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May 28, 2007.  The last time I listened to Coltrane's Africa/Brass album.  199 times, I've listened to the opening track of Pat Metheny's "A Map of the World", morning music (yeah, still, Tone, and it's still your fault. I've eliminated the album from my "most played" playlists.) April 1, 2007, the last time I listened to Arvo Part's Berliner Messe.  I used to fall asleep with that album playing every night in the late spring and summer of 1994.  So much to read, so much to listen to, and I'm feeling burdened by the limitations of my work.  What should be intellectual freedom is instead the burden of a book unwritten, of promise yet to be fulfilled, the sword of Damocles dangling ominously, yet described in triplicate and its severance a process well documented and funded by the Great State of California.  I've somehow come to associate my not-listening-to-jazz (in favour of a wave of indie/shoegazing over the last few years) with not-being-done-with-my-book and not-being-more-productive.  I'm not sure why, as I've been stupidly productive, of late, despite the two unwritten talks in the next 5 1/2 weeks scaring the living fuck out of me.  The bigger audience, 1st week in April, likely the less important talk than the smaller-but-everyone-is-someone audience, 3rd week in April talk.  Sigh.  Back to Mrs. Mandlestam, having dabbled in some of Osip's poetry, this evening, and another fine glass of the fine invention of Glenmorangie  aged in Burgundy casks.  Delightful.