Bound， hungry to pluck again from the thousand
technologies of ecstasy
boundlessness， the world that at a drop of water
rises without boundaries，
I push the PLAY button：——
. .Callas， Laurel & Hardy， Szigeti
you are alive again，——
the slow movement of K.218
once again no longer
bland， merely pretty， nearly
banal， as it is
in all but Szigeti's hands
Therefore you and I and Mozart
must thank the Twentieth Century， for
it made you pattern， form
whose infinite
repeatability within matter
defies matter——
Malibran. Henry Irving. The young
Joachim. They are lost， a mountain of
newspaper clippings， become words
not their own words. The art of the performer.