These days I'm moving, and wanted to write a story about this very thing, which is moving house, life, and how in the process of packing boxes and crates revolver and cardboard boxes, leaving memories, clippings concert tickets, a range of souvenirs, sometimes unexpected, that remind us that we had other houses we inhabit other lives and we lost by other worlds, and we still have much to live, do not know whether fortunately or unfortunately. And I thought of a passage from Don Quixote (in chap. XXVII), which used precisely Cristobal Halffter for excellent electroacoustic work. The text is distorted and broken, and only at the end you can hear full and in order. I like this combination on issues as land. There goes the text:
Who undermines my property?
disdain. Who
increases my grief?
Jealousy. Who
test my patience? Absence
.
Thus, in my condition
no resolution is reached,
hope they kill me
scorn, jealousy and absence.
Who causes me this pain? Love
Who disgusts my glory?
Fortuna.
And who agrees my grief?
Heaven.
Thus, I distrust
die Deste bad strange, because it increases
damage
my love, wealth and heaven.
Who will improve my luck?
death.
And love's sake, who would achieve?
Move.
and its evils, who the cure?
Madness.
Thus, it's folly to want to heal
passion, when the remedies are
death, moving and madness.
Are not these verses great courtier? Is not a miracle to hear, suddenly, a voice only in the middle of a field, or in the middle of town?
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