Say yes, all the arts have their own. I have no doubt that there are times when the painter feels superior to the novelist and vice versa. But say what you will; the music is superior. Music is the Queen: it passes through its own sense, the ear, as a royal way made only for Her (and the damned words that want to kill her). It even has its own alphabet, a strange, diabolical, unspoken and vanishing alphabet. Music is invincible even in its degradation: I can't think of any other art that allows you to multitask; and in its exaltations, on the other hand, in my experience I can't think of any other art that allows you to contemplate it with your eyes closed. Because tell me if contemplation is not exactly that: erase everything from the world and focus your attention on one thing. Solitude, darkness -absolute darkness - and silence: all increase the powers of contemplation. Yesterday I went to see Tosca and fell asleep almost at the end. The key is that verb, see, which takes away the importance of music. I don't think I went to LISTEN Tosca; one goes to SEE IT. And being there, you get bombarded everywhere: than the dramatic scene, that costumes, that performances, that scripts - all overly corny - that the monstrous memory of the singers, that forced laughter, that forced crying, than the money invested, that begging for sponsors and donations, that pretending, that wine, that idiotic comments, that people well combed, that applause that interrupt the flow. Opera, symphonies, sonatas and even ballet should be seen with their eyes closed. For what reason do you want to see seventy ladies and gentlemen who make you think of the economic difficulties they have to suffer and about five hundred bragging gentlemen who say "Uy sí", how beautiful, how beautiful the rhythms are, it is beautiful, it is beautiful, no, yes, incredible; even the singers themselves and the hostess behind the scenes, who one would suppose know more about music than anyone else, are, of course, the worst music speakers: Yes, that passion, you know, the music is already there, you just got to flow, yes, Tosca is young, is passionate, young and passionate, what again? For the last time young and passionate, man, and just look at the vocal pyrotechnics. Ughhh, how annoying it bothers me to talk about music. Don't you understand she's the queen? What's untouchable? That she must be immaculate? That you owe him the deepest reverence? To music, silence, loneliness and darkness. It's a communion like when you pray or watch porn. It's intimate: you and her. The rest must be invisible and impalpable. One looks at him only in the soul.
