSupport Extraterrestrial Reality/Quirk Zone on Patreon:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.patreon.com/c/Extraterrestrial_Reality⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Check out my YouTube channel:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Quirk Zone - YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Extraterrestrial Reality Book Recommendations:Link to ROSWELL: THE ULTIMATE COLD CASE: CLOSED: https://amzn.to/3O2loSILink to COMMUNION by Whitley Strieber: https://amzn.to/3xuPGqiLink to THE THREAT by David M. Jacobs: https://amzn.to/3Lk52njLink to TOP SECRET/MAJIC by Stanton Friedman: https://amzn.to/3xvidfvLink to NEED TO KNOW by Timothy Good:  https://amzn.to/3BNftfTLink to UFOS AND THE NATIONAL SECURITY STATE, VOLUME 1:  https://amzn.to/3xxJvlvLink to UFOS AND THE NATIONAL SECURITY STATE, VOLUME 2: https://amzn.to/3UhdQ1lLink to THE ALLAGASH ABDUCTIONS: https://amzn.to/3qNkLSgUFO CRASH RETRIEVALS by Leonard Stringfield: https://amzn.to/3RGEZKsFLYING SAUCERS FROM OUTER SPACE by Major Donald Keyhoe: https://amzn.to/3S7WkxvCAPTURED: THE BETTY AND BARNEY HILL UFO EXPERIENCE by Stanton Friedman and Kathleen Marden: https://amzn.to/3tKNVXn

My Productivity Hack: https://www.magicmind.com/FCLT20 Use my code FCLT20 for 20% off #magicmind   I'm a working man, Kill Donkeys! It's time for FOOD COURT, your favorite podcast, where we brave the malls and the movie halls so you don't have to! Sean and Mampy watched A Working Man, the brutal new action movie from Director David Ayer. Will the fellas laugh like they're shooting at a cop car with a machine gun? Or will they cry like they're watching a video of their daughter performing Moonlight Sonata? Tune in to find out! So grab your popcorn, sneak in your snacks, and pop your pepto because it's time to blast a guy into a huge bathtub! Bon Appétit!

Hi friends! Have you ever wondered what makes a sonata different from other pieces of music? In today's episode, we're diving into the world of sonatas—one of the most important forms in classical music! You'll learn: ✅ What the word "sonata" means and where it comes from ✅ How composers like Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn used a special structure called sonata form ✅ How to listen for the exposition, development, and recapitulation in famous sonatas

The Gala is in full swing and the NETwork are mingling! Everyone who is anyone is in attendance! Frey vandalizes, Uther gets shot down, and Stynexx is interrupted and makes a new friend.Find us on the The Actual Playce Discord ServerHit us up with any questions or comments:Insta @crittalkerspodcastFacebook: crittalkerspodcastX: @Crittalkerspodor drop us an emailthecast@crittalkerspodcast.comBritt H. Plays Frey the RogueShane F. plays “Sir” Uther the BardChris A. plays Stynexx the ArrificerMusic/Sound Effects Include:Recap voice acting by Jennifer Millard, written by Jake PrewittFrey is played by Britt H.Uther is played by Shane FStynexx is played by Chris A."Camera Flash" by MalarBrush"The Details Intro" by Ryan S."The Details Long" by Ryan S."Rest of The Fallen" by GuilhermeBernardes via Pixabay"Comedy - Detective" by Onoychenkomusic via Pixabay"Chamber Strings" by SigmaMusicArt via Pixabay"Dizzy ellectric bolt spell 1" by FxProSound via PixabayVoice Acting for Mim's Jablanksi by Jennifer MillardAdditional Royalty free Music and SFX Credits that were found via Pixabay: sonorous-bong by freesound_communitywine glass clink by freesound_communityCrowd at Wedding Reception Ambience by ecfike (Freesound)Legacy of Beethoven. Moonlight Sonata. Hip-Hop Background music 30sec by White_RecordsSmoke House by WaveMasterLe Dom (Fashion Show) by whvleDespair Metal Trailer by LiteSaturationHard Robo Dance by SnailLabKids chatter Primary School Birmingham UK by freesound_communitySword Hit by freesound_communityJump-Scare_1 by freesound_community

Dreadful John xx-xx-xx Moonlight Sonata

References J Exp Clin Cancer Res. 2022; 41: 100. Front Endocrinol (Lausanne). 2022;13: 822221 Hunter-Garcia. 1968. "Dark Star" from [LiveDead;lp.] https://open.spotify.com/track/07CwWCJetytT1cSnQOgRMU?si=dc538f19db52489a Beethoven, LV. 1801. "Moonlight Sonata" #14 in C Sharp Major https://open.spotify.com/track/506fPIwbFyyvHp2PpFJj2e?si=0dcb00e6d9c14488 --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dr-daniel-j-guerra/support

Songs include: By the Light of the Silvery Moon by Billy Murray, Blue Moon by Mel Torme, How High the Moon by Helen Forest, No Moon at All by the Ames Brothers and Moonlight Sonata by Solomon.

As authored by Juan Hermandez

In today's episode, Gina discusses the benefits of music for those struggling with anxiety. Music can have a substantial impact on our mood, can reduce stress and increase relaxation. Listen in to learn more about the benefits of music for your general wellbeing and how to best use music to your advantage in overcoming anxiety! Please visit our Sponsor Page to find all the links and codes for our awesome sponsors! https://www.theanxietycoachespodcast.com/sponsors/ Thank you for supporting The Anxiety Coaches Podcast. FREE MUST-HAVE RESOURCE FOR Calming Your Anxious Mind 10-Minute Body-Scan Meditation for Anxiety Anxiety Coaches Podcast Group Coaching link ACPGroupCoaching.com To learn more, go to: Website https://www.theanxietycoachespodcast.com Join our Group Coaching Full or Mini Membership Program Learn more about our One-on-One Coaching What is anxiety? Find even more peace and calm with our Supercast premium access membership: For $5 a month, all episodes are ad-free! https://anxietycoaches.supercast.com/ Here's what's included for $5/month: ❤ New Ad-Free episodes every Sunday and Wednesday ❤ Access to the entire Ad-free back-catalog with over 600 episodes ❤ Premium meditations recorded with you in mind ❤ And more fun surprises along the way! All this in your favorite podcast app! Quote: Music can lift us out of depression or move us to tears - it is a remedy, a tonic, orange juice for the ear. -Oliver Sacks Chapters 0:23 Welcome to Music and Anxiety 3:22 Psychological Effects of Music 6:39 Music for Stress Reduction 10:10 Incorporating Music into Self-Care 15:19 Music and Coping Strategies 19:10 Creating a Personalized Approach Summary In this episode of the Anxiety Coaches Podcast, I delve into the profound impact that music can have on our emotional and psychological well-being. Titled "Harmony for the Soul: How Music Heals and Calms Anxiety," this discussion is inspired by my own experiences with music and its transformative effects. I invite listeners to explore how music can serve as a powerful tool in managing anxiety and stress, and I emphasize the importance of finding the right music that resonates personally. Starting with a quote from Bono, I highlight music's ability to change lives on a personal level, reflecting on how certain melodies can evoke feelings of calmness and security. I recount my childhood memories of my father playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, a piece that particularly moved me and has been shown to have physiological benefits such as decreased heart rates and improved oxygen saturation. This personal connection leads to a broader exploration of how music can be seen as medicine, a source of healing that many may overlook. I dive deeper into the psychological effects of music by discussing its role in mood regulation and enhancement. Music is a versatile emotional tool that can uplift us from sadness or provide solace during anxiety-ridden moments. The concept of emotional contagion is introduced, explaining how our emotions can be influenced by the music we choose to engage with. I also introduce the ESO principle from music therapy which involves matching music to the listener's current emotional state, gradually adjusting it to influence change, underscoring the idea that music can lead us precisely where we need to go. The episode further explores the physiological benefits of music, such as its capacity to lower cortisol levels, reduce heart rate, and induce relaxation. I discuss how slow, calming music can alleviate muscle tension and act as a distraction from stress, promoting mindfulness and enhancing present-moment awareness. Several methods for incorporating music into relaxation routines are provided, such as creating calming playlists for bedtime or using nature sounds as an auditory backdrop for meditation. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In today's episode, Gina discusses the benefits of music for those struggling with anxiety. Music can have a substantial impact on our mood, can reduce stress and increase relaxation. Listen in to learn more about the benefits of music for your general wellbeing and how to best use music to your advantage in overcoming anxiety! Please visit our Sponsor Page to find all the links and codes for our awesome sponsors! https://www.theanxietycoachespodcast.com/sponsors/ Thank you for supporting The Anxiety Coaches Podcast. FREE MUST-HAVE RESOURCE FOR Calming Your Anxious Mind 10-Minute Body-Scan Meditation for Anxiety Anxiety Coaches Podcast Group Coaching link ACPGroupCoaching.com To learn more, go to: Website https://www.theanxietycoachespodcast.com Join our Group Coaching Full or Mini Membership Program Learn more about our One-on-One Coaching What is anxiety? Find even more peace and calm with our Supercast premium access membership: For $5 a month, all episodes are ad-free! https://anxietycoaches.supercast.com/ Here's what's included for $5/month: ❤ New Ad-Free episodes every Sunday and Wednesday ❤ Access to the entire Ad-free back-catalog with over 600 episodes ❤ Premium meditations recorded with you in mind ❤ And more fun surprises along the way! All this in your favorite podcast app! Quote: Music can lift us out of depression or move us to tears - it is a remedy, a tonic, orange juice for the ear. -Oliver Sacks Chapters 0:23 Welcome to Music and Anxiety 3:22 Psychological Effects of Music 6:39 Music for Stress Reduction 10:10 Incorporating Music into Self-Care 15:19 Music and Coping Strategies 19:10 Creating a Personalized Approach Summary In this episode of the Anxiety Coaches Podcast, I delve into the profound impact that music can have on our emotional and psychological well-being. Titled "Harmony for the Soul: How Music Heals and Calms Anxiety," this discussion is inspired by my own experiences with music and its transformative effects. I invite listeners to explore how music can serve as a powerful tool in managing anxiety and stress, and I emphasize the importance of finding the right music that resonates personally. Starting with a quote from Bono, I highlight music's ability to change lives on a personal level, reflecting on how certain melodies can evoke feelings of calmness and security. I recount my childhood memories of my father playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, a piece that particularly moved me and has been shown to have physiological benefits such as decreased heart rates and improved oxygen saturation. This personal connection leads to a broader exploration of how music can be seen as medicine, a source of healing that many may overlook. I dive deeper into the psychological effects of music by discussing its role in mood regulation and enhancement. Music is a versatile emotional tool that can uplift us from sadness or provide solace during anxiety-ridden moments. The concept of emotional contagion is introduced, explaining how our emotions can be influenced by the music we choose to engage with. I also introduce the ESO principle from music therapy which involves matching music to the listener's current emotional state, gradually adjusting it to influence change, underscoring the idea that music can lead us precisely where we need to go. The episode further explores the physiological benefits of music, such as its capacity to lower cortisol levels, reduce heart rate, and induce relaxation. I discuss how slow, calming music can alleviate muscle tension and act as a distraction from stress, promoting mindfulness and enhancing present-moment awareness. Several methods for incorporating music into relaxation routines are provided, such as creating calming playlists for bedtime or using nature sounds as an auditory backdrop for meditation. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoicesSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

The Moonlight Sonata is indeed in three movements. Brian Hunt and Erin Latham-Ponneck are on Brew Ha Ha with Steve Jaxon and Herlinda Heras, for the Moonlight Brewing 32nd Anniversary. Brian has been on Brew Ha Ha many times, the most recent was this episode in October of 2023. On Saturday, August 24, from noon to 10 pm, Moonlight Brewing Co. will celebrate its 32nd anniversary, with music from The Sam Chase and the Untraditional, and others. There will be food trucks, attractions and activities for everyone including children, in addition to lots of delicious beer. In addition to all that, they will have a kids zone with a jumpy house and a magician. 32 Years of Moonlight Brewing Moonlight Brewing is now the oldest brewery in the county. Brian tells about getting “the beer guy”, Dr. Michael Lewis as an advisor when he changed majors to fermentation science at UC Davis. Then he went to work for Schlitz in Milwaukee. At that time, they were not invested in making great beer there. So Brian got away from that scene, with the lesson that people won't be attracted to crappy beer. He came back from Milwaukee in 1981 and worked for a series of breweries before starting his own brewery 32 years ago in 1992. Brian is Erin's stepdad. At first, he “poached” her away from her job to hire her for the bookkeeping. That led to more, as we will hear. Russian River Brewing Co. is open in Santa Rosa on 4th St. and at their big Windsor location. Visit their website for up-to-date hours, menus, beers and more. In the meantime, they taste the beer called Sulla Luna, a Czech-inspired amber lager that Brian originally made with Birrificio Italiano. He met them in Milano at a beer convention and when they visited here, they brewed this collaboration. Several months into the job she learned that there were actual offices above the brewery. So she moved into a proper room with a desk. Erin's official title is Chaos Management Specialist and Adult In Charge. See our sponsor Victory House at Poppy Bank Epicenter online, for their latest viewing and menu options. Brian has some interesting opinions about hops, especially that beer can be flavored with plants other than hops. Listen to him tell the history of hop use in beer in Europe.

DescriptionThe Tearful Power of Classical Music: Emotion in Every Note in 60 Seconds. Take a minute to get the scoop!Fun FactIf you're looking for three pieces that will move you to tears: Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" is a tear-jerking masterpiece with its haunting, lyrical piano. Barber's "Adagio for Strings" pulls heartstrings with its sweeping, sorrowful notes. Mahler's "Symphony No. 5, Adagietto" is an emotional rollercoaster, blending lush orchestration and tender themes that hit you right in the feels.__________________________________________________________________About Steven, HostSteven is a Canadian composer & actor living in Toronto. Through his music, he creates a range of works, with an emphasis on the short-form genre—his muse being to offer the listener both the darker and more satiric shades of human existence. If you're interested, please check out his music website for more. Member of the Canadian League Of Composers.__________________________________________________________________You can FOLLOW ME on Instagram.

"I fell in love with the sound of the monarch butterflies – their beating wings – the delicacy and the strength - the very particular frequencies they sound at, the way in which the remarkable field recording allows us to hear individual beating wings, and the potential to both highlight this and to also create a layering thrum. "I read about the monarchs' extraordinary migratory journey to ‘rest' in the central highlands of Mexico over winter. How like so very many migrants, many simply do not make their destination. Many fall in their great compelling movement across continents, or die at their final destination, exhausted. They sacrifice for the greater populations' need to survive. "'With every step, the number of dead or drowsy butterflies resting on the forest floor multiplies. Their wings, thin as parchment paper, are a deep orange with black veins and white spots along the edges.' https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/article/latin-america-butterfly-monarch-migration "I considered how I might create a soundscape for these wings to travel through. I played and resampled many percussion instruments to create nature sounds – rain, air, water, earth, stars, birds, and I recorded and sampled double bass and bass clarinet as instrumental flutters. I also recorded and resampled excerpts of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata – creating an elegy and an enduring pulse – a sonic impulse, in honour of all creatures' flights from increasingly inhospitable lands and climates in search of safety and life." Monarch butterflies reimagined by Elissa Goodrich. Part of the Migration Sounds project, the world's first collection of the sounds of human migration.  For more information and to explore the project, see https://www.citiesandmemory.com/migration IMAGE: Channel City Camera Club from Santa Barbara, US, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

DescriptionThe Enchanting Creation of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata in 60 seconds. Take a minute to get the scoop!Fun FactBeethoven's "Moonlight Sonata," formally known as "Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor 'Quasi una fantasia,' Op. 27, No. 2," was not performed publicly during Beethoven's lifetime. It was composed in 1801 and published in 1802, dedicated to his pupil Countess Giulietta Guicciardi. The piece gained popularity posthumously through various performances and publications.__________________________________________________________________About Steven, HostSteven is a Canadian composer & actor living in Toronto. Through his music, he creates a range of works, with an emphasis on the short-form genre—his muse being to offer the listener both the darker and more satiric shades of human existence. If you're interested, please check out his music website for more. Member of the Canadian League Of Composers.__________________________________________________________________You can FOLLOW ME on Instagram.

Every house holds a secret, doesn't it? And in those houses, individual rooms have secrets of their own... and in those rooms, there are items with their own secrets, too. What happens when one of those secrets goes missing? And needs to be returned... Read by Rachel Blake.   Music: Theme music by Trevor Brown Incidental music: (All tracks played by Gregor Quendel) and free for use under the Pixabay Content License.) Moonlight Sonata 1st Movement by Ludvig van Beethoven. Impromptu No 1 by Franz Schubert. Piano Arpeggio 1 Variation 1 by Gregor Quendel. Cinematic Music Sketches: Cinematic Piano Sketch by Gregor Quendel. Fantasie Impromptu by Chopin, arr for music box by Gregor Quendel. Caprice N0 24 in A Minor by Niccolo Paganini. Prelude Op 32 No 12 in G Sharp Minor by Sergei Rachmaninoff. Moonlight Sonata 3rd Movement by Beethoven arr for strings by Gregor Quendel. Requiem Dies Irae by Wofgang Amadeus Mozart. Frühlingsrauschen Rustle of Spring by Christian Singding. The Tempest Piano Sonata No 17 in D Minor by Ludvig van Beethoven. Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy.

Today's podcast is all about tempo, and I have to start by saying that tempo is a funny thing. We define it with numbers or with the familiar Italian words, or less familiar French or German ones, and it still seems elusive. Much of the time we try to pin a piece of music down to a number, a mathematically precise ratio of beats per minute. Perhaps the composer put it there as a guide for the performer. Perhaps it was added by an editor, an arranger, or a teacher. But it still doesn't necessarily satisfy us. In fact, everything about this feels wrong. How is it possible to limit a piece of music, a creation that lives in a single moment, to one number?  I remember reading the liner notes to a CD recording by legendary pianist Arthur Rubinstein. This recording was made toward the end of his life. He was already in his 90's, but the producers of this recording wanted to preserve Rubinstein's interpretations of piano masterworks for generations to come who would not have heard him. The producer writes in the liner notes how he was moved to tears by Rubinstein's performance in the recording studio of the first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. He felt he had witnessed a definitive performance.  The next morning, however, Rubinstein returned to the studio for that day's recording session and asked to re-record the Beethoven, saying it was too slow. The change in tempo was apparently barely discernible, if at all, to a listener, but it made a difference to Rubinstein.  What made the tempo difference important to Rubinstein? Clearly it wasn't the metronome mark. Beethoven didn't include one; the movement is only marked “Adagio sostenuto” and so a range of speeds would seem to be allowable. So from this we can conclude that tempo is more than a metronome marking. But what is it and how do we know what tempo is right or wrong?  Do we have to play a piece at the metronome marking, particularly if we can't play it at that speed or we don't think it sounds right at that speed? What do we do if there is no metronome marking? How do we know how fast or slow the piece should go? With so many recordings available to us, it is clear that harpists can play the same piece at very different speeds. Does that make some of the performances correct and the others not correct?  Okay, I just threw a bunch of difficult questions at you, but you don't have to come up with the answers; that's my job. I think it's important, though, that you have a clear idea of what the parameters are for finding your tempo for a piece, a tempo that you can play that sounds appropriate for the piece. In fact, that's the secret right there. But I have lots more ideas and practical advice for you on this topic so don't go anywhere. Links to things I think you might be interested in that were mentioned in the podcast episode:  Harp Mastery® Fall Retreat registration is open now! Related resource Tempo is Not a Number blog post Harpmastery.com Get involved in the show! Send your questions and suggestions for future podcast episodes to me at podcast@harpmastery.com LINKS NOT WORKING FOR YOU? FInd all the show resources here: https://www.harpmastery.com/blog/Episode-153  

Habit trackers are b******t. I know people who have been sober for months and months and then suddenly died from an overdose. So, streaks don't impress me.And, by the way, God isn't impressed by streaks either. He only cares about your actions one at a time.So, when your kids see you use a habit tracker, this is what they'll say:* “Mom taught me never to abandon a sinking ship.”* “Mom taught me that as long as you clock in, it's okay to check out.”When your kids watch you practice piano, they should be proud of every moment they see. Not just that you practiced. Not just that you practiced for 5 days straight. They should be proud of every movement they see you make, and they should be proud of themselves when they imitate you.They should say things like:* “I watched Mom practice piano and she was just hitting random keys like a crazy person. It sounded like s**t but it inspired me to listen to my body.”* “I saw Mom play a Chopin nocturne, full tempo, from beginning to end, even though it was too hard for her and she ignored most of the notes. It reminded me that good enough is better than perfect.”* “I heard Mom playing along with a recording of a professional. Of course she couldn't think about every single note, but she spent more time listening than playing, anyway. It taught me that I'm able to jump into a challenging environment and figure it out as I go.”* “I once saw Mom sight-read through a whole book of songs, all in one sitting. Most of it sounded awful, but she didn't care. It taught me that sometimes you just have to plow through, and to hell with everything else.”* “This one time, I saw Mom recording herself playing Moonlight Sonata, listening back, re-recording, re-listening, until it was perfect. It reminded me that I can and should hold myself accountable to meet my own standards.”* “Not only that, but I saw Mom comparing her own recording against a professional recording. Then, she re-recorded hers until the two sounded identical. It taught me that I can and should hold myself to objective standards.”So, let me ask you: have you done any of the things on this list? What lessons have your kids learned by watching you play piano?Be specific about cause and effect. We don't need more stories about the kind of person you wish you were.—Michael This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nomichaelhere.substack.com

Welcome back to Busy Kids Love Music! I'm thrilled to continue our Solar Eclipse series with Episode 120, where we'll explore the enchanting world of songs inspired by the moon.

Comedian Zach Woods (Silicon Valley, The Office, In The Know) joins Nicole to discuss shooting your shot with your crush, having vulnerably romantic encounters on airplanes, and the time he professed his love to a recording of Moonlight Sonata. Plus, Nicole receives a very special "dirty message" to the podcast. Stream In The Know, on Peacock. See Nicole's in episode 3!Follow Nicole Byer: Twitter: @nicolebyerInstagram: @nicolebyerMerch: podswag.com/datemeNicole's book: indiebound.org/book/9781524850746

Reference recording for the tab posted--view my tabs here.

Many of the most instantly recognisable works in classical music are inspired by the Earth's moon – Debussy's ‘Clair de Lune', Beethoven's ‘Moonlight Sonata', Dvořák's ‘Song to the Moon'. Tom Service takes us on a musical voyage to the moon (and back), from the cosmic-scale classical to the lesser known music invoking and inspired by our mysterious celestial companion. With Professor Monica Grady CBE, leading British space scientist.Producer: Lola Grieve

►► Download the 20 Ways To Start Writing A Song Guide here: http://songwritertheory.com/freeguide/ In this episode of the Songwriter Theory Podcast, we're asking if this perspective on art is holding your songwriting back. I constantly hear people, including songwriters and musicians, say "Music is just all subjective", "Art is subjective", "There is no good or bad, art is purely subjective". Not only is that unequivocally wrong, I think it's an actively destructive view that doesn't leave any room for us to "get better" at lyric writing, music composition, or anything else songwriting because, by definition of music being entirely subjective, there literally is no such thing as "better" lyrics or music or songs. So why spend time trying to make our songs better? How could we even begin to have a discussion on how to write better lyrics or improve our chorus? If it's all completely subjective any of that would be a total waste of time. So, in this episode of the Songwriter Theory Podcast that absolutely no one asked for, we're going to talk about why this view is wrong and why it also is destructive to us and our future as songwriters. Transcript: So there's a certain perspective or opinion or just something that people say, especially artists of any kind, seemingly, and certainly songwriters. It seems like songwriters are constantly saying this and I think it's both destructive and just completely wrong. So because of that, we're gonna talk about it in this episode of the Songwriter Theory Podcast. Hello, friend, welcome to another episode of the Songwriter Theory Podcast. I'm your host, as always, Joe Svedala. Honored that you would take some time out of your busy day to talk songwriting with me. Extra honored that you would take some time to listen to this podcast where we are, this is a podcast for being honest. Nobody asked for me to talk about this. The vast majority of subjects we talk about is something that either is inspired by what I think some of you would want me to talk about if you did tell me, and then a lot of it is off of what you do tell me. So a lot of the content recently, the last several months, has been inspired very directly by your feedback when I asked what your number one songwriting struggle was. Most of the content has been pretty directly off of that, some more directly maybe than others. And I still need to finish that series as well, which we'll get back to. I have not forgotten. But this is one of those episodes where we are talking about something that nobody asked for, but I still think is important to talk about. And I've wanted to talk about it for a while, and then just realized it's a good podcast episode. I think it's an important thing to discuss, because you may not end up agreeing with me, but hopefully I can at least get you to consider that instead of what seems to happen, which a lot of people just kinda, I wanna say mindlessly kind of repeat this thing, I think it's a cop-out answer, and I think it's not true, or at least there's an argument, I would argue a very compelling argument, that it's clearly not true. But regardless, hopefully you at least reconsider the repercussions of this view of this perspective, and also maybe consider that maybe it's just not true. If you haven't already, be sure to grab my free guide, 20 Different Ways to Start Writing a Song. It's a cheat sheet, it's shorter, it's better than it used to be, and has double the ways to start writing a song. It's a great way to go, especially for somebody who is struggling with your song sounding the same, or you feel like you're uninspired. One of my favorite things to do, because my bread and butter way of starting a song is starting with a piano riff or something at the keyboard. But whenever I feel like, I just don't have any piano riffs in my fingers right now, I feel like I've written them all, which obviously I haven't, right? But just, you know, if you write a piano riff two a day for five days, by the sixth day, you're kind of like, I just, I don't even know, like I've done every key of it, I just don't know where to start. But just doing something as simple as, I'm gonna go grab a stock funk beat and improvise to that, or I'm gonna do a bass line, or I'm gonna start with an interesting symbol or song title instead, or I'm gonna think of an interesting character or an interesting story to tell. Those can be all great ways to start a song that will refresh us creatively, so that we don't get into writer's block. So anyway, be sure to check that out, songrithury.com slash free guide. So what is this perspective that I'm wanting to talk about that I think is super prevalent and ultimately pretty destructive and just not true, just wrong? It is that art is completely subjective, or art is totally subjective, or art is just subjective, all the different versions of that quote that seemingly everybody says. And not everybody says it, not everybody has that opinion. I think a lot of people don't have that opinion, but the people who do are very loud about it. And I think, first of all, it's just not true, which we're gonna cover first, why I think it's just not true. And then also, regardless of the level of truth, I think it's an unhelpful perspective if you want to get better as a songwriter. If you wanna write better songs, I think it's an unhelpful, if not overtly destructive perspective. So first, let's talk about some of the reasons why I think it's just not true. And we're gonna start with quite a claim probably, but and that claim is, I think the vast majority of people who say this don't actually believe it. They think they believe it, but if we tease it out a little bit, if we discuss it a little bit, dive a little bit deeper, about the repercussions, if it really is true that music, art in general, movies, books, it's all subjective, just totally subjective. There's a lot of consequences of that view that almost no people that do start with the premise of like, all art's all subjective, music's all subjective. Most of those people, when we go down some of the paths we're gonna go down, it's like, okay, if that's true, then this other thing has to be true. But those people, even if they wouldn't admit that they are like, yeah, I guess I don't agree with that. Inwardly, I think they just, they would know. Oh, I don't think this view is correct. So first let's start with how logic works, I guess, which I know you didn't expect this in a songwriting podcast, but this is, if you want to get to the truth, you have to think logically. And I know a lot of people listening to this might be like, really, I didn't expect a logic thing today, but here we are. So whenever a logical claim is made, one way to test it is to take it to the extreme and see if it still holds true. So for instance, if I were to make the moral claim that all stealing is bad, you take it to the extreme, find the most understandable or seemingly justifiable version of stealing and try to figure out is that morally right? If it is, then that undermines my point that all stealing is wrong, right? Or all lying is wrong, for instance. So if we were to say all lying is morally wrong, but then we take it to the extreme, right? If we were to say all lying is wrong, then we would be able to lie to a certain evil German party from the 1940s to save certain people from a horrible fate. If we lied to them, is that a moral good? I would argue yes, because they're saving their lives and life doesn't always give you perfect choices. So you're not lying for evil and you've edited that deeply because I don't know, YouTube algorithm is weird and YouTube doesn't like talk about certain things and they will brand it. You can't even say certain words without them. You're like, oh my goodness, they're bad guys. Like, no, no, I'm presenting them as the bad guys. But anyway, hopefully you got my drift about 1940s certain German. But anyway, if you can find one example of something, then the whole claim is just not true. So if we take the claim that art is completely subjective or songwriting specifically is completely subjective to the extreme, we would take the most extremely bad version of art and extremely good version of art, put them together and say, is it true that it's just subjective that this really bad thing is better than, or is worse than the really good thing? So let's do that. If we believe, if we believe that all art is purely subjective, again, this is, don't, this is getting ahead maybe, but there's no false, no, don't false dichotomy here. The claim that all art is subjective, is totally subjective is a extreme claim. What I'm not claiming is that it's purely objective. I'm not claiming that. I think that's actually more arguable than this, but I'm not arguing that. I think there's objective ways to look at art and there's of course, there's subjective ways to look at art as well. Of course, there's subjective ways to look at everything. But the idea that it's purely subjective is what I'm saying is not true. It's not 100% subjective. But if it's true, that's 100% subjective, then it is 100% valid, 100% valid for me to say that the first scribble my daughter did is equally as good art as Starry Night, Mona Lisa, Sistine Chapel, Statue of David. And not only do you have no grounds to refute or argue with me, because you said it's all subjective. So if I subjectively believe that my daughter's first scribble is better than Sistine Chapel, what, is your subjective opinion more important than mine? That would be blatant narcissism, right? That your subjective opinion matters than somebody else's subjective opinion. That's like the epitome of narcissism, is we all have equal opinions except mine is more equal. Like mine is more important. That's a horrible place to start. So if it's true that it's all subjective, you have to concede, you must. There's no other way than it is equally valid for me to say that my daughter's first scribble is better than Sistine Chapel than for you to say the Sistine Chapel is better than my daughter's first scribble or first time she tries a stick figure. Like just to put an illustration on it, I can do right now a deep piece of art that is very meaningful to me, that I've thought about for a long time. Sorry to those of you who are just on podcasts who isn't gonna see this exquisite, brilliant piece of art. Here we go. Better than the Mona Lisa, baby. And the best part is, if it's true that art is purely subjective, not only can you not actually refute or argue with what I just said, you can't even inwardly roll your eyes because you say it's all subjective, purely opinion. So if that's my opinion, you can't refute it. And it would be pretty arrogant for you to even roll your eyes at it. Because what, is your subjective opinion somehow better than mine? There's no objectivity here according to this view. So really you can't even get off on judging me for having that opinion. But here's the thing, we all know this absurd. We all know, deep down, like even right now, you're probably thinking about, no, that can't be true. But yes, it is. If it's purely subjective, there's no objectivity. Then there's no discussion to be had about something being better or worse. Because that doesn't exist in your view. It's just what people like, what each person subjectively likes. That's the only thing we can talk about. So we can't even begin to have a discussion about what movie is better than another movie. Let's apply it to other art forms before we take it back to songwriting. So let's take movies. We all know, hopefully, that The Dark Knight is better than Morbius or Thor II. We all know that Infinity War is better than Thor II. Most MCU movies in the Infinity Saga are better than Thor II. But we know that that's true. We know that Empire Strikes Back is a better movie than Rise of Skywalker. Everybody knows that. I mean, the only thing that every Star Wars fan in human history agrees on is Rise of Skywalker is a pile of garbage. It's awful, awful. Even people who were defending episode eight still agree Rise of Skywalker is terrible. And we all know that The Godfather is better than Troll 2 or The Room, famously awful movies. To the point that if somebody actually tried to say Thor II is better than The Dark Knight, all of us would be like, "Are you kidding me?" Now, maybe if they said they like it better, there's no accounting for taste because now that's not an objective claim anymore. That's a subjective claim. But anytime we say this quarterback is better than another quarterback, that's an objective claim. And there's no way to, there's no science to just outright prove it. You have to gather what you think goes into what is a great quarterback? Is it accuracy? How much does playoff performance matter? Is it playoff stats or is it playoff wins? A quarterback wins even a stat and maybe not a football or sports person, so I've already lost you. But there's many things where we can have objective discussions that just aren't completely clear, which we'll get into in a little bit, a little deeper. But this goes to something else where let's go to music. You may or may not like Cardi B more than classical music. In fact, probably a lot of Americans, if they're being honest, they don't actually like classical music. Some actually are willing to say, I think it's boring, right? Some people will actually say that out loud, which I almost admire. So probably, if I were to guess, it might even be true that if you were, if every US citizen had to be honest, they would say they prefer Cardi B over classical music. I don't know, as I said that, that's probably not true. But regardless, there's a lot of people that if they're being honest, they prefer Cardi B, and absolute garbage like WAP, over Moonlight Sonata or anything by Bach Beethoven, whoever is in your goat discussion of composers. And honestly, if somebody said, I just like Cardi B more than, I would be like, okay, that's a little bit of a sign of a degenerate culture that we live in a world where a lot of people probably genuinely prefer outright garbage like that over brilliant classical pieces. But there's no accounting for taste. That's a, they're not making an objective claim that Cardi B is better than Beethoven or Cardi B is better than Bach. So that's fine, right? They just like it more. But I think we all, a little part of us, would immediately, if we were in a room and somebody had the audacity to say, oh, Cardi B is far more brilliant, far better of an artist than Bach or Beethoven. We all know that we jump in and be like, are you kidding? Because that's an objective claim. That's an objective claim. And we all know it's objectively false. We all know, in our heart of hearts, we know that. Now we might not have figured out how to articulate why that's true, which we'll get into in a little bit, but that doesn't change that it's true. For instance, we'll save that point, because my second point is gonna be how objectivity is often misunderstood. But again, somebody can say, I like WAP more than moonlight Sonata. Purely subjective claim, whatever, it's fine. If they say it's better, now we have a problem. And most of us recognize that. Why? Because most of us understand that there are objective and subjective claims, and they both can be valid. For instance, I can say that I like the Star Wars prequel trilogy more than I like the Lord of the Rings trilogy. That's just taste, right? I would never say that it's better than the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The Lord of the Rings trilogy is one of the greatest movie trilogies ever. And the Star Wars prequels have significant issues, especially the first two. And it's just, if you were to break down how you measure movies, I'm pretty sure basically every category, Lord of the Rings would win. But I love Star Wars, George Lucas, Star Wars. And orcs and ogres, not ogres, but orcs and dwarves and elves and all that sort of high fantasy stuff just does not do it for me, just from a personal standpoint. I still like Lord of the Rings because it's so good that it actually gets me past my bias. It's kind of like a country song that I like. It's really impressive. It means the song must be really, really good because I'm so biased against country by nature. So we all know there's a separation there. You can come up to me and say, "I like Thor II better than The Dark Knight." And I don't think you're a little crazy, but for the most part, you're just saying what you like. I don't know why you like it better, that's fine. But we all know that we'd all be a little ticked if somebody said, "Oh, the Barbie movie's better than Gladiator." Of course it's not. We all know it's not. Even the people who made Barbie, if they're being honest, know that it's not better than, I don't know, on "Music Gladiator." I'll use a more clear example. It's a wonderful life, which is in absolutely the goat discussion of movies. Somehow I didn't see it until this year. That movie had hype for 31 years that have been alive and still actually matched or exceeded the hype. That movie deserves, most movies in that category are overrated, that one is not. Anyway. So, if any of what I just said is true, where you know deep down, like, yeah, I mean, obviously it's absurd to say that Troll 2, or The Room, is better than It's a Wonderful Life, or that Cardi B is a better writer than Bach or Beethoven, or My Daughter's Scribbles, or The Scribble I Just Did, is better than Starry Night or Mona Lisa or something. If that's true, then you don't believe it's all subjective. You don't, because if it's all subjective, everything, all those absurd things I said, shouldn't bother you at all. Because it's just pure subjective. So what is it? There's no discussion to be had. I have my opinion, you have yours. There's nothing to discuss. Which leads me into the second thing, which I think is what bothers a lot of people. People throw the baby out with the bathwater, they make this fallacy all the time with things. And they confuse objectivity as like, it's a thing that's so obviously true, nobody could disagree with it. Which is funny to me that in today's world, people could say that, because there's lots of things that are firmly established as objective that large swathes of the population are just like, "No, not true." Like, "Okay, all right." And so it's shocking to me when people think that. It's obviously not the case. Just to take one silly example, like the earth isn't flat and it revolves around the sun. Right? You know what I mean? Like people deny it still. And also objectivity doesn't mean that it's easy to measure or determine. Just as an exercise here, let's take science. One of the more objective things we have, right? Math is the most objective probably in sciences. It depends on the type of science, right? The gravity science is far more objective than many other types of sciences or pseudosciences. But just as a example, for most of human history, we had no idea that we were made up of cells, much less that cells are made up of molecules, which are made up of atoms, which were made up of the combination of protons, neutrons, and electrons. That doesn't change the objective reality that always was the case. 2,000 years ago when we didn't know that, it wasn't not true. But right now, scientists say that 90% of the universe is dark matter, they don't know what it is. Whatever it is or whatever group of things it is, the objective truth that we currently don't know is still the objective truth. It doesn't change just because we don't know how to measure it or we haven't figured out what it is. It's just like if you lived under a rock your whole life, it's objectively true that the sun is in the sky and the rock isn't the whole world, even though in your perspective, this life under the rock is all there is. That doesn't change the objective reality though. So what you won't hear me saying is that it's easy to have a discussion, try to in good faith, have a discussion about objectivity and art. It's not an easy discussion. But in almost anything except math, that's always true. A lot of times we oversimplify things to try to make it seem simple, but it's not. Right? And I think a lot of people run into this whenever, you know, the deep down, they know something like, yeah, it's yes, it's a wonderful life, is objectively a better movie than the room. We all know that down deep. But when somebody actually is crazy enough to try to argue with us, that's when sometimes we might be like, oh wow, I don't actually know how I know that, but I know it's true. But that's true even for scientific things. You and I, for probably every single person who's listening to this podcast watching this video, you have never yourself seen any proof or even evidence really that the earth is round, but we all believe it. Theoretically, we all believe it. A lot of people don't, but we'll say we here believe that the earth is round. And that's okay if you don't. I have people I love who don't, and that's okay. Crazy to me, but it's what it is. So in that case, why do you believe that? You believe that because science textbooks all told you that. You know far more people that believe that than don't. And you saw some pictures from space, allegedly, that seemed to show the earth as being round. Right? We all, for many things that we take for granted as being objective, we actually have outsourced to other people. The fact that we're made up of, I mentioned, protons, neutrons, and electrons, none of us, none of us have definitively seen for ourselves, oh yeah, there's protons, neutrons, and electrons. Maybe we've seen a picture in a textbook that's labeled that way, but we don't know that. They could have been making it up. And I'm not suggesting those things at all. In case it's not obvious, I'm not suggesting either of those things are true. But there's a lot of things in life that we don't think about how we really don't know how to defend the objective thing. And we can't say that we've actually seen it with our own eyes, or have proven it with our own science, or math equation, or whatever it is. Much less all the things in the world that are way more nebulous, like who's the goat for basketball, or football, or whatever else. All of those arguments are way more nebulous than sports media would make you believe. The same thing is true with like, how would you even begin to decide the goat of actors, or the goat of composers? It's a difficult thing. That doesn't mean it doesn't exist, though. So I think this is a part of the people get frustrated and I kind of throw it out. It is a difficult discussion to try to get to how can I separate out this concept of, here's what I like in a song, versus here are some of the objective through lines and themes that seem to generally create a better song. Now it's easier if you break it down into pieces. For instance, I did this when I believe I did a podcast breaking down why, it wasn't the main point of the podcast, I think the main point of the podcast was why you should learn piano as a songwriter, and then I did one on why you should learn guitar, I believe. But I believe I've done this, maybe I haven't. But a quick breakdown is, I believe that you can make an objective claim that the piano is the greatest instrument. Now, that means that we have to break it down into different things that are objective, or are more objective. So for example, we have to talk about, okay, how do you measure the greatness of an instrument? I think one factor is its range, right? Because it's an ability to play different pitch ranges that adds to the mix, adds to the song, and piano has the largest range, right? So it has violin beat, it has guitar beat, it has instruments like flutes beat by a ton. It's way more than most instruments, and it's more than any other instrument, at least of, you know, main semi-normal instruments. Organ is probably close, but yeah. Then another factor would be something like, how much you can do with one person at an instrument. With a flute, we'll take the flute as comparison, with a flute, it can play one note at a time. That's it. With a piano, you can play chords, full chords at the same time while also doing the melody. You can sing with just a piano, and it feel pretty full. You can't sing just with a flute, and it feel full. People don't do that, right? Your accompanist is never a flautist. Your accompanist is a pianist, or maybe a guitarist, which by the way is another part of the argument, I would say. Then I think there's an element of instrumentation that's how useful is it across different genres. Something like a banjo is really only super useful as a main instrument, as a driving force, in very specific genres. It's a very specialized instrument. Piano, you can throw it in an old ancient classical piece, or way before classical. Heck, you could do Gregorian chants with piano, and it works totally fine. It seems to fit because of such an old instrument. But it also can fit in the most modern rock or pop. It's not like a steel guitar, which automatically makes something sound kinda country. So I think you can break down these different categories and say the piano is either number one, or number two for darn near every category. And the only thing that seems to be in competition is these days, maybe guitar has kind of entered the goat discussion. But probably 150 years ago, that wouldn't be true. But these are the sort of things we have to do, right? Is break it down into pieces of like, okay, melody, how melody and the chords and the lyrics all fit together, which we're not gonna dive into this next, because actually in the next episode, we're gonna finally take the audacious step. Very often, whenever I mention, like, look, I think it's crazy to say that it's purely, it's just all subjective art. The immediate pushback I get is the like, gotcha question, which is lazy and silly, I think. But it's like, okay, define what makes a good song. Like that doesn't, first of all, I'm not saying that there's no subjectivity. And I'm also not saying like, oh, it's trivial to just be like, oh, let's make a math equation. And then we can just grade every song and it comes out with a perfect number. And we can definitively say this song is better than another. No, it's always gonna have some level of variability. There is some subjectivity to it. But if we take it to the extreme, that's where we see, okay, there's also some objectivity to it, which is why we all know that if somebody says, wap is better than Moonlight Sonata, if you have any soul at all, there's a little part of you that's angry at the idea that somebody could suggest such an absurd thing. But we can, again, if there's no objectivity, you can't think that's absurd. You can't, there's no, it's all subjective. So there's nothing to talk about. So anyway, we are gonna take that audacious step in the next episode, which I believe might be the 250th episode for this podcast. And I'm not gonna do it because I think I have all the answers, I don't. But I think everybody's too, it seems to me that everybody's too lazy to even try. And I think that's a problem. I think that's a problem because of the third point we're gonna get into. Which is, to me, if you wanna grow as a songwriter, if we wanna be able to have legitimate discussions about how can I make a song better, how can I improve a song, we can't say that it's all subjective. Because if it's all subjective, there's no discussions we had. If I write a song in the next hour, I take an hour and write a song, and I feel like the second verse lyrics just isn't quite working. And the bridge melody feels like it doesn't really fit with the theme and with the main ideas. It just doesn't fit with the lyrics of the bridge. And there are numerous other problems. Maybe just the lyrics of the chorus just don't quite work, they don't feel tight. They are using a lot of meh words like sad, which is a pretty bland word compared to something like wistful, which is more specific, or bitter. For instance, you could say, it's maybe over simplified, but wistful is something like sadness and longing for a past happiness that you had. It's very specific, so it has sadness, but it has happiness too, because you're wistful for something that was happy, but you're sad about it now because you don't have it anymore. So it's way more specific than sad, which is a broad category. Because if I say I'm bitter, bitter is kind of like a hybrid between angry and sad, which are two more generic concepts. But bitter is a very specific type of sadness or a very specific type of anger. It's really sort of a hybrid. So if I say I'm bitter, that's telling you that I'm both sad and angry. If I tell you I'm just sad, that's just sad, right? So there are words that are clearly better and more precise than others that communicate more, even though it's still one word. So the word sad versus the word wistful, communicates way more with one word than sad does. And that's not even like a, that would be a thing that's like objective. Like if I tell you I'm sad, or I tell you I'm wistful or bitter, I have absolutely been more precise in communicating what specifically I'm feeling with those other two words. And there are many other examples that would be way more extreme. I probably should have picked a more extreme example, but regardless. So if I sit down and I write a song, and it has all these issues, if I truly believe that it's all subjective, I believe there is no reason, no good reason for me to take any time to listen to that inner voice that's telling me that my second lyric, my second verse lyrics aren't working, and my bridge melody doesn't work with the lyrics, because it's all subjective. What does that even mean? Because I can't even begin to say that my lyrics aren't good, because that's an objective claim. I can say I don't like the lyrics in that section, but who cares? That's my subjective opinion. I shouldn't even care about my subjective opinion for my own songs, because I might be, my subjective opinion might be totally wrong, and the whole world thinks it's great. And since there's no objectivity at all in this view, why would I spend more time to just subjectively change the lyrics? Meanwhile, if I sit down and I write a song draft in an hour, same exact scenario, but I believe that there is some objectivity to it, and that I can, by taking the lyrics in the second verse that I think have issues, they're not using very precise words, it doesn't really evoke much of an emotion, because it's kind of generic language, maybe there's even some cliches in there, which is the worst of all, but if I go into that with, no, there is some objectivity here, then there's reason for me to think I can make that better. It's worth trying to make it better, because making that verse better exists. If we say it's all subjective, that doesn't even exist. There's no such thing as making your second verse lyrics better, that's an objective claim, just like it's objective to say the Dark Knight is better than Thor 2. Saying I like it better is not, that's a subjective claim, that's just an opinion, I don't even have to back it up with any facts. If I claim the Dark Knight is better, is better, that's an objective claim, I need to be able to explain to you why it's a better movie than Thor 2, which I would do, except that you don't care, because it's a songwriting podcast, but that is something I could do, and have done before. But not that anybody, I've never heard anybody make such a ridiculous claim, I've heard similar ridiculous claims, but not that one. So with the mindset that there's some objectivity to this, I'm incentivized as a songwriter to think my song isn't just perfect as it is, I can't just write it off as oh, it's all subjective, so I think the lyric might suck, but no, there's no such thing as a sucky lyric, I'm just gonna throw it out there. Then there's reason for me to actually try to make it better, and there's a way that I could figure out how to make it better, because we can't even begin to have a discussion about how to write a better pre-course, or how to write a better chord progression, or how to improve your second verse lyrics for your song called Infinity, or I made up a song title on the spot and immediately regret it, but we can't even begin to have that discussion. You can't email me and say, Joseph, give me some feedback on this song, because all I could tell you, if there's no objectivity, is I like this and I don't like this, but why should you care what I think? If it's just all subjective, you shouldn't. I don't even think you should really care what you think if it's all subjective. What does anything matter? We might as well just do that, say that's my song. Subjectively, it's just as good as anything else. I like that more than Moonlight Sonata. So it is what it is. And I think down deep, a lot of times, another underlying reason that people believe all art is subjective, there's many things we could get into that's even deeper that we're not gonna get into because of the song on any podcast. I think it's downstream of certain world views and things like that. But I think a part of it too, is we have to take responsibility and acknowledge that we might write songs that aren't very good, or we might have to acknowledge that our songwriting used to suck or the first five songs we write are gonna suck and the next five songs are gonna be okay. And then even when we start writing more and more good songs, we're still gonna have some duds that just aren't very good, didn't quite work. If we say it's all subjective, we can give ourselves a pass. We can just say, oh, who's to say? Everybody universally hates this song and everybody says it sucks and they can even give objective reasons why it sucks. How the melody is something that is completely unmemorable and also it's not an interesting melody but boring, and which it merely has some subjectivity to it. But there is also a level of, we all have heard melodies that like, oh, there's something about that that's good and there's something about that. Another one is melody I think is one of the hardest things to have any sort of objective discussion on. But we can look at a lyric and be like, look, that had a cookie cutter line here, it's not emotionally resonant at all. It's using a lot of generic words that isn't gonna move anybody. So we can even talk about specific things in each other's songs that just aren't working and could be improved. But if it's all subjective, there's nothing to talk about. And that's the part that really gets me, is it doesn't make any sense at all. If it's true that it's all subjective, for anybody to be listening to my podcast or anybody else's podcast about songwriting, it doesn't make sense to try to get better at songwriting because that doesn't exist if it's all subjective. The idea of writing a better song or taking your song and making it quote unquote better does not exist because better is an objective claim. All you can do is hope to make a song that you personally like better or that for some reason you care that I personally like better, which you shouldn't care about. You shouldn't even care what you subjectively like better necessarily. I mean, obviously that should be a part of it. We should write music we like generally. And then the part that really gets me is the idea that there's people out there creating content, teaching songwriting, who would say it's all subjective. If it's all subjective, does that mean that your content is just you saying, in my subjective opinion, this, in my subjective opinion, that, and you should listen to my subjective opinion because my subjective opinion is better than your subjective opinion? Like is that? I don't know how we get away from that. And it's one of those things where like, for some reason this is one of those things where like anytime I try to have this discussion, for some reason I feel like people try to brand the opinion that no, there's two spectrums. There's I don't like it to I do like it, which is subjective claims. And then there's a separate, totally separate discussion that's being able to discuss it's bad to its good spectrum. And those are not necessarily linked at all, which is why I can like one movie way more than another, but also concede that the movie I like less is actually a better movie. If we are incapable of that, that's a massive flag, massive flag, because we should be able to have that discussion. And that's an acknowledgement that there's a separation between our personal taste and just what makes something good. For example, famously, if you listen to this podcast, my favorite band is vertical horizon, but you will never hear me say is vertical horizon is the greatest band of all time. I would never say that. I don't think they're the best band of all time. I wouldn't even begin to be audacious enough to make that claim about any band. They're my favorite though. They speak personally to me. I would say maybe that Mascale is a good songwriter. I think it can back up that claim with, because that's an objective language, right? But I would never say they're the best band, or my favorite band is better than your favorite band necessarily. I mean, maybe I would, depends what your favorite band is. But that's a totally separate discussion. I should be able to concede that your favorite band might be better than my favorite band, but I still like my favorite band better. Just like I might like Revenge of the Sith even more than I like Lord of the Rings movie, but I can concede the Lord of the Rings movie is better. The acting is probably better. The plot is better. Maybe the VFX are better, right? The effects are better. The script is better. The plot is better. Did I say that already? The dialogue is better. Of course, the dialogue's better. Dialogue has never been Star Wars' strong suit, right? So we can break it down into categories, and then break it down further and further, and try to have an objective discussion in good faith where we try to parse out, you know, why does the Lord of the Rings have better dialogue than Star Wars? We all know that's true, but, you know, it is a difficult conversation to figure out why that's true. So this is the ultimate thing for me, is it just feels like, regardless of any of the other points which were about that, I just think it just doesn't stand up to basic reason that all art is totally subjective. Frankly, I think it's a ridiculous thing to say. I don't think it stands up to even thinking about it for like five minutes. But, even with that opinion, I also think it's just destructive. You're just not incentivized to ever try to get better because there is no better to attain. That doesn't help us. If you wanna become a better songwriter, if you wanna listen to content to get better at songwriting, you have to accept the premise that better exists is such a thing as making your lyric better. You can edit your second verse lyrics that suck, and you know they suck, and you cringe at them. You can edit them, you can redraft them, rewrite them, and then you look at the B, right? Your sixth draft that also had edits, and look and say, "This is objectively better than what I started with. "This is obviously better." And if that doesn't exist, why would you waste any time to do that? You wouldn't. You wouldn't. And to me, it's like, well, everything becomes pointless really fast. Trying to learn to write better doesn't exist. You shouldn't listen to any content creator about it. There's no point. There's no point. And this is a thing too that for some reason, it's only art that we apply this to. If we said that, "Oh, well, how to build a good car is totally subjective." No, it's not. If the car doesn't move properly, or if the car is such that even in a 30 mile per hour car crash, anybody who's remotely near the crash is going to die 100% of the time, obviously it's not a good car, right? Again, it's like good car, bad car, good house, bad house. There are elements to it that are subjective. And there are elements to it that are objective, which we know if we take it to the extreme. If you compare whatever you think the best car is, just the engine is the best, the speed is the best, the acceleration that breaks, the safety, the gas mileage, all the different factors that we could say are, here's what makes a car better or worse. It's better across the board than car B. Then we know it's objectively better than car B because it's both safer, faster, more fun, more cool looking, better gas mileage. It's better at all the things. So we know there's some level of objectivity to this. There's objective discussions we had. We know this to be true for everything else. I would even argue for music, which is why I gave the example, we all know we're gonna cringe if somebody actually comes up to us and has the audacity to say, "WAP is just as good as Moonlight Sonata," or whatever. Maybe you didn't think Moonlight Sonata is overrated. You know, I'm not even sure where I land on that. I haven't really thought about it. But, you know, pick some masterful classical piece, or hack just a not horrible gross song like WAP, which is just awful in every possible sense. I really think it has no redeeming qualities. But, regardless, it just ends up being destructive to us if we can't have that discussion. So next episode, we're gonna do the audacious thing. We're gonna try to figure out what are some of the things we can look at that seem to make objectively better songs? What are some of the commonalities? What are the factors we look for? For example, I'll give you one example. I think it starts with synergy, if you will, of all three of the main parts. If the melody feels like it is communicating the same thing as the lyrics, which feels like it's communicating the same thing as the harmony and the chords, to me, that's a start. If your lyrics seem to be talking about one thing, but the melody doesn't fit at all with the lyrics tonally, the lyrics are really sad and just, or maybe wistful or something, but then the music is like grandiose and epic in a way that just doesn't fit. This doesn't make sense. These are supposed to be working together. So I think that's where it's gonna start. I haven't fully written it out yet, the episode, but we're gonna do the audacious thing because I know this episode alone, a lot of people are gonna be like, "Whoa, this is really good." I know. It is what it is. I'm not gonna back down from this. You're welcome to make your counter argument. I've heard a lot of counter arguments. I have yet to hear a compelling one. It usually comes down to, "Oh, you can't give me a math equation to figure out how good a song is." So you're wrong. No, that would prove, that wouldn't even prove wrong that if I were to claim that art is totally objective, me not being able to provide basically a math equation to figure out how good a song is still doesn't disprove that claim. And that's not the claim we're making. I'm making the claim that we should be able to have a discussion from a subjective standpoint and from an objective standpoint. Sometimes the line is blurred between the two, but the idea that we can have no objective discussion about art, whether movies or music is absurd, asinine, ridiculous, doesn't stand up to even the beginning of thinking about it. Which is why we're gonna discuss it next time. Because I think it's worth having that discussion. Because if you and I wanna write a better song, next time we write a song, we have to have some standard to look at at what does that mean? When we say I wanna write a better song or I wanna take the song ahead and make it better, what are some of the factors I can look at to make it better? Otherwise, I don't even know what we're talking about. We're wasting our time, really. So hopefully this was helpful to you. Hopefully it got you to maybe reconsider some things if you're somebody that has said before or really hasn't thought about it much, but just you hear from so many people this, you kind of accept it as true, but you never really thought about it yourself. There's probably a lot of people, which is fine. We don't have time to think deeply about literally everything that everybody says in passing. So hopefully for you there was something in this that at least made you think, huh, okay. Yeah, there's something to this idea that if it's all subjective, this is a waste of time. So maybe in my heart of hearts, I know deep down that there's some level of objectivity here, just because it's difficult to measure doesn't take that away. And next time we'll do the hard thing that nobody else is willing to do. I've never seen it anywhere. Maybe it's been done, maybe it hasn't, but we're gonna do the audacious thing. We're gonna try to figure out how to objectively measure a song or some factors to look at for objectivity in a song. I don't pretend I have all the answers for sure, but we'll try. We'll do a good faith tribe and you can let me know in the comments what things maybe poke holes in it. Let me know maybe factors that I'm gonna miss. I'm sure I'm gonna miss factors. It's a hard thing to tackle, right? But we can do it together. Also, if you have ideas, feel free to email them to me as well. Really, my goal is I wanna start this discussion. I think it's a worthwhile discussion. I don't pretend to have the answer, but I do think it's worth all of us together trying to seek it, trying to figure out what makes it. Again, if you haven't already, be sure to check out my free guide, 20 different ways to start writing a song, songwritertheory.com, slash free guide. Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for listening to an episode that again, nobody asked for, but I do think is an important thing to talk about. Don't worry, soon we'll be back to the normal grind of the main stuff people wanna know. But I thought this episode was important to talk about. Hopefully you found it helpful. And I will talk to you hopefully in the next one.

Join Premium! Ready for an ad-free meditation experience? Join Premium now and get every episode from ALL of our podcasts completely ad-free now! Just a few clicks makes it easy for you to listen on your favorite podcast player.  Become a PREMIUM member today by going to --> https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium In the heart of a serene village nestled among rolling hills and thick forests, there resided a woman named Sapphire. She was celebrated far and wide for her exceptional talent: the ability to craft a Moonlight Sonata, a melody capable of lulling even the most restless souls into a deep and tranquil slumber. Sapphire's voice possessed a magical quality that resonated with the very essence of the moon itself. The village, known as Silverbrook, derived its name from the way the moonlight gracefully embraced everything it touched, casting a silvery glow upon the world each night. The villagers held the moon in high reverence, and they cherished nightly gatherings where they exchanged stories and sang beneath the moon's serene radiance. On a clear, starry night, with the moon hanging low in the sky like a radiant lantern, Sapphire made a decision to venture deep into the heart of the nearby Enchanted Grove. Legends whispered of the mystical creatures that called the forest home, and its secrets were said to be unveiled only to those with the bravest hearts. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Sapphire felt an irresistible pull to explore its depths...

When most people think of the pipe organ, they imagine its massive, majestic sound filling a large church during a wedding, funeral, or other Christian ceremonies. But as I learned in my recent conversation with the Austrian concert organist Lukas Hasler, we can trace the instrument's roots to ancient Egypt, thousands of years before the birth of Christ. And despite their prevalence in the church, organs have also played an important role in secular life. In the 19th century, for example, people in small villages or those who couldn't afford concert tickets could only hear new music when it was transcribed and performed by a local organist.  And for Hasler, bringing the organ back to the mainstream and helping people from all walks of life discover its beauty and expressive range has become a central component of his career. "Everyone thinks the organ is just in churches, which of course is a truth," Hasler says on the latest episode of the Classical Post podcast. "On the other side, every time you walk into concert halls or listen to film music, the organ plays a major part. I really want to create an awareness of this instrument — and sometimes it really helps to transcribe very famous scores for the organ." Hasler's ability to showcase the organ's remarkable versatility has made him a star on the rise. In addition to building a community of more than 80,000 fans on social media, he's performed in the opening ceremony of the Salzburg Festival, was the first touring classical musician to perform in Ukraine after the start of the Russian invasion, and his transcriptions of everything from Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata to the Super Mario Brothers theme have thrilled audiences across Europe and the U.S. In this episode, Hasler and I talk more about the organ's evolution over time and his latest digital release — an astounding reading of Franz Liszt's virtuosic Fantasy and Fugue on Bach. Plus, he shares what made him recently pack up his life in Austria and head to sunny southern California, how architecture and fashion inspire his creativity, and the importance of hearing protection when the instrument you play is very, very loud.Listen to Hasler's recording of Liszt's Fantasy and Fugue on Bach on Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you stream music. — ⁠⁠⁠Classical Post⁠⁠⁠® is a leading podcast based in New York. Our content uncovers the creativity behind exceptional music through dynamic deep-dive interviews with prominent artists in the world today. We are powered by ⁠⁠⁠Gold Sound Media⁠⁠⁠® — a creative studio providing omnichannel marketing and public relations services for the classical music industry.

In this  2019 podcast, filmmaker Irene Taylor Brodsky discusses her project "Moonlight Sonata: Deafness in Three Movements," and her commitment to making films accessible to differently-abled audiences.  We talk about her first feature documentary, "Hear and Now," which won the Audience Award at Sundance in 2007 and explored her deaf parents' experiences when they were 65 with cochlear implants and its relationship to her film “Moonlight Sonata," which was partly inspired by her deaf son, Jonas, who was driven to learn to play Beethoven's “Moonlight Sonata”. We discuss the emotional and historical significance of Beethoven's work, particularly how his deafness influenced his compositions. Irene also recounts the unexpected twists during filming, including her father's development of dementia. And she discusses the Reel Abilities Film Festival where her film premiered, her commitment to making her film, as well as others, accessible to the deaf, blind, and differently-abled communities, and her not-for-profit The Treehouse Project and its Accessibility Lab which works to elevate deaf and blind audiences' access to and participation in theatrical independent film.

Welcome to "On Top of the World Radio" on November 28, 2023. I'm your host, Chris Story, broadcasting live from Homer, Alaska. Today's show is all about embracing the power of positivity and gratitude. We kick off with a powerful reminder to "Promise Yourself."### Promise Yourself:- Be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.- Spread health, happiness, and prosperity to everyone you meet.- Find something special in each of your friends.- Embrace the sunny side of everything and let your optimism shine.- Think, work, and expect only the best.- Celebrate the success of others with the same enthusiasm as your own.- Forget past mistakes and focus on greater future achievements.- Wear a cheerful countenance and share smiles with every living creature.- Dedicate time to self-improvement rather than criticizing others.- Be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to allow trouble.### The Science of Getting Rich:- Today, we're diving into the Science of Getting Rich through Gratitude, inspired by Wallace D. Wattles' work in 1910.- Tune in as we explore the greatness of gratitude on page 63.### Quotes to Inspire:- "Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence." - Helen Keller- "I am fundamentally an optimist. Part of being optimistic is keeping one's head pointed toward the sun, one's feet moving forward." - Nelson Mandela- "An optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty." - Winston Churchill- TBC Radio presents "THE WORD" at 803.9424 or tbcradio.com.- Today, we're not just sharing one word but a volley of words. Here are ten synonyms for "optimist":  - Positive thinker  - Hopeful person  - Bright-sider  - Upbeat individual  - Positive-minded person  - Sunbeam  - Pollyanna  - Rosy outlook  - Cheery soul  - Silver lining seeker### Times Like These:- Despite challenges, remember, there have always been times like these1. **1520:** Ferdinand Magellan reaches the Pacific Ocean.2. **1895:** First American automobile race.3. **1925:** Grand Ole Opry premieres in Nashville.4. **1942:** Cocoanut Grove nightclub fire in Boston.5. **1960:** Mauritania becomes independent from France.6. **1971:** Mars 2 orbiter reaches the surface of Mars.7. **1987:** South African Airways Flight 295 crashes into the Indian Ocean.8. **2008:** Moonlight Sonata played by 53,000 people in Mexico City, setting a new Guinness World Record.Join us as we navigate through history and embrace the positive energy of today. Stay tuned for more inspiration on "On Top of the World Radio."

Join Premium! Ready for an ad-free meditation experience? Join Premium now and get every episode from ALL of our podcasts completely ad-free now! Just a few clicks makes it easy for you to listen on your favorite podcast player.  Become a PREMIUM member today by going to --> https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium In the heart of a serene village nestled among rolling hills and thick forests, there resided a woman named Sapphire. She was celebrated far and wide for her exceptional talent: the ability to craft a Moonlight Sonata, a melody capable of lulling even the most restless souls into a deep and tranquil slumber. Sapphire's voice possessed a magical quality that resonated with the very essence of the moon itself. The village, known as Silverbrook, derived its name from the way the moonlight gracefully embraced everything it touched, casting a silvery glow upon the world each night. The villagers held the moon in high reverence, and they cherished nightly gatherings where they exchanged stories and sang beneath the moon's serene radiance. On a clear, starry night, with the moon hanging low in the sky like a radiant lantern, Sapphire made a decision to venture deep into the heart of the nearby Enchanted Grove. Legends whispered of the mystical creatures that called the forest home, and its secrets were said to be unveiled only to those with the bravest hearts. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Sapphire felt an irresistible pull to explore its depths. As she ventured deeper into the Enchanted Grove, the world around her underwent a breathtaking transformation. The trees seemed to come to life with a gentle, silvery luminescence, casting enchanting patterns upon the forest floor.

In this captivating episode of the "Anthology of Horror" podcast, we had the privilege of revisiting the works of the celebrated author, Woundlicker, aka Mark Lynch. Hailing from the enchanting landscapes of Northern Ireland, Mark Lynch is a literary genius, weaving tales that span alternate history, science fiction, and the darkest realms of horror. One of his literary gems, "Harsh Words," is available for exploration on Amazon, offering an immersive journey into imaginative storytelling.Throughout this captivating episode, the interlude was graced by the haunting melodies of "Moonlight Sonata" and "Prelude in C Sharp Minor," both masterfully played by Spring Heeled Jack, creating an enchanting ambiance that enveloped our storytelling.As the episode drew to a close, we bid you farewell with a powerful rendition of "Message in a Bottle" covered by Machine Head, originally written by The Police. This closing song captured the essence of the episode, leaving a lasting impression.Support the showYe olde march shop https://www.aohpmerch.com/s/shopDemented Darkness https://open.spotify.com/show/2ausD083OiTmVycCKpapQ8Dark Side of the Nerd https://open.spotify.com/show/6cwN3N3iifSVbddNRsXRTuFoxhound43 https://rumble.com/user/Foxhound43

In this captivating episode of the "Anthology of Horror" podcast, we delve deep into the rich tapestry of Native American folklore from the United States. These timeless stories are carefully selected to transport you to a world of enchantment and mystery.As your host and narrator, Spring Heeled Jack, takes you on this journey, the interlude is graced by haunting melodies, featuring "Moonlight Sonata" and "Prelude in C Sharp Minor," both masterfully played by Spring Heeled Jack himself. These timeless compositions add an extra layer of enchantment, immersing you in the ambiance of the tales.And as the episode draws to a close, we bid you farewell with "Come Join the Murder" by The White Buffalo. This evocative song encapsulates the emotions and intensity of the stories you've just experienced, leaving a lasting impression.So, as we conclude this episode, remember that the darkness has many secrets left to reveal, and we'll be here to unveil them together. Thank you for joining us on this enchanting journey, and stay tuned for more chilling tales yet to come.Support the showYe olde march shop https://www.aohpmerch.com/s/shopDemented Darkness https://open.spotify.com/show/2ausD083OiTmVycCKpapQ8Dark Side of the Nerd https://open.spotify.com/show/6cwN3N3iifSVbddNRsXRTuFoxhound43 https://rumble.com/user/Foxhound43

In this captivating episode of the "Anthology of Horror" podcast, we invite you to gather 'round our virtual campfire as we delve into a collection of campfire ghost stories from around the world. These tales are carefully chosen to transport you to the heart of eerie traditions and storytelling from diverse cultures.As your host and narrator, Spring Heeled Jack, guides you through these haunting narratives, we've added an extra layer of ambiance to enhance your listening experience. Throughout the episode, you'll be serenaded by the calming sounds of a forest at night and the crackling of a campfire, immersing you in the captivating world of our stories.The interlude is graced with the haunting melodies of "Moonlight Sonata" and "Prelude in C Sharp Minor," both played by Spring Heeled Jack himself. These timeless compositions add a layer of enchantment to the episode, setting the stage for the chilling tales to come.And as we bid you farewell, we do so with the evocative song "No Children" by the Mountain Goats, a perfect ending that encapsulates the emotions and intensity of the stories you've just experienced.So, gather 'round the virtual campfire, let the forest sounds and campfire crackles serenade you, and prepare to be spellbound by these ghostly tales. The darkness holds many secrets, and we're here to unveil them all. Welcome to the "Anthology of Horror."Support the showYe olde march shop https://www.aohpmerch.com/s/shopDemented Darkness https://open.spotify.com/show/2ausD083OiTmVycCKpapQ8Dark Side of the Nerd https://open.spotify.com/show/6cwN3N3iifSVbddNRsXRTuFoxhound43 https://rumble.com/user/Foxhound43

In this captivating episode of the "Anthology of Horror" podcast, we invite you to gather around the virtual campfire as we delve into a collection of spine-tingling campfire stories from across the globe.Your host and narrator, Spring Heeled Jack, takes you on a journey into the heart of darkness, where tales of the macabre and supernatural await. These stories, handpicked from various cultures and regions, are sure to send shivers down your spine, recreating that nostalgic feeling of sharing tales by the campfire.To enhance your listening experience, our interlude is set to the haunting notes of "Moonlight Sonata" and "Prelude in C Sharp Minor," both performed by Spring Heeled Jack himself. These classical compositions add an eerie and atmospheric touch to the episode, immersing you in the world of horror.As you draw closer to the episode's conclusion, we bid you farewell with the evocative sounds of "Up the Wolves" by the Mountain Goats, leaving you with a lasting impression of the stories you've just heard.Throughout the episode, you'll be serenaded by the ambient background noise of the woods at night and a crackling campfire. This combination of relaxing yet spooky sounds creates the perfect backdrop for our tales, enhancing the overall ambiance and immersing you in the haunting experience.So, dim the lights, turn up the volume, and let the "Anthology of Horror" take you on a journey to the heart of the unknown. As the tales unravel and the campfire crackles, remember that the night holds secrets and stories that will continue to haunt your dreams.Support the showYe olde march shop https://www.aohpmerch.com/s/shopDemented Darkness https://open.spotify.com/show/2ausD083OiTmVycCKpapQ8Dark Side of the Nerd https://open.spotify.com/show/6cwN3N3iifSVbddNRsXRTuFoxhound43 https://rumble.com/user/Foxhound43

In the chilling conclusion to "The Nightshift" by the master of the macabre, Jay Darkmore, we've reached the final, heart-pounding act of this captivating tale. The echoes of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" and Rachmaninoff's "Prelude in C Sharp Minor," skillfully performed by Spring Heeled Jack, linger in the air, a fitting backdrop to the ominous events that have unfolded.As we bid farewell to this spectral narrative, the haunting melodies give way to "Twilight Time" by The Platters, casting an eerie spell on our senses. The night has concealed its deepest secrets, and the time has come to leave them in its shadow.But fear not, for our journey through the supernatural continues. The Halloween special persists, delivering daily doses of terror and mystery. So, as we part ways for now, remember to return, keep those lanterns burning, and stay on the lookout for the unknown.Support the showYe olde march shop https://www.aohpmerch.com/s/shopDemented Darkness https://open.spotify.com/show/2ausD083OiTmVycCKpapQ8Dark Side of the Nerd https://open.spotify.com/show/6cwN3N3iifSVbddNRsXRTuFoxhound43 https://rumble.com/user/Foxhound43

In this spine-tingling episode of the "Anthology of Horror" podcast, we delve deeper into the abyss with part two of the dark and captivating tale, "The Nightshift," penned by the master of macabre, Jay Darkmore.As we venture further into the eerie world Jay has crafted, the mysteries deepen, and the horrors intensify. The story has us in its clutches, leaving us breathless and craving more. If you haven't experienced part one, go back and listen, for this is a tale that you won't want to miss.Our interlude music, skillfully performed by none other than Spring Heeled Jack himself, features Rachmaninoff's haunting "Prelude in C Sharp Minor" and Beethoven's melancholic "Moonlight Sonata." These melodies heighten the atmosphere of fear and anticipation that this episode delivers.As we conclude this installment, we leave you with the soul-stirring sounds of Bon Jovi's "The Hardest Part Is the Night." The music lingers, much like the story itself, leaving you with a sense of unease and a desire for what comes next.Remember, the Halloween special is in full swing, and each day brings a new episode, a new nightmare, and new tales to keep you awake at night.Join us tomorrow as we reach the thrilling conclusion of "The Nightshift" and explore even more eerie stories lurking in the shadows.Stay with us on this harrowing journey into the unknown, right here on the "Anthology of Horror."Support the showYe olde march shop https://www.aohpmerch.com/s/shopDemented Darkness https://open.spotify.com/show/2ausD083OiTmVycCKpapQ8Dark Side of the Nerd https://open.spotify.com/show/6cwN3N3iifSVbddNRsXRTuFoxhound43 https://rumble.com/user/Foxhound43

Clara makes a compact, Mort dreams of the sea floor, and Bert bites back. The theme of tonight's episode is Fishes.(To avoid spoilers, content warnings are listed at the end of this episode description).The bonus story that goes with this episode is ‘Big Catch', and is available for Hallowoods patrons on the show's Patreon, along with behind-the-scenes, exclusive merchandise, and more! Because the show runs without ads or sponsors, we rely on support from fans to guarantee the survival of this LGBTQ+ horror podcast.Hello From The Hallowoods is written and produced by William A. Wellman, a queer horror author. You can visit their website for more information! The transcript for this episode is available on the Hello From The Hallowoods Website. Click here to read!You can also find Hello From The Hallowoods on social media! The show is on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter at @thehallowoods. If you'd like to connect with other fans of the show, there's even a fan-run Discord Server!Music for this episode was used under license from Artlist.com. The soundtracks featured were: ‘Forest Overture', by Yehezkel Raz, ‘Metamorphosis', by The Bows, ‘Moonlight Sonata', by Brooklyn Classical, ‘Bleeding Fields', by Muted, ‘Cold Sugar', by Sun Wash, ‘Gravity', by Piotr Hummel,‘Soft Awakening', by John Gegelman, ‘Enigma,' by Charlie Ryan, ‘A Town Called Dismal', by Josh McCausland, ‘Leaving Earth', by Stanley Gurvich, ‘Ganymede', by Yehezkel Raz, ‘Ten Lost Years', by Yehezkel Raz, ‘Hourglass - Instrumental Version', by Yehezkel Raz, ‘Pentecost - Reworked', by Christopher Galovan,‘Exhale', by Salt of the Sound, And ‘Farewell', by Maya Belsitzman and Matan Ephrat Content warnings for this episode include: Animal death (Beast as usual, Bert not as usual), Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Death + Injury, Blood, Birds, Static (including sfx), Emotional Manipulation, Body horror