So here’s my pal, Ludie—The Sicilian. And here’s what he had to say about himself: “You People who think or say that I am hostile, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly you wrong me. You have no idea of the secret reason which makes me seem that way to you.” Of course his secret was that he was deaf.
His very dedicated fans like to call Beethoven “The Sicilian” because of his dark appearance and the looks of someone from Sicily. Those very passionate fans struggle with the stories of how badly he treated his nephew. There were also rumors about the time that Ludwig was given the care of his nephew, that the child was actually his own son, having had an affair with his brother’s wife. Beethoven did mistreat his nephew as there appears to be enough evidence to substantiate that. However, there has not been anything to prove that the nephew was anything other than just that—a nephew.
The music world generally considers Beethoven to be the greatest composer who ever lived.
- Posted by Ludwig van Beethoven Site
That dream of the room. The room that becomes a house and the house becomes filled with rooms. The rooms unknown that hold many surprises and other pathways, doors, and tunnels. The attic filled with jewels. The dungeon below that you dare not enter yet moves with you, no matter the places you leave. Always there, always below. Except when it is above. Some rooms breathe and you can hear the in-and-out pranayama of the thing itself. Or is it the whole house? The house which has now become a mansion. It possesses you, that dream. It moves with you in madness and complete possession. It fills you with the transcendence of a miracle that gives you the life beyond. It takes you flying beside yourself, past yourself, this dream that is beyond words where you are baptized by the Light that has come alive, has re-imagined itself there. And you know the truth of the words “In my Father’s House there are many mansions.” And it is not that Father you know, but the Father that is Self, the self contained beyond itself and transmuted into the Universe.
Another photo of my hometown, Burns Park in La Crosse, Wisconsin. At least that’s what it’s called now. I didn’t know that it had a name when we hung out there as high school kids. I doubt that today the kids can get by with the things we did there. No—no drugs. My time was that before the drug scene. Bob Good Photography Studio posted this on Facebook for us. The colors are so rare, so intense, it is as if they have been imagined.
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 