Angrily I returned from the library, driven relentlessly by my compulsion to feel music. Earphones pressed close to my head if only I could get the music inside my heartbeat rather than the other way round. I know why string instruments are closest to the human voice, I can feel it as I hum along with the cello, the way my vocal chordes work just like a bow across strings. I need to be closer.
Wolfi I think you really are going mad...
Remember, George, remember when I was in the orchestra and we played Malcom Arnold and I was right in the middle and it was like I dissipated into the vibrations whenever the orchestra swelled, whenever the piccolo carried the melody, whenever the percussionist struck the Bells. Why did that ever have to end? I can never get back to that space, between the air and the music where I slid along the sounds of physics in motion.
Who would check out Corelli's Christmas Concerto? I can't get close enough to the music through the headphones so I'll get the score and play it. Play it feel it. I listened to it all the way to the library only to find some jackass checked it out. Who would check out Corelli's Christmas Concerto?!
This is what I always look like:
Actually it is usually just my left eyebrow and my mouth isn't quite so dramatic. But it occured to me that I haven't really laughed or even smiled in a long, long time. In fact I can't remember the last time I really, genuinely smiled, and I really can't remember the last time I laughed. I am afraid to do both. Afraid. I am afraid to be caught. Because then someone will know that something elated me, and they will feel threatened. I hate that.
You'd never know it, but I don't have much to say. Well, not much I would say to anyone. I don't speak except to answer questions and otherwise I live in my mind--before which I live in fear--and speak on the page.
I hope no one sees me enjoying it...