Moment 1- Before the Sacrificial Altar

“Is it time?”

“Another ten minutes sir. Don’t worry, I’ll come and get you.”

Pacing. Always pacing. I can’t play. This is impossible, nothing works. My hands feel swollen and obtuse. Maybe I practiced too much – Ha! “Such a lazy boy” – my mother’s voice. No, I never practice too much. Why am I doing this? I am not sure I enjoy being a pianist anymore. I always said – “I am not a Pianist. I am a musician. The playing of the piano doesn’t interest me. Music does.” So sickly. Terrible interview. No idea why I said that. She smelled of peaches though. Who cares? Don’t pull on that thread. Remember the therapist – stage fright is about accepting your limitations. Focus on your strengths – or did she say ignore your weaknesses. Never mind. Concentrate. Deep breaths. Oh God! I need a program - what comes first, Schumann or Mozart. My hands are getting colder and colder. I need some hot water to put them in. No first stretches, then hot water. No - stretches, breathing exercises and then hot water - get my hands really flaming before I walk on to the stage and into the sarcophagus. Buried alive. Having sex with the dead – Mozart, Bach, Chopin – all the same. Necrophilia. Or is it Narcissism? Must be both. Better read through the scores one last time. How many people? Six hundred too many.

Recent Posts
Archive
Search By Tags
Follow Us
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Google+ Basic Square