service tonight. G major.

listening to Janacek: violin sonata. 1905 piano sonata and the our father (1901).

in Janacek, the music has a life of its own: obeying no rules other than those intrinsic to itself. 

this is what I can no longer do with my own music. 

my music is subservient and does not do what it really yearns to do.

which is what? 

to run free again?

I know that you will not stop me.
and yet something within me says that you will.
why is this?

but perhaps it cannot be?