I Am Not The We

I Speak To The Broken Halves Of All Our Selves And Tell Them To Embrace, Loving The Worst In Us Equally With The Best.

Music Expresses Feeling, That Is To Say, Gives Shape And Habitation To Feeling, Not In Space But In Time. To The Extent That Music Has A History That Is More Than A History Of Its Formal Evolution, Our Feelings Must Have A History Too. Perhaps Certain Qualities Of Feeling That Found Expression In Music Can Be Recorded By Being Notated On Paper, Have Become So Remote That We Can No Longer Inhabit Them As Feelings, Can Get A Grasp Of Them Only After Long Training In The History And Philosophy Of Music, The Philosophical History Of Music, The History Of Music As A History Of The Feeling Soul.

Unimaginable Perhaps; But The Unimaginable Is There To Be Imagined.

In A World Of Chance Is There A Better And A Worse? We Yield To A Stranger's Embrace Or Give Ourselves To The Waves; For The Blink Of An Eyelid Our Vigilance Relaxes; We Are Asleep; And When We Awake, We Have Lost The Direction Of Our Lives. What Are These Blinks Of An Eyelid, Against Which The Only Defence Is An Eternal And Inhuman Wakefulness? Might They Not Be The Cracks And Chinks Through Which Another Voice, Other Voices, Speak In Our Lives? By What Right Do We Close Our Ears To Them? (susan Barton)

I Want To Find A Way Of Speaking To Fellow Human Beings That Will Be Cool Rather Than Heated, Philosophical Rather Than Polemical, That Will Bring Enlightenment Rather Than Seeking To Divide Us Into The Righteous And The Sinners, The Saved And The Damned, The Sheep And The Goats.