For The Serious Artist Does Not Satisfy

I Was Very Lighthearted. This Often The Way When The Abandonment Of Personal Responsibility Is Enforced: Neither Wronged Innocence Or Just Guilt Can Seriously Impair The Sensation Of Freedom One Has.

The Trombones Crunched Redgold Under My Bed, And Behind My Gulliver The Trumpets Three-wise Silverflamed, And There By The Door The Timps Rolling Through My Guts And Out Again Crunched Like Candy Thunder. Oh, It Was Wonder Of Wonders. And Then, A Bird Of Like Rarest Spun Heavenmetal, Or Like Silvery Wine Flowing In A Spaceship, Gravity All Nonsense Now, Came The Violin Solo Above All The Other Strings, And Those Strings Were Like A Cage Of Silk Around My Bed. Then Flute And Oboe Bored, Like Worms Of Like Platinum, Into The Thick Thick Toffee Gold And Silver. I Was In Such Bliss, My Brothers.

The Meal Was Pretentious - A Kind Of Beetroot Soup With Greasy Croutons; Pork Underdone With Loud Vulgar Cabbage, Potato Croquettes, Tinned Peas In Tiny Jam-tart Cases, Watery Gooseberry Sauce; Trifle Made With A Resinous Wine, So Jammy That All My Teeth Lit Up At Once.

As A Chamber Hung Round About With Looking-glasses Represents The Face Upon Every Turn, Thus All The World Doth The Mercy And The Bounty Of God; Though That Be Visible, Yet It Discovers An Invisible God And His Invisible Properties.

If You Want To Be Considered A Poet, You Will Have To Show Mastery Of The Petrarchan Sonnet Form Or The Sestina. Your Musical Efforts Must Begin With Well-formed Fugues. There Is No Substitute For Craft... Art Begins With Craft, And There Is No Art Until Craft Has Been Mastered.