Even I can’t make this stuff up, and, you may have noticed, I have a fairly good imagination. But no, this has completely taken even me by surprise. During the course of one week two different venticellis made there way from halfway around the world (one Croatia, the other West Africa) to locations that have a connection to me (one to a library in the town where I live) and apparently my pony and I were slated to have been set up for sacrifice (so to speak) on a plain in the Twin Cities (read ‘the plain of Mediggo’ in Revelation…:-0).
I have been talking about a Minnegeddon in the Twin Cities since I found myself under attack (for no other reason than being good) as a flute performance major at the UofM. That was quite a while ago. I brought up this concept again during the lockout of the Minnesota Orchestra, particularly as it had occurred to me that my three (at the time, little) children and I may have had a tangential connection to it. As a result, I even wrote to different people at the orchestra — Mr. Henson, Mr. Sprenger, and even Mr. Vanska, asking for an opportunity to play for them on the stage where I was once encouraged and even enticed to play by a tiny cadre of players, again, long ago. But I was not even granted the courtesy of a reply. Instead, there seems to have been waves of controversy that threatened to engulf my family and me. There have been hidden agendas and dirty tricks, all of which have been discouraging. People I hoped would be eager to help have run away, throwing others to, apparently, act as proxies in their place.
In other words, this has been very confusing. But during this time I have had a safe haven. Almost every day I go to visit and ride my horse. Out into the country — beautiful rolling hills with stunning horse estates…There was a terrible accident a few weeks ago at the barn. One of my friends’ horses was severely hurt in what seems to be a freak accident (nobody was watching) and had to be put down. I was at the barn that day. This was very traumatic. Once I realized I was getting worried looks from Miles, my horse, I left, realizing that I was no help to anyone that day. About a week later I was asked if I wanted to play the flute for a wake that would be held in the pasture where the accident took place. Full of sadness and wanting to help, I said I would consider it. I was then told that they would love to have someone lead my horse out to the pasture while I played. All of this would be advertized in a flier to be handed out. Last but not least, they would be including my birth family name (which I stopped used at the level of the press some years ago) in the flier. I found myself with a bad case of dread. I speak at times of feeling that I am under attack by a dark angel that I call Lermontov. This concept seemed to me to be pure Lermontov. I decided to decline, and was met with a great deal of pressure to do this, using a great deal of emotional and flattering rhetoric. When it became evident that I really did mean ‘no’ I finally had a sense of relief. And so the wake went off beautifully, led by a bagpiper who played on the plain as the sun was starting to set…if anyone thinks “Minnegeddon” is just a concept I invented, I ask you to think again. Plus, it is my thinking that all of this could have been prevented if those in the know at the MO had given me the opportunity to validate my credentials as the Other Mozart and had then confirmed them at the level of the press. But then, as the ringleader of the cadre I call “Monostatos” (I’m not being cute, I don’t want to be sued by using a real name) loves to say, “Some people just have to do things the hard way”…:-0
Le Chant du Rossignol...(song of the nightingale) 