John Zorn

I could just say nothing, pretend that something huge in my life did not happen, waltz along like everything is fine – like so many do nowadays.

But I will not.

I am blown away. And probably not in a good way. I am so conflicted at this moment that I fear my writing will suffer for it, but I want to explain, if I can, the impact that certain music has had on my life. And, subsequently, on the lives of many.

I had this cool, older brother figure in my life who introduced me to real music at a young age. We would sit in his room (not romantically) and smoke and listen and watch videos and talk. I met many of my first loves through those interactions. One of the most captivating being John Zorn.

Because of the beauty of his Masada works, I fell into deep fascination with Jewish culture and music. I fell deeply for the painful beauty of certain scales that are used. Because of a moment that sounds like an emotive break in a track off of Bar Kokhba I fell madly in love with the clarinet. This music did it for me. I fell hard.

John Zorn :: Bar Kokhba :: Mahshav Bar_Kokhba_(album_cover)

I didn’t realize the lasting impact such influence held on me until recently. And now that my eyes are open, I ask myself, how does it make you feel now?

Even though I do not understand everything that is happening in my world, I do know I still love this music. It is still beautiful. Some beauty is not subjective, like that of a flower. How one feels about beauty is entirely subjective. In my naivety, I used to imagine everyone loved beauty, how could you not? But now I know, many cannot bear beauty. It makes them feel things, unpleasant things. They want to destroy beauty, humiliate beauty, watch beauty suffer. Watch beauty burn.

As for myself, I will cling tight to beauty, even if it only live on in my inner being.

My love for this music is probably, in part, responsible for my wandering off my intended path. I wanted to create something this beautiful, so why not with a man who was another brilliant, Jewish musician.

And now I know, this will never happen. This is a dream that was meant only as a dream. I am loathed. I am wished dead, or worse. I am wished to suffer while remaining entirely alive.

But, perhaps, if what is written comes to pass as my Father assures me ‘I will make them come and fall down at your feet and acknowledge that I have loved you,’ then something truly beautiful might come to fruition.

But not a moment before.

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