Cold, More Remembrance Scores, and Hospitals

My throat felt sore last night and I barely slept. I clearly have a cold forming and took action, sucking on some zinc citrate, and other simple remedies of first resort. I've not had a cold in years, not since I had Covid in June 2022. This week, however, I've been to the hospital many times, been on a busy bus, sang in a library full of people, and have been freezing cold, sad, worried, sleepless.

More work today on the Remembrance Service scores. 'I Don’t Really Go Out Any More' was recorded in a live take and has no MIDI recording, which means any scoring will have to be done by ear (or by AI, one day, it's not good enough yet). This is complicated by the fact that it's full of strong echoes. Thus, only the most vapourous of playing guides can be scored. Five of the seven tracks have first draft scores now.

My brother went to see my father, who was lucid and alert, and managed to answer some yes-no questions by communicating in hand squeezes. He's been moved to a better room, quieter, more restful, and they've given him a radio, playing BBC Radio 3 Paul thinks. How brilliant the NHS have been at every stage. Paul asked dad if the station was ok, and the hand-squeeze said yes. He pointed towards the sink; thirsty. Of course he is, I thought, he's had no food or fluids for 24 hours now. A nurse tried a tea-spoon of water, which my father coughed up. Even following a year or more of therapy, daily exercises, and rehabilitation, he'd never be able to walk or swallow; such was the verdict of the consultant.

How sad his thirst made me. Dying of thirst, and we are unable to help. What if, I thought, his lung infection was a cold, not fatal, just this cold that I have, not connected with his paralysis. What if he's fought it off, now stronger that we think, and now is dying of thirst because his feeding had been removed. The torture of this thought. The anger at everyone who decided to do this to him.

But, I know that his ultimate condition is hopeless. His dryness can be a natural end-of-life feeling, which is apparently not related to nutrition. I just don't want to see him suffer. Nobody does, I know this. The doctors and nursing professionals know what they are doing, and everything has been done to an exemplary standard.

My Father, Remembrance Service

Sad days as my father nears his end. The hospital are making him comfortable. I, with my mother and Paul, went to see him in hospital. He was more aware at first, much more than yesterday, eyes open, able to grunt a sound, but unable to speak or communicate beyond a gaze. For much of the time his eyes were closed, occasionally wincing at each cough. The machines were unplugged, his uncomfortable tubes removed. The radio we took last night was playing but mum decided to take it home. This saddened me as I thought more of his isolation, the tedious hours, this a fragment of home taken away; but I can understand because it was her mother's radio from 30 years ago or more, so it has a special meaning to her.

At home I continued slow work on the sheet music for Remembrance Service. My room is cold and the back of my nose is now tinny with an oncoming infection, sapping me yet more. Deborah is working for a few days but a wonderful comfort and constant support. How I love her. Paul is staying for a few more days. Everything is disrupted and abnormal. It's hard to plan or do a thing and my emotional and now physical malaise is sapping everything.

Everything is so sad. The thought of endless lonely hours over the past 2 weeks, my father seeing more medical staff than family or friends. We visit one or two hours every other day. He can't speak, except with his eyes, and I'm pleased that he at least did this to me. The first week in Stoke when he was completely alone - but we couldn't easily visit. Would a visit have helped?

This blasted cold! Coldness seems to be everywhere.

Remembrance Day

Yesterday, our regular trip to Congleton to sing and play in the Good Vibrations morning in the library, then a drive to Knutsford and home late in much traffic.

I heard that my father had a lung infection, so Deb and I went to see him in hospital the evening. He was awake and aware, seemed quite healthy, more alert and able than the previous time I saw him. I thanked him for everything he's done for me over the years, the things I've never thanked him for; for showing me oil painting as a child. For showing me how to make Airfix planes, for showing me how to use the woodworking tools. For allowing me to use his easel from 2007 or 2008 - I didn't ask. It wasn't in use so I just appropriated it. There were more recent times when he might have found use for it, when, in his later Parkinson's years he once again started to paint, and where I ignored his working. I thanked him for this computer, an expensive 50th birthday present which has been transformational to me, to what I could do. I never said thank you at the time, barely a glance in return, barely offering any help with online forms or internet things that he needed help with. I did the minimum and grudgingly. I said sorry. I spoke many thanks and sorrows previously unsaid that I should have said before. I was lucky to have that opportunity.

Deb and I were planning on visiting this afternoon instead of last light, but we did so as well. Last night I asked if he'd like us to bring a radio, and he mouthed yes, even if he was unable to speak. We brought him a radio today but he was semi-conscious with a raised heart rate, seemingly too weak. We were unable to make contact.

My angers have turned into sorrows, my annoyances into guilt, and lost love.

This morning, I worked a little on the sheet music for Remembrance Service, the full title is Remembrance Service For Those Who Died Homeless Postponed. An album half of instrumentals, but suffused with memories, with remembrance of the unknown and unseen. For much of my life, he was that to me, despite us sharing this house for all of my life. He hurt me too much, so I ignored and avoided him in revenge. Yesterday was Remembrance Day. Today I know that I will mark his memory in ways my mother will not. At times I hated him, for long times. At times I think he knew this. How cruel and foolish I was. I wish he could know how much I love him now, and at least, when we spoke yesterday, I had the chance to finally say so. I can but hope that he knew this, that he knows this, too late though it was.

Owl Mask

A day of work on the owl mask. I fitted the elastics a few days ago, now to cover everything with a little plaster, then feathers, more paint, and a beak made from a triangular fold of plastic drinks bottle.

All of my thoughts, however, are of my poor father in hospital.

Argus v1.70

A trip, with my brother and Deborah, to see my father in hospital today. How lovely the hospital staff are, so kind and professional at every level. His condition is serious, his stroke devastating. The situation is so sad.

At home, worked on Argus, some reasonably big upgrades and fixes.

Amiga Music Videos Day 4

A full, 12-hour, day of work on the Amiga videos. First, rendering each in Argus. Each of the 38 videos took about 7 minutes. Then, converting those into 8000kbps videos for YouTube (Argus saves out only in images, a string of jpg files).

At this point I decided to file all of the tracks as an album, 'The Scorpius Games'. This makes sense as it's all music, and a complete collection of 38 tunes, neatly organised chronologically. Of course, this meant (and means, the process is not complete) more filing work, proper titles for everything (this helped unify the style), and assigning ISRC codes. I'll not release the album in any commercial way, not in the foreseeable future at least, but it's nice to have this large collection of music filed correctly.

Then, uploading each to YouTube, and checking the text and subtitles. Then filing the Argus files, and building 3000kbps videos for archiving. Each of these processes took a few minutes, so there was hardly any time to stop or pause.

The first video will become public on 21st January 2027. Music from each game will appear in chronological order, with new a game featured every Thursday and Monday at 18:00 GMT; thus music from the last of the 20 games, Blade, will appear on Monday the 29th of March.

Of course, at all times my thoughts are with my father. My mother has already started to throw away his things. My brother will visit here tomorrow.

Amiga Music Videos Day 3, My Father

Deb drove me to Castle Park Arts Centre in Frodsham first thing to deliver 3 paintings for their open exhibition, then to Tŷ Pawb to deliver 'Punishment of the Sun' there.

My mother was visiting my father at the time. It seems that he is in a vegetative state with sever brain damage due to his stroke. I've spent much of today reflecting on our relationship that never was, my memories, the past. The situation is so sad, but I feel stoic and calm. Fate deals its hand.

It's odd that I find myself, again, at this time of death and sadness writing about the computer game Zamzara, this time due to the Amiga game videos. The name of my game Arazmax was inspired by the title of that game, and my game Sentinel (also known as Hideous) was inspired by the game itself. The Zamzara music means, to me, the death of our former cat Felix, and I found myself listening to it, for the first time in years and by chance, when my father took an overdose earlier this year. Zamzara, from Samsara, the cycle of life.

Of course, my father knows nothing about that game, and knows nothing about me. We've lived in the same house for all of my life, 53 years, yet have never had a conversation. Occasionally he may ask me to do something for him, and occasionally I ask for his help, regarding a power tool perhaps, but we have never exchanged many words. He doesn't know, didn't know of even simple things like my intolerance of milk, which foods I like or don't like. He knew nothing about any of my friends, failures or accomplishments. A photograph of myself being awarded the Grosvenor Open prize was, is, framed and hung on the wall. My mother said he was proud of this, which moved me. I never really liked that photograph, I was nervous and in somewhat melancholy mood that day. Yet, his glimpse at the photo was perhaps the only point of contact we had. He saw the photograph in silence. He never in his like spoke to me about his parents, upbringing, family, or about anything at all really.

Generally I was and remain afraid of him, always anxious if he should be in the same room. Terrified even to make a sound near him, terrified of any sound he might make. I never sat in the same room as him. I started painting in 2004, when he had stopped, and used his easel. My childhood memory of his oil paints gave me no fear of them, a happy reminiscence. I wouldn't be the artist I am without him. For my 50th birthday he bought me this PC, something I couldn't afford and badly needed, a life-changing gift for me. I never thanked him. He never knew his much his gift meant to me.

I wrote some words about him this afternoon, then worked on the Amiga videos, created caption files and thumbnail images for them. All is ready for rendering, I think.

Amiga Music Videos Day 2

A full day animating the 40-or-so Amiga music videos. The first half of the day was customising the FFMpeg scripts and YouTube text. I've added quite a lot of interesting facts about each game, information that only I can supply. I could make this text a series of captions on the videos, as this is the sort of information that appears over music videos on pop-music shows.

The animation part consists of a series of variations on a standard scene of spinning cube, the faces textures with an image of the Amiga title screen, bordered by a second 'neon' cube, and various backgrounds. These have taken until 20:00 and could be called complete in a first draft, though I'm bound to want more changes. Many of these tunes were designed to loop, and thus end suddenly. I've decided to fade them out.