Recently, I heard a story of a man who cleared his brother’s computer history of porn after he took his own life. It wasn’t that the porn was shameful, he just knew his parents would go through the history to try and find a reason for their son’s decision, and he didn’t want their memory to be tainted.
I was thinking about this and how I sometimes fall into an internet black hole, that leads me into intense paths of learning and timewasting.
When I flicked through my history tonight, I found I had read about:
A couple who adopted twenty children.
Suicides after leaving a Hasidic sect in the Jewish community.
I’d listened to a song sung by John Inman from Are You Being Served?
Watched a video on how to turn your phone to a 3D hologram
I’d searched for Bronwyn Bishop’s age. (She’s 72.)
I’d listened to a podcast- Is the fear of death really what motivates everything we do in life?
I read about Gisele supposedly wearing a burqa to go shopping, which makes no sense.
I researched transhumanism and the theory that life is just a simulation.
Then I flicked through some of the 1,000,000 images released by the British Library which are free for us to use and modify.
God, no wonder I can’t always get a single thought together. This is my brain. My brain is my computer history. This is transhumanism. I am a 3D hologram. I need a burka over my computer. I need Bronwyn Bishop to fly me out of my own head.
See? I’m losing it.
Last night my son played a song on his guitar and my daughter sang along, their music coming down the stairs inviting Dave and I to stand in the hallway and look up, listening like it was evening vespers.
In some ways it was an almost sacrosanct moment. My children have nearly five years between them. They are male and female. They have had little in common until they found music.
I have catholic taste in music, and exposed my children early to everything I loved and more.
Prince and Vivaldi, Nina Simone and Calvin Harris. Like my bookshelf, nothing is considered too low or high brow in my house.
I taught them what makes a good pop song and why we shouldn’t be dismissive of popular anything, as it reflects culture at that moment in time. To dismiss it is to dismiss ourselves.
I asked them to listen out for harmonies in James Taylor songs and irregular rhythms in baroque music. To find the joy in Aretha’s gospel music and the perfect lyrics in a Joni Mitchell song. To learn how to find the offbeat in Duke Ellington and to imitate the breathing techniques of Sinatra. Now this is an education in music.
Hearing them sing and play together made me happier than I have been in a long time. The way they worked out the arrangement, moving through the difficult bits without accusation or condemnation, the laughter at the end.
It was heaven. But then music is like that isn’t it?
Happy Tuesday swingers.