The music of you and me

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"I have promised.
A lapse of time: it was only an interval, almost nothing, the infinite diminution of a music interval, and what a note, what news, what music.  The verdict.  As if suddenly evil never, nothing evil ever, happened again.  As though evil would only happen again with death - or only later, too late, so much later." - Jacques Derrida, "A Silkworm of one's own," 1995


 Upon reading this a sound resonated throughout the terrain where there is as much through as out, wherefore years upon years of running and living through dying and living out of living became as still as the evil that was you.

 I have promised.  And there is no and: all was done with that have, with that past in the promise, and the fruition of which this is a part.  "To you, because I have promised."  The period is more eloquent, but its eloquence feeds upon the words that precede it, without which it would not be, without which it would not announce a death, its own death, the death of the promise and the promise of death upon its completion.

I have promised, and I have died, and before that knell we have had a world, what a world, what music, the only beautiful thing to add is a verdict that it, too, must die.  That is the evil: you are the evil, and I, having died once, and a thousand times in that universe of a once, will not die again, for the evil that is you has ended with that - and this - period, which will never be the same evil of death as I will have ten years from this through and this out.

I have promised: and it is only in that that I can let go.  What worlds, what news, what music.  It is, after all, no coincidence that what makes music music applies to love.  Major.  Sustained.  Suspended.  Diminished.  Minor.

What a death, for equal to it is the beauty of the life that made it possible.  The verdict comes, as any verdict can only come when a thing passes, so traumatic, so evil, and so musical, that makes a verdict worthy of the name.  And this is in the promise: and I have promised.

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