11/28 Eeriest sight on Thanksgiving afternoon, as I ran a few last errands: the fast-food restaurants closed. This never ever happens on any other day of the year, and maybe not in any other part of the country. The buildings looked so strange with their dark windows, like skulls. I thought there had to be construction going on and the interior had not been finished yet, or completely removed.

11/27 Thanksgiving in Pittsburgh, in N’s spaceship, the Southpointe business park.

11/26 That I didn’t accept music’s no, or writing’s no, sounds more serene than it was. I banged against the door in utter disbelief, and despair, and yes, shame.

11/25 I now have a court date in Atlanta, and it looks like my lawyer is not able to prevent me from having to appear in person. That’s okay – I am virtually certain that the case must be dismissed, and I guess the experience will be worth it.

This morning I realized that, according to the scan that USPS sends me of every incoming mail, there was a letter from the court in my mailbox. I took the first train into the city that I could get, so I could open that envelope and make sure I wouldn’t miss anything important. I didn’t, it was only a notification of the court date. I took another train back to Newburgh in the dark, and rain, at six pm.

11/24 I gave up music in order to become a writer. I felt music was holding me back in a life I had discovered to be naive. I have indeed become a writer, judging by the fact that I have always been writing, daily, for more than three decades. If those had been music hours, where would I be today?

I am a writer, judging by the fact that writing has repeatedly said no to me, and I never accepted it, just as music has repeatedly said no to me, and I didn’t accept it either.

11/23 Rosendale Theatre, Redemption Time. A film that Chris had vaguely called a documentary about himself, in fact it’s an art project seven years in the making, a monumental concert movie augmented with black-and-white imagery about being in jail for several years of your life. Art as the ultimate, and the only escape for the human soul.

11/22 Woodstock Symphony – There’s a man in the audience in a complex wheelchair, body crooked and face grimacing, Hawking-like, saliva running down his chin dripping onto a phablet in his lap – yet when the orchestra plays, in the dark, I catch a few glimpses of him and see him harking, stretched out into space with bird-like intensity.

J called Sibelius 2 the symphony that could have been an email, but that was after Monday’s rehearsal and when she’d only heard a polished but soulless rendition of it by the New York Philharmonic. By Friday, the first time they’d played it through entirely, she was beginning to feel different. For me, tonight, it was the most spectacular symphony I ever heard, but then again, my listening may be developing rapidly at the moment, but also: how would I argue, let alone convince anyone who thought differently.

11/21 Maiden Voyage, some very unexpected progress.

11/20 What if I get so lost in the music that I lose the count? – Chris: Count.

11/19 I get repeatedly drawn to pieces of clothing or jewelry, and when I put them on and look at myself in the mirror, I am repelled, frightened by them. Yes, you may occasionally catch yourself before making a bad decision, but if you’re repeatedly drawn to the same item, and keep being repelled when you look at yourself, something else seems to be at work. You ought to embrace what you see in the mirror.