Workout 12 Jan 2013

And I said,
This is my son,
And I leaped for joy as an hart,
Dancing like wisdom before the world,
Dancing like David before the tabernacle
Crashing down without a care,
My bones uncomplaining
Bonaparte a man apart,
Whom they wove a circle round,
And was regarded with holy dread at the haunting
And with regard at the rave.

But now I am a broken toy
Who must find his secret joy
In walking to the Garden
With the memory of the dance
And a Chinaman’s chance.

Edward G. Nilges 12 July 2012 (c) Edward G Nilges: Moral Rights asserted

Walk to the garden first thing, conductus (Palestrina Pope Marcellus Mass: Listen!) and physio exercises lying down: about 20 min. The walk is still exhausting but strangely not as bad as the walk to the convenience store which is closer.

The Incomprehensible Maestro’s performance of the Missa Pape Marcelli was rudely interrupted yesterday evening by the entry of our Chinese chef expostulating at the Incomprehensible Maestro’s theft of chopsticks ai-yah for use as conductor’s batons, yet somehow the IM’s performance of Palestrina, conducted perforce without a baton, was enriched by the more intensive use of subtle musical messages transmit as secret codes agreed in rehearsal. The purity of the music, which clearly implied that from its standpoint, it’s been downhill ever since – and that paradoxically the West deserves The Quartet for the End of Time’s and the Berg Violin Concerto’s atonality after all.


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