By Reason Of Weird Translation, Many Such

I Suppose That The Scope And Implications Of Such Forces Have Rendered My Personal Accounting Ritual Pretty Much Obsolete. That's How Things Sometimes Go.

The Idea Of 'machine Assemblage' Is, Especially, Very Alien To My Sensibility, Since It Suggests A Relative Indifference Of The Strata To One Another During The Process Of Construction.

Composers Dialogue - And Obsessively, Bitterly Argue - With Other Composers, Often Over The Span Of Several Centuries.

Hence My Obstinate Emphasis On Stylistic Continuity From Work To Work Rather Than Specific Sibling Relationships Between The Individual Work And Other Members Of Its Stylistic 'family' In The World Outside.

So: We're All Tired. Now What? Manuscripts Written In Club Med?