climbing

The light is grey and the mountains are veiled in dirty mist,i find it hard to climb into this day.My ears are dry and my head is a block.Somewhere in me there is a voice that needs to be warmed up gently until the vocal chords can be played again.Mozart is my Master for this.Porgi Amor ,a perfect song for a lyric voice to wake up to.O mi lascia almen morir , the climax of her suffering is a soaring fortissimo that ends in a pianissimo as transparent as the brightests of light.Death is light is love.Let me die at least she says. I can serve the music i ll have to serve the text. No room for irony here.Only in my songs i can now hide my true feelings and still believe in the essence of life.OY!Me muero ,i’m dying the argentinians lament in their tangos.Its all the same and has to come out some way or other.Recently i saw a documentary about Frank Gehry the architect .He was describing how his work came about.It all made perfect sense to me:there is this continuous stream of shit in your brain that you can give a shape ,or a sound or name it in words. But words can fail and a dark silence can follow.Not for Mozart .I remember how i met this american deaf and dumb peforming artist and we laughed and talked and went into some dephts of our subject matter and their was warmth and understanding between us although i did not speak any signlanguage.We could have performed an opera together.Like the idea .Today is a mute one.Let the body talk it’s way into the light.