Beethoven's Ninth 1

Ludwig Van Beethoven. I am Ludwig Van Beethoven. I'm sick and tired of civilization. Music will revive this dying civilization, my music, my serious music, and my only music People are idiots. Little do they know, and little more do they imagine. I've heard the endless chatter in the salons and I've grown tired and impatient. Nothing is worth taking down or turning into music. ONLY in my mind, only in the universe of my MIND is anything important being done! I know, I know. I'm proud and rude and I show no respect for human manners. Some people call me a NEGRO. I just don't care. I have grown blind and deaf. All human endeaver is useless, absolutely useless! How have I become so cynical! Am I making sense? Is one thought following another thought? I remember when I was looking at the moon. So many times have I looked at the moon. Each time I look at the moon, I feel like I am looking at something different. Each time I look at the moon, I feel like I am looking at a different feminine face. The eternal feminine goads us on. Love, lust, and desire. How could anyone understand my feelings? It is deeply rooted to my will. Everything comes from this will! Desire, love, lust, and in dreams, our will does what it cannot do in life. Music, more than anything else, expresses this will, the Will, and my Will. The more I press it down, the more and more it expresses itself. The more I seek to form it into something beautiful, the more ugly it appears. I am Beethoven, blind and deaf to my own music. All I hear are vibrations. I've cut the legs off my piano years ago.

-Moonlight, I was looking at the moonlight.

-What does the moonlight look like? (An old woman asks me).

-Why do you ask?

-I blinded myself when I saw my husband having an affair with my servant.

-It's a common occurrence.

This woman is idiotic beyond degree. How many women would be blind if they had all done what she had done? Still it is sad. Husbands should be faithful to their wives. The Moonlight! Moonlight falling down the stairs onto the waters. The moon becomes broken on the surface of the water. The ripples smear the moonlight over the water. The water rocks the image of the moon and the tentacles of its lights. The moonlight-- the moonlight rolls down onto the waters. A net of stars should catch the dark swelling of the waters. A woman is walking up the staircase toward the moon. She looks so pure and virginal. Nothing about her could be considered anything but holy. She will surely make it to the top. Only if she will make it to the top. BUT NO! Time's scythe strikes off her head and the blood spills with all the signatures of red!

-I know who you are.

-What do you know of me, Baroness?

-Just make me into Moonlight.