Is it spell it out here, just one more time ? One more just e-endeavour ?
In our filthy , shifty, modern tide ( the scopological is king – LOOK ! WATCH ! SEE ! The eye and not the seeing, listening ear is king – how we love our dvdeeing, your filming, her looking, his medial and mediatic prying; Thomas, Tom De Peeper is king of this, my present filthy Century of the Eye: …
Thus, where is, well, my place in this 21.st c. Eyeball And Retina And Permanently Excited optic nerves ? – But it´s my EARS ! ( J.S.Bach died of this ; good Mr. Handel ditto ) .
I am ready to writhe here out in a verse my Death-Bed Composer´s Argument. Once again :
once upon a time there was this little ( presently scripting ) lad in Ould Tipperary , surrounded by his loving parents´ me-loving hundred free – moving sows and babies and me-hating boar , – this my First Symphony, actually.
Come De Day when my pre-sentence : ” As he lay dying ” , will have got its, ashy taste,
what doth it behove Dis Composer if he , – if I , have, has not realized his, my, full musical potential, compositional ” potential” , – quite simply : if I have not dared to compose not enough , no, of my ( enormously ) wide range of potential, composed courage, – well then, also , not enough of the perfectly fused ” heard” and ” written” and of the ” having dared” to widen the limits of ( poor ) Debussy´s musically
thinkable universe . Coraggio, Corcorano, Compositore . – I have but my intervals, their hythms and their colours , densities, attacks et al . I wouldn´t be wanting to be stuck in YOUR slippers on YOUR Composer´s Death-bed… Thus: