Nathaniel Clark

…have to admit they’re get­ting bet­ter and bet­ter: more time, more adven­tures, more record­ing, more read­ing; Lucian talking-without-talking, walking-without-walking, all those secret hybridi­ties that come from a mind stretched between a baby and a child. Towards the end of today’s record­ing ses­sion, hit with the tired feel­ing, sort of like I am out of ideas. I mean, one can only use a dis­torted tuba so much. In any case, love and thanks to Iryshka for arrang­ing a work ses­sion today.

update: actu­ally, got to hit the record­ing room again, since Yana stayed ’til 3pm; man­aged to give insec­tile birth to one more musi­cal idea, one that hope­fully emerges from its lar­val stage with wings.

Sit­ting in bed, in the silver-blue glow of my lap­top, watch­ing my son sleep, sooth­ing him first with sound when he wakes. Inter­est­ingly, more than half the time he wakes with a vio­lent start, and starts cry­ing imme­di­ately — before even open­ing his eyes. So I have to ask — is he hav­ing night­mares? Or is he sim­ply hyper­sen­si­tive to his sit­u­a­tion– in the crib, not in the bed, and alone, no bod­ies next to him? I can’t decide. I know that he’s upset before he’s fully con­scious. It makes me sad to think that a child of a mere 8 months could have any­thing in his head other than warm, fuzzy, liq­uid, fleshy happiness.