Manhattan and classical music: Like the histrionic dwelling of an intangibly emotion-saturated sport; where the overwrought performers of the insane former fit into the latter, tighter than a crab to a shell.
Juilliard: an eerily sanitary-looking madhouse where reputation unabashedly contorts reality like an adulterated media story.
Schubert B-flat: a halo in the midst of hellish insanity - like a hidden trap door to daylight in the middle of a dark serpent-reptile-animal chase from a good Indiana Jones movie.
New Haven: see above.
Inspired simultaneously and erratically by the blog thoughts of both Stanley Lee and Ned Rorem.
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