To the Reader (From the Author) Please don’t place too much trust in my words, for I tend to deceive both myself and my fellows. At the same time allow me some bit of confidence; my intention is not to mislead (understand “intention” with a certain ambiguity). Think of me as “friend” and as “other”, but do not place me in an embrace—proximity compels me to lie. Above all relinquish your judgment and disgust until you’ve heard the entire song, until you’ve hummed every word and your fingers have touched every page. I encourage you to roll the stone over in hand and sculpt it with the flesh of your palm, but wait before flinging it at your sexless messenger, wait until you’ve reached the tonic of this étude. Yes, I am now forced to confess that I brought the book—the ancient hymnal. Yes, I knew before I arrived what I possessed and to whom I brought it. But I forgot; you must believe me. I forgot it all within the inferno—at the beginning. This book sings my remembering, just as I sang my remembering. I have written it so that you too may sing it. The written word, however, like musical notation, compels us to cognitive sloth. Our society fails to regard memory as a virtue. Instead, we think that memory is not necessary in a civilization where writing is so ubiquitous. But I warn, and I jot down my story simultaneously; memory is the foundation of knowledge. Memory should not be forgotten; we are obliged to remember, despite Time’s sedulous energies to the contrary. When my song ends, try to hum it back to yourself or transpose it to the clavichord, but remember the song. It is not only my song, but a reflection of the Song Itself. Thank you. |
