Bound， hungry to pluck again from the thousand

    technologies of ecstasy¹

    boundlessness²， the world that at a drop of water

    rises without boundaries，

    I push the PLAY button：——

     . .Callas， Laurel & Hardy³， Szigeti

    you are alive again，——

    the slow movement of K.218

    once again no longer

    bland⁴， merely pretty， nearly

    banal⁵， as it is

    in all but Szigeti's hands

    Therefore you and I and Mozart

    must thank the Twentieth Century， for

    it made you pattern， form

    whose infinite

    repeatability within matter

    defies matter——

    Malibran. Henry Irving. The young

    Joachim. They are lost， a mountain of

    newspaper clippings， become words

    not their own words. The art of the performer.