…after six decades finally a dream comes true…the end-all, the cremma della cremma of dreams, at long heartbreaking last and - I should have seen it coming - rapidly deteriorates into a nightmare. In a way it’s funny – like Dude, nightmares don’t usually come true & dreams that do aren’t dreams after all…chaos is the net result, a disorder so discombobulated that the chances of repairing the schism are humptydumptyian in scope…
…the Lower Class, of which I am a plank-owning charter member, is not as clean as the Aristocracy, with whom I only occasionally rub (dirty) elbows. As a benchmark for this dubious & questionable observation I note that as I watch those of us not to the manor born clean our beaters at the Abenaque Car Wash I see that the floor mats give off, when slapped against the bars used for such a purpose, a cloud of dust right out of The Grapes of Wrath but when the patrician fellow and his blue-haired country club wife exit their toney Lincoln Continental their barely-slapped mats give up nothing, neither dust mite nor mote; they don’t know from dirt.
…my many moods are at the behest of whim, but music alone can change them on cue. Instead of bubbling with literary enthusiasm I’m babbling effluvia (did someone say nothing new there?) For some reason no enthusiasm accrues to me as I continue living alone in a lassitude a latitude wide, enslaved to ennui so moribund I think nothing can lift me, but hark…once anon a Bach orchestral suite to the rescue; all about me lies in ruins but Bach lifts me from the depths of despondency, up a notch to just plain old misery at the turn of events (I’m never satisfied don’t you know…) but even a little better is better than none & I was wallowing deeply into the abyss of despair, so thank you Johann, well, also in this case, Isaac Stern…
…I was once crashed out in Central Park when I heard in the distance another Bach suite & when I emerged from my den there was Isaac Stern & the NY Philharmonic playing Bach at a free for all Manhattan event and – could it be! – yes - there was Pablo Casals on cello…he was about six years older than God but when he played his beautiful bird’s eye maple cello man I mean he was young again & had everyfuckingbody in tears, even moreso when he staggered to the mike with Mayor John Lindsay at his side and said with his wonderful Catalonian lilt, ‘You young people have thee right idea I tell you, Love ees the answer, love ees the answer…’ and about 10,000 people started shouting it to the heavens…
…the Lower Class, of which I am a plank-owning charter member, is not as clean as the Aristocracy, with whom I only occasionally rub (dirty) elbows. As a benchmark for this dubious & questionable observation I note that as I watch those of us not to the manor born clean our beaters at the Abenaque Car Wash I see that the floor mats give off, when slapped against the bars used for such a purpose, a cloud of dust right out of The Grapes of Wrath but when the patrician fellow and his blue-haired country club wife exit their toney Lincoln Continental their barely-slapped mats give up nothing, neither dust mite nor mote; they don’t know from dirt.
…my many moods are at the behest of whim, but music alone can change them on cue. Instead of bubbling with literary enthusiasm I’m babbling effluvia (did someone say nothing new there?) For some reason no enthusiasm accrues to me as I continue living alone in a lassitude a latitude wide, enslaved to ennui so moribund I think nothing can lift me, but hark…once anon a Bach orchestral suite to the rescue; all about me lies in ruins but Bach lifts me from the depths of despondency, up a notch to just plain old misery at the turn of events (I’m never satisfied don’t you know…) but even a little better is better than none & I was wallowing deeply into the abyss of despair, so thank you Johann, well, also in this case, Isaac Stern…
…I was once crashed out in Central Park when I heard in the distance another Bach suite & when I emerged from my den there was Isaac Stern & the NY Philharmonic playing Bach at a free for all Manhattan event and – could it be! – yes - there was Pablo Casals on cello…he was about six years older than God but when he played his beautiful bird’s eye maple cello man I mean he was young again & had everyfuckingbody in tears, even moreso when he staggered to the mike with Mayor John Lindsay at his side and said with his wonderful Catalonian lilt, ‘You young people have thee right idea I tell you, Love ees the answer, love ees the answer…’ and about 10,000 people started shouting it to the heavens…
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