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Crossing the Line

Crossing The Line is a labor of love. It's about two guys having fun, adding totally free improvistions between several selections. Larry Combs and Eddie Daniels are legendary masters of their craft. Combs, aside from being one of the best orchestral clarinetists in the world, is a fine jazz player. He played with Chuck Mangione before joining the Chicago Symphony.
From "Ponchielli," (featuring the Chicago String Quintet) and the Pleyel duets to Gordon Goodwin's "Leblanc Suite" and William O. Smith's "Jazz Fantasy" this is a serious musical joyride!

passion volume iv
view in lightbox please & will be taking a hiatus until may 19th (when my last IB exam is over)

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I lifted the laminated book cover so that one of the sharp angles would land softly on my wrist, with that, I drew it over my skin like a violin's bow, and wept a silent tune; no one would ever hear my song of pain. It became a daily routine: I would go back to the library and borrow books with clear crisp edges, then go back home and recite my broken melody all over again to perfection.
There was never blood. I didn’t want there to be. I was afraid, I knew that if I saw that bright red line, it would be real. Too real. Then I would have to admit to myself that this was getting too far, that maybe it was time to stop. If there was blood, there would have to be healing, and a scar, and I was scared. What if I couldn’t heal, like I was suppose to? What if I would always be caught in this trance, in this solitude of hurt? What if things won’t ever get better? What if.
So I never pressed too hard, but I never pressed too light either. It was like Goldilocks testing the bears’ porridge. Not too hot, not too cold, it had to be just right. There were never permanent marks, it was always the same faint white lines. Like a barcode patterned to recognize my hurt.
People say the best moment when they cut themselves is feeling that sweet release, feeling free, feeling invincible. But that’s not what it’s like for me. The best moment is when I watch those clean white lines fade to nothing, self-erasing all the evidence of hurt. That’s my sweet release. Because at that moment, I believe, that perhaps like those fading lines, my pain and hurt will melt away themselves. That perhaps, my pain is only temporary. That maybe, it really will be okay.

Scenes at the San Jose Jazz Festival, Saturday, August 14, 2010.

Taken with the Pentax K10D camera using the smc P-K 200mm F2.5 lens at F2.8.