Her glissandi spoke of heaven and hell and all that lay between.
Such music from such a woman could only be a case of schizophrenia or demonic possession.
My hair stood on end, as though Angela were rolling on the floor, foaming at the mouth and babbling fluent Babylonian.
When the music was done, I shrieked at Julian Castle, who was transfixed, too, “My God – life! Who can understand even one little minute of it?”
"Don't try," he said. "Just pretend you understand."
"That's - very good advice." I went limp.
Castle quoted another poem:
Tiger got to hunt
Bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder, "Why, why, why?"
Tiger got to sleep,
Bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand.
Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle
