Dies irae
Dies irae, dies illa, dies tribulationis et angustiae,
dies calamatatis et miseriae, dies tenebranum et caliginis,
dies nebulae et turbinis, dies tubae et clangoris.
Day of wrath (judgment), this day, a day of trouble and distress,
day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess,
a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of the trumpet and alarm.
I've been practicing "I'm past the point of going quietly insane," from When We No Longer Touch, corresponding with "Dies irae" in the requiem text. Composers have fun, as much as anyone can or should, with expressions of anger. Kris Anthony's music (RAM file) bears clear resemblance to Mozart's furious interpretation. We've never sung anything like it before.
The way to learn a rapid piano piece was to slow it way down, then gradually increase the tempo, repeating ad nauseum. The chorus hasn't had time for that in rehearsals, so I'm doing it here.
It bears a striking correspondence with my life these days. I've hardly adjusted to the volunteer job, and now the cognitive therapy group is about to begin with attendant homework. This kind of study stirs up filth from the bottom, makes you grope for whatever is down there. I read the first two chapters of Mind Over Mood this evening. Lots of work to do.
It raises one of my favourite protests, "I can't handle this. I don't have enough energy. The world is moving too fast. Let me jump off, here."
It's Judgment Day. I'm gradually increasing the tempo. I'm past the point of going quietly insane.