마지막 콘서트
today we reached something close to a perfect mahler, a realized vision.
some part of me is still on that stage. perhaps i will haunt symphony hall when i am dead- my dad has this funny theory that all ghosts are just energy signatures. i have enough energy signatures left on that stage now to fund a family of ghosts. would i be a good landlord?
i see my dad, he tells me “wow, you guys really are quite good.” yes, yes we are and i have just witnessed the longest standing ovation of my life. and the shiver in my spine is never going away. for a second, i was floating beyond the ceiling of symphony hall and that’s not enough for a lifetime—hell, it’s barely enough for a day—but i guess that’s how Rome was built. i see my mother, she says i hold my cello wrong and she can’t see my left leg oh of course that’s why your bow is tilted upward and how are you going to play like that anyway are you listening you should listen to your mother i’ll chop off half the bow if you don’t use the tip? none of these comments are rooted in fact.
there is no effective defense against a gish galloper who is willing to sit on their “fact” and insist that the earth is flat, that 5G causes covid, and once objected to, has the authority to yell “oh, shut up” and have that respected.
all of which points to the same conclusion- the pythagorean theorem has so many proofs- no contact after 18. my next step is to draw up a proof without words (or, in layman’s terms, an action.)
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the mezzo outclassed the soprano by a degree of magnitude. if i were the soprano, i should not have liked to be on stage at all; this is the philosophy i use with friendships. if i am not the singer, what use is there for me to sing? thousands may hear my warbling, but compared to jennifer johnson cano i will always be the vaguely sharp soprano that missed all the notes for no good reason. this is why my friend groups are small and will stay small. consider this wonderfully relatable tweet.