I breathe soundlessly and Mother smiles. Her
small sweet sky-blue eyes are
twinkling. Do. She hides her
face with her hands. Fa, mi,
re, do. I can see her cry. Ti
do, re do. The golden drops
are running like a shiny river
down her cheek. Do. her
knee and uncovers her face.
Then, she whispers: “At first,
The Nocturne is a gift from
god, a musical masterpiece.
But it has driven me into a
powerful, uncontrollable and
total madness. Play it until
your fingers hurt, your arms
weaken and your whole body
aches. Play it until everyone
is gone and everything has
vanished. Play it until your
head turns and your soul escapes. Music is like a drug, a
turbulent feeling creeping in
you, emptying, ironing everything out. Music is the elixir
to the heart. I cannot picture
my life without music like
you cannot picture your life
without love Even if music is
all about pain.” The piece is
finished and I am alone. The
last note hangs to the ceiling,
but slowly comes down like a
feather falling from the sky,
dancing in the silvered dark
ness, swirling, twirling, turning around in smooth, royal sadness.
Like crying is a necessary prelude to smiling, music is a necessary prelude to life.
The beep reiterates. It is now incredibly warm and sweet. It is a La, but the octave above,
880 Hertz. My own heartbeat is bursting with pride, filling the whole room with life,
Bilingues Et Artistes - N*13
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