its all wrong, somehow. is admittedly difficult to pinpoint. the search for music takes rafael down alleyways where midnight monsters lurk invisible, fading ever so slowly to grey. the afternoon carries its own masked mirages in the air, an evenly progressing curve proves elusive. there is a phone ringing in the background. there is always someone shuffling their feet. the image is never perfect. the spectators break into applause one eternal second before their allotted time. the mason brings his hammer down on the newly waterproofed roof. the rain won't be coming in anymore, but the hammer still comes down again and again, in insistent staccato bursts of pinprick fury.
the preacher radiates the unique assurance of his faith. all will be well, and Gautama smiles his serene smile from the lamplit corner. the windows beside the lamp shines on the evening city, lights sparkling with life in the pristine darkness of the foreground.
the clarinet improvises its own sonata around the dimly lit inn, the fireplace shining through its looking glass of amber. we can see the railtracks stretch infinite towards the horizon, blinding into a curve a while along the way, as cornfields fill in the remains of the landscape in ripe sunshine wheat-aura glory.
is it then the justification to dream? of freedom from the protestant work ethic? an impossible denial of the economic and pragmatically bourgeois real? solace. silence. Gautama. and Kafka on the Shore Beethoven in the afternoon.

Piano Trio No.7 In B Flat Major, Op.97 "Archduke"

http://rapidshare.com/files/35525660/Beeth-Trios-3-1.rar