Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Sturm und Drang




Dearest Margot,

I think that you should be here at this very moment, in order to experience what musical and literary expressions I'm quaffing down. Do I want this in my life now is the question. I need an objective assessment of this bizarre occurrence.

It is too much for me to absorb, this wash of emotion from without that floods upon me both aurally and visually as storm and longing. To wit, it is Mozart's 25th in G-minor [to which I am listening] and a literary fantasy [which novel I had begun earlier in the day] of angels and demons that hold sway over a fictional community called Ashton. What a juxtaposing of Sturm und Drang in one man's tiny mind and heart! Is it probable that one might find the masterpiece of a 17-year-old lad grounded more in reality than an imaginative writer's fictionalized conjecture over the bizarre goings-on of the so-called spiritual realm? I am not without a well-inhabited fantasy world of my own - you, dear Margot, know that; however, the joining of grand musical drama and spiritual fantasy may not be so harmless toward my overall emotional well-being. I had taken well-thought-out steps to eradicate my soul of the damaging stain of haunted, unseen worlds. I should have put the book down when I realized where it was leading me.

Perhaps I am making too much over this little tempest brewing in my own spirit's teapot. After all, the music - simple in its melodic and harmonic introduction yet profoundly moving - is quite over. Lingering in my mind, however, are frightening images of winged demons chugging out rancid red breath, poisoning further the already fetid atmosphere of a town besieged by human weakness and error. Could Ashton be my own community, and I am afraid to discover the real truth behind what has been happening lately? A wake-up call? An inconsequential coincidence of sorts? A deadly contagion whose pall has been cast upon an unsuspecting town?

Well, how will I ever find out if I return the book to the library tomorrow, when it's due?

Love,

Henri