I have created my first music album— an experimental piece featuring analog Moog synthesizers among a few other instruments.
Interval Consonance/Dissonance Waveform Character
Unison perfectly consonant simple plain
Second dissonant quickly pulsating wants to be resolved
Third consonant- pulsating pleasant, richer
Fourth consonant stable pre-classical connotations, sound slowly cycles
Fifth consonant+ stable classical connotation, halfway between tonic/dominant
Sixth semi-consonant pulsating less frequently used, harder to identify, not simple like 5th
Seventh dissonant pulsating quicker wants to be resolved, unusual interval
Octave perfectly consonant more complex than unison,stable richer than unison
Ninth semi-dissonant pulsating more pleasant than second
Tenth consonant stable complex, somewhat similar to third, happy
Tuning Ratios for Just Intonation:
Unison= 1:1 Second=9:8 Third=5:4 Fourth=4:3
Fifth=3:2 Sixth=5:3 Seventh=15:8 Octave=2:1
–ASMR is the term for a genre of relaxing videos, such as Bob Ross painting, which can relieve stress and induce a pleasant tingling sensation in the viewer–
So I have made an ASMR channel, and not really told anyone yet, but it already has around 20 videos. I have worked hard creating different characters and making different situations and playlists for the videos, such as a series taking place in Rolling Hills Asylum, and one I am just starting called The Bookkeeper taking place in a post-apocalyptic world.
I hope you get some relaxation out of them!
Until next time,
Youtube —> azuur asmr
My first inspiration for this experiment was the reading of books by Mark Twain, Willa Cather, and Laura Ingalls Wilder. Their atmospheres of local life captured my imagination and the imagination of many others. Life back then seemed scarier, wilder, and much more magical and interesting. Secondly, I like experimenting with different lifestyles, particularly primitive ones.
Considering that most of humanity has lived with little light in the night-time, I wanted to see what it was like doing the same thing. Thousands of years ago people either made it around in the dark or perhaps used torches. More recently, in the Medieval era, they had candles, but the oil lamp was not generally used until the 1800’s. In the end of the same century, the light bulb was invented but was not put into common use until perhaps the 1920’s. Being that my generation is one of the first generations to not experience completely dark nights at all, this experiment was quite exciting for me.
Go one night without light bulbs or similar sources of light. Using a computer on the dimmest setting, or
a dim flashlight two tea lights, is permitted. No TV, radio, phone, or anything else of that sort.
Before the experiment: Feeling the slight hum from the light bulbs and the variable resistor that powers them in the kitchen was comforting. Life felt normal and vibrant, at least in the artificial superficial way it is for most people. Whatever was happening outside frankly did not matter, and I could essentially do whatever I wanted without any obstacles at all.
0 Minutes: I was able to start at 7pm. Before that, it was starting to get dark, but I was too busy with my friends over to turn all the lights off. I had one on in the kitchen at half power and that was it.
A little light gets in from the streetlight outside and the neighbor’s house. It is similar to the amount of light from a full moon as we have some shades to blot it out. I really notice any change from the neighbors turning bulbs on or off, way more than I would before.
It feels quieter and less interruptive of nature. The fridge sounds very loud now. Outside, there is a slight city traffic noise but it is barely noticeable. Out the window the sky is dark but the neighborhood is very bright. Especially the insides of some people’s houses.
Walking on the sidewalk, I notice three times the brightness outdoors compared to in my house. Now I can barely see inside, between that and the computer monitor. Time for my eyes to adjust again. A half hour has passed, but it has already been full of experiences. Wanting to see a little more, I dug around blindly for some tea lights then failed and used my computer monitor as a beacon to find them. Putting them on a plate, I can walk around slowly and see some things. I am reminded of how much I like prepping and thinking about the apocalypse. It’s a bit of a hobby that I don’t take too seriously. This simulates the atmosphere of no-power post-apocalyptic situations. I cannot believe it’s only been 35 minutes!
45 minutes: Facebooking. Yeah I know it’s horrible. But more inspirational then some peoples’. I’ve spent hours weeding out negativity from it. And it’s my main method of communicating virtually.
70 minutes: finally got off facebook. Darn, time flies. I almost do not notice that the lights are off.80 minutes: Went to the bathroom. It was nice. I feel blessed to have running water. Found, with no light at all, a farmer’s almanac 2015 and read some. It’s hard to read with such little illumination; you have to put the book past it and avoid breathing in the fumes for the pages to lighten up enough. It’s not that bad though, I remember reading in the car in darker situations and surviving when I was little. At the end, some little hairs got into the candle and made a horrible smell. I don’t know what they’re from. Possibly my mini-persian silk carpet I was weaving on that table before the experiment commenced. Blew the candles out after making sure the lighter was working and at hand to use later when I relight them. I feel a tiny bit lonely.
90 minutes: played banjo. I realize how much staying up late is unnatural. It’s just stupid in nature; a completely manmade occurence. I would be going to bed 2 hours earlier than usual if I did this every night.
120 minutes: waiting for my mom to make dinner. online. It feels peaceful.
2.5 hours: Dinner was great. More intellectual conversation and use of archaic words than I’m used to. I felt like I actually needed a relationship with others instead of being my normal half-distracted self.
3 hours: Saw my friends and had some fun. I’m amazed how hard it would be for people to live without lights, how bored they would get and how suddenly all my neighbors would come out of the woodwork and stop pretending they don’t live in immediate proximity to other human beings. Also, if they didn’t have internet or TV, I believe you would see a lot of frazzled minds and then a sudden upswing of human relations and people actually partaking in real activities. How cool that would be. And I remember people in a remote town complaining that their internet got shut of for 3 weeks! Gosh!
4 hours: I believe I shall try this again tomorrow. Going to bed soon. Thinking about the future.
Postscript: The biggest difference with this whole thing is not actually in being awake but in the fact that you sleep and wake up differently. I felt like I had been camping; rather excited and refreshed when I woke up instead of negative feeling as I sometimes am. It was very pleasant. When the daylight finally comes back, it means a lot more than it used to.
A SPECIAL PLACE: Pastural Farm
Azure Gallagher Michalak
Among the fondest memories in my life are those of summer 2014 on Pastural Farm. People often came and went, but the two permanent residents were Dan and Jane Barson, friendly, rugged folks with warm smiles. They had revitalized the main farmhouse from a neglected state after they moved in in the late nineties. Near the house, three dozen hens and a few roosters strutted about proudly, although they would scurry away frantically if anything larger than a chicken approached them. Largest among the three barns on the property was the dairy barn. This huge barn was built more than a century ago, and still stood rigid, roof uncaved, almost like it was new. It had a giant hay loft and ample room for cows and calves.
The foremost of my recollections are those taking place in the milk house and parlor, for I spent many long hours there milking the cows, cleaning the pipelines, and carefully filling glass jugs with scrumptious buttercream-hued milk. Every bovine had a name, Silver, Henry, Raven, Dora, and Cindy being a small selection. The former was a gargantuan brown bull, and the second his younger, meeker twin. It is a bad decision to be dishonest at a dairy farm, because if you claim you can handle moving a bull and fail miserably halfway through the job, it is your fault. The same rule does not generally apply to safer jobs indoors. The cows possessed the most differing personalities, some faultless and others very troublesome. One was so misbehaved that she repeatedly struck me in the face with her tail until I developed an eye infection. It is no wonder that some farmers wear goggles when milking. The job was a perplexing mixture of chore and fun. It was tiring and repetitive, and one time when I was sick and unsteady I was forced to use the cow’s backs as a support to get off my knees after attaching the milking machine. At the same time, many sunny days were spent listening to conservative radio or country music, talking to friends, or singing and humming pleasantly to the cows as the twice-daily chore was underway. The reward was fresh creamy milk, made even more perfect by the addition of chocolate syrup. It was always worth it.
After finishing the night milking, it was time for dinner, an ever-expanding assortment of quality food. My labor went unpaid, but the food made it worth it. Jane, Dan’s longtime partner, would do the traditional wives’ work, cleaning, homestyle cooking, and baking, as well as bedding and feeding the calves and looking after the chickens. Company would often come over in the evening to break up the monotony, and we spent many pleasant nights talking and eating with friends until midnight or even later. During the daytime, there would always be a homemade desert on the table; orange cake, elderberry pie, homemade jam. Amish donuts, or brownies. Lunches would often be simple and quick if there was a lot of work to do outside, so Dan and I would grab a bologna sandwich, egg sandwich, or a quick slice of “egg pie” with hot sauce or homemade pepper mustard. I do not eat eggs, but always made exceptions at the farm, since they were very different from the store-bought kind. The quintessential beverage was milk, and I was a great guzzler of it. I was known to drink at least three cups a day, sometimes six and up to nine. More trips were made to the milk tank when I was at the farm than at any other time.
I first learned to drive at the farm. My vehicle of choice was a 1978 blue Ford tractor, a reliable vehicle with a huge amount of play in the steering wheel. Shifting the gears was difficult and nonsensical at first, but Dan slowly explained it to me until I understood it well enough to drive by myself. I did a number of jobs successfully with that machine, although I almost hit a fence post while towing a huge trailer behind. Still, it was preferable riding stately Trooper, the bay Warmblood horse, in my opinion. There were many other tractors on the property, a temperamental old International often found doing field work, a huge White tractor with dual wheels, and an antique Farmall with a broken engine block which was never fixed. I learned how to tinker with the engines of two John Deere mower tractors I had bought for little over a hundred dollars. After failing to repair them, I traded them for a 1968 Cub Cadet and 1994 Lawn Chief which I partially fixed. After driving the tractors around for a while, Dan and I went on an errand in the surrounding hills when our car got a flat tire. He calmly called his friends while we stood outside in the hot summer weather. We talked for a while about relaxing topics, and I asked which plants were growing on the side of the road. He told me the names and uses of every single one, to my surprise. Ten minutes later, a friend pulled up in a noisy custom pickup truck with a spare tire for our Crown Victoria, not at all bothered by our call for help. People in the mountains are not afraid to help one another, a valuable lesson for everybody.
I had many long discussions with Jane while driving home from the farm, waiting for dinner to be ready, or being idle before the chores. We had an astounding synchronicity; our minds were very similar and despite our different backgrounds we were able to share a lot about life in those talks. History, politics, and living in general were our favorite topics. We lamented how true rural culture is fading away in America and around the world, the comforting clopping of horse drawn carriages and fresh country air replaced by the uncomfortable squeal of automobiles and polluted atmospheres of cities and towns. People, instead of helping their neighbors with their work, have turned to push them away or do not even know their names in the first place. I would have been sorely in need of advice from elders if it had not been for Dan and his wife helping me along with questions about my future or anything else that interested me. The most memorable discussion took place in the barn hay loft during a beautiful thunderstorm, when I realized how the sky looked exactly like a painting from the 1800’s, an amazing opalescent orange glow surrounded by cloudy black ink. We talked there for a long time, until the storm finally passed away. That night, I wished I was a painter.
From driving through the field herding the cows and sleeping in the quiet, expansive hay loft, to pigeon hunting, fixing cars, buying Amish baked goods, riding Trooper bareback down the road, and discussing the meaning of life, I find myself often missing Pastural Farms and the lessons it taught me about patience, humility, work, and fun. Perhaps the world would be a better place to live in if everyone would stay for a while at such a farm, as it exists in a far-off place where virtue is rewarded and dishonesty, laziness, and falseness are slowly tilled away. It all started by going to the barn sale and picking up Macguffey’s 1880 Reading Primer for a quarter, and that summer ended with me bittersweetly waving goodbye to Dan and Jane from the car as the orange autumn leaves skidded, drifting across the road.
English is a strange language using many exaggerations and metaphors, especially in some particular dialects.Here is a list of some of the foremost figures of speech used in America:
General American figures of speech:
“falling in love,” “racking our brains,” “hitting a sales target,” “climbing the ladder of success” “hotter than Hell” “A bull in a china shop” “We have to let you go.” Read: You’re fired. “You’re well fed.” Read: You’re fat. “To a T”, exactly
Southeastern Figures of Speech:
If you don’t stop that crying, I’ll give you something to cry about! (Usually resulted in a spanking, making us cry more)
If a bullfrog had wings, he wouldn’t bump his ass when he jumped. (resulted from our saying IF too much)
Close that NEWmonia hole. (close the window)
Your ass is grass and I’m the lawnmower! (usually followed by: “Go get me a switch.”)
Don’t you make eyes at me, boy! (if we rolled our eyes)
On opinions: “Opinions are like assholes, some are just louder and smellier than others.”
He’s so clumsy he’d trip over a cordless phone.
He’s about as handy as a back pocket on a shirt.
That’s about as useful as a trap door on a canoe.
He couldn’t carry a tune if he had a bucket with a lid on it.
She was so tall she could hunt geese with a rake.
She was so tall if she fell down she would be halfway home.
He was so fat it was easier to go over top of him than around him.
It happened faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.
NO!! I AM NOT FALLING ASLEEP!! I was just checking for holes in my eyelids.
‘Bill’s busier than a one-legged man at a butt kickin contest!
They don’t have a pot to piss in. “Piss Poor”
higher than a Georgia pine (drunk)
I’m fixin’ to go down the road a piece (I’m going down the road for a short distance.)
Well, I’ll just swaney! (Well, I’ll be darned.)
Don’t go off with your pistol half cocked. (Don’t get mad unless you have all the facts.)
We better git on the stick! (We better get started.)
Somebody beat him with the ugly stick. (He’s not very good looking.)
I’ll knock you so hard you’ll see tomorrow today. (You’re gonna get it!)
Cowboy Figures of Speech:
1. AS WELCOME AS A SKUNK AT A LAWN PARTY.
2. TIGHTER THAN BARK ON A TREE.
Not very generous.
3. BIG HAT, NO CATTLE.
All talk and no action.
4. WE’VE HOWDIED BUT WE AIN’T SHOOK YET.
We’ve made a brief acquaintance but have not been formally introduced.
5. HE THINKS THE SUN CAME UP JUST TO HEAR HIM CROW.
He has a pretty high opinion of himself.
6. IT’S SO DRY THE TREES ARE BRIBIN’ THE DOGS.
We really could use a little rain around here.
Tom from Kansas finds himself addicted to television sitcoms UNTIL what he watches on TV starts knocking on his door!
This is my new blog, about what English would be like if it was written as it’s pronounced. I’ll be still writing this one too, though. Don’t worry!
“Grocery Stores FEAR Him” is a famous ad in a series of ads that are obviously scams. However, they’re so blatently fake that they have a humor to them. There are other variations on “Grocery Stores FEAR Him”, such as how to get rock hard abs, and “electric companies FEAR him!” with a strange-looking device that is supposed to generate free power.