Accept a challenge: listen, at the capacity volume of your system, to this and try not to go mad for the Composer*, or for his God.
(How frightening, and thrilling at the same time, are the moments when he slows down his joyous sprint to recall, in a few sombre, seriously metaphysical notes, the original sin's fallout and the fallout's highlight - death, a glimpse of which he outlines on the horizon – formidable but still beautiful, as all he paints; but the Composer has no time for death! – so he speeds up again and recklessly takes an exhilarating run-up – exactly the same policy I’ve adopted – towards the final burning loop into which he’ll fly, head first, eyes opened, ready to… but maybe not now – enough eschatology for one post.
*I’ve decided to a try to achieve for Mozart what has been achieved for Aristotle: to get the former referred to simply as the Composer, just as the latter is referred to simply as the Philosopher.
