A Perfect Fifth.

With so much to say, it's hard to know where to start! I'm two weeks behind. I count on my photos to keep me in line on postings. One recent outing, blogworthy, was without camera and I'm waiting for photos from a friend. Other news in the last two weeks only comes in words. First, the one picture I have: Halloween!

It exists only lightly in Germany, like Voldemort's existence before he regained his body. There were parties to be found, but I was in no mood. I had a fun night with Tobi, Lucia, and family of Lucia's. We made Pumpkin Ghosts, or, Jack-O-Lanterns.

Now it is 01.11.11. Skipping back two weeks.

I moved into my new apartment. Things have since begun rolling with such precision, adherence and accord, if weeks were made of snow, these two would be the most perfect snowman you've ever seen. And if they were music my two weeks would be a Perfect Fifth.

When I moved into my new room, it was empty, waiting to take on new forms. Without anyone with whom to share it, without any foreseeable time constraints, I have a living space, an office space to build to my liking, to my needs. My room has become a place of music, a place fit for my residence. My walls are made of vibrations, my shelf full of notes, and the air sings. It is my practice space, und es wird geübt.

Days after creating my home, I went to a prospective student information session at the Jazz and Rock College, two minutes down the street from where I live. The session was terrific. A week later I had a trial lesson with the professor of Trumpet. I will start studying privately with him next week.

I've recently had the thought that finding the trumpet was finding the missing piece to my musical self: the right instrument. It plugs in. It's the doorway from me to the outside world and the outside world to me. I like it.

I have the time and space to make trumpet and music my first priority, not just in aspiration and mentality, but in physical pursuit. I am a student of music, and I feel completely engaged. German and Philosophy feel like passionate intrigues of mine, but I'm not made of them. I feel made of music, the cells in my blood. Now I'm bringing them to life.

Mocca Cabana Cafe.

Enjoy the onset of November.

-Ben.