yesterday I struggled through a recording of his 5th symphony.
often marvelling at his sense of form and the way in which the movements pile into one another like mountain ranges,
but struggling nevertheless.
music remains a barrier rather than a bridge.
my hope: this will not be for ever.
isn't my music an attempt to paint you?
wasn't it always thus:
surrogate prayer?
isn't it time to put away the paints and seek the reality?
and still I dilly-dally:
I haven't understood
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