bypass intellectual analysis and go straight to the body

16 or so- ““Mr. Casals, you are 95 and the greatest cellist that ever lived. Why do you still practice six hours a day?” And Mr. Casals answered, “Because I think I’m making progress.””

I remember reading that for the first time and feeling “FUCK YOU classical guy, I'm gonna practice at least 6 hours a day because my music matters.”

As if Casals would not agree?

I had never knowingly heard his playing, let alone met the guy.

Hysterical historical.

6-ish- I was forced to join the cult school's “band” as early as they would watch me after school and picked “DRUMS” out of protest and was furious when I learned what the hell percussion is.

Very hungry after school yellow-collared and pitted compulsory clothing 5 snare drums in a concrete mold bunker BLASTING hot cross buns to a depressed unfuriated sad again mad again band director.

19- moved from a cushy dorm with a job to a moldy apartment with hole in ceiling outside my bedroom door to have time to practice 7.5 hours / day rehhhhhhhhhhhhd bull plastic straw security guard threatens me I walk across Amsterdam along 140th towards City College guitar on back motorcycle gang fight man on foot waves his gun at me to get out of the way I keep it moving security guard demands ID.

I took a cab once. 7 months before I take a day off to see Brooklyn for the first time. I am overwhelmed by the wealth. People throwing out records? Downtown girlfriend decides to stay downtown good for her I stop playing jazz breakdown outpatient hiking blues riffs wonton soup tiny room downtown with fellow transfer from California film major I live with somebody with a heart of gold I start writing songs again.