Wednesday, February 22, 2006


All my subsequent works are written in the same deliberately spare
style as Night. It is the style of the chronicles of the ghettos, where
everything had to be said swiftly, in one breath. You never knew when
the enemy might kick in the door, sweeping us away into nothingness.
Every phrase was a testament. There was not time or reason for anything
superfluous. Words must not be imprisoned or harnessed, not even in the
silence of the page. And yet, it must be held tightly. If the violin is
to sing, its strings must be stretched so tight as to risk breaking;
slack, they are merely threads. -Elie Wiesel.

It's strings must be stretched so tight as to risk that
speaks to my heart.

There is so much around me that is merely threads...superfluous for

I find in writing on this blog, that choosing the right words is a art
and art always has it's critics both internally and externally. I love
words that are barbed and can't be easily disengaged from the heart or
mind. Like a fish hook stuck in your lip are the perfect words found.
They set the hook so nicely and if you try to wrench them out they will
take a whole lot of heart meat with them.

I also know that with the stretching time comes more acute and
piercing sounds...sometimes on tune and sometimes not but still a a
part of the process. Making music isn't about perfection or not playing
wrong notes it's about learning, practice and time.

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