#9

To whom it may concern,

If blessed are the music makers, I must be cursed, because all I can do is let the music play, listen, and live note to note, song to song. That is enough for me. It’s enough because I can’t rush listening to it without damaging it. I can rush walking, or speaking, or thinking, but there are only a few things that I can’t rush. That I can’t force. That I can’t fight. Other expressions have to pass through the prism of our minds for us to understand them, and we change them as they do, but we understand music without thinking, maybe more so. Why should something that evokes so effectively what’s fundamental inside of us be possible at all? Why should it exist? Don’t tell me. It is not enough to know what’s the use of music, because the more pointless it is, the greater it is. Music is not made only of notes. No one note is lesser or greater than the other, not even the final one. There is something more, and when they tremble with the same music, the two ends of the lyre know it, know each other. Tell me that. I’m listening.

As Always,

Matthew Cameron