a.invenção.de.um.macaco.

On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse - bassoons, basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. And then, suddenly - high above it - an oboe, a single note, hanging there, unwavering. Until a clarinet took it over. Sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey. This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing. It seemed to me that I was hearing the very voice of God.