We are not nouns, we are verbs...I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun.
– Stephen Fry
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I had a dream, looking at a map, not as a person looking at a map held in hand, but a floating awareness looking down at the world, but the world was not the world, it was the map of a part of the world. And in my dream, I beheld Albuquerque, not a place, but an imprinted name far below me, as I floated above. And I saw in a trice that "Albuquerque" is Spanish for "To the buquer what."
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Not that I have already caught up to clarifying some of the more cluttered drawers in the Henningmusick catalogue (I haven't) but I am about to add a third alternate scoring to the tale of Down Along the Canal to Minerva Road.
(Periodically there is a diabolical alignment of my fondness for a certain piece I've composed, with impatience for the fact that nobody – or, nobody else – seems to want to perform it.)
We did, of course, perform the piece in April. I speculatively prepared two brass quartet scorings of the piece, which (as with so very many such rescorings in the past) seem to have sunk into oblivion almost without a trace.
Quite probably, nothing will come of this, either; but I am amused to arrange it for violin, clarinet, accordion and cello.
Yes, it will sound nice.
No, it may not ever see an actual performance, either.
Better to record, then: Yes, it would sound nice.
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Five days more until we should hear about the Doom upon Ear Buds.
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