Great video!

TRIUMPH OF LIFE: Swastika of Life vs. Swastika of Death”: SEE VIDEO HERE!

 

DEATH OF THE BLACK SUN: SEE VIDEO HERE!

(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)

AMERICAN REVOLT 0 SEE VIDEO HERE!

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“THE LEFT AND THE RIGHT HANDS OF GOD” — written by Adam Donaldson Powell and azSacra zaRathustra.

Presenting the introduction to “The tunnel at the end of time” (the sci-fi novel which takes conspiracy theory and religious propaganda to their extreme … and beyond). Epic poem written by Adam Donaldson Powell and azSacra zaRathustra.

(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)

PART ONE: LEFT AND RIGHT HANDS OF THE GODS.

01

Это возникало из – за щитов …

из – за ракет, которых “там” не было сначала,

но которые будут “здесь” в конечном счёте.

Yes, the shields … humans are born with them,

much as angels are born with wings.

It is propaganda, of course …

the truth has always been an existential relativity.

Funny …

They say I am balding … getting old and senile.

But the truth is that I have always been bald.

I am “Transforma” … the symbol of the old

empire now fallen.

I am … the bearer of vision and conscience.

I am … the judge and the predator.

I am … the eagle.

We saw it coming, didn’t we “Vrebatima”?

I kept silent … and no one believed you.

But who is laughing now?

Yes, only us …

The Armageddon was inevitable …

We needed it, and so we created it.

But it is only illusion …

Только иллюзия.

02

No illusions!

No delusions!

We knew only the Truth of Destruction!

We – Über! … and my one-legged

father taught me only how to kill:

kill Buddha!

kill Hitler!

kill yourself!

my mother – Nothing, but older

and more sorrowful …

my father – Nobody, but more merciless

and sadder …

Look: my daughter goes from Emptiness

to Emptiness in order to kill every tear

before her birth:

And now Absence doesn’t cry anymore,

Emptiness doesn’t spend any more money

on funerals –

that’s the Truth of Non-existence!

“Nothing” is my mother –

“Nobody” is my father –

and there are no tears between

them

Nein!

03

левая рука Бога?

Ahh, the left hand of God!

yes, I saw it once: floating

over the Sahara.

Little did I then know that

it was the rosebud of Intervention.

Who could have guessed?

It danced so gracefully, like

Salome’s dance of the veils –

stirring up a frenzy of sand

against the windless sky

I miss the slithering creepy-crawlers

which once tattled the mysteries

of the night. They are long gone;

as are the polar bears, the whales,

the crocodiles, the bees and the sharks.

What have you done, Terrans?

What were you thinking?

Lost in meditations upon finances

and power, you lost sight of the

greatest wealth you owned.

And you crowded only a few

humanoids onto your hastily-built

arks when the floods and dis-ease

ravaged so mercilessly.

Some called it the work of

the antichrist, but the antichrist

was humanity itself: which

had been too long on the rampage

of greed and apathy and imbalance.

You raped and you raped;

and defiled both humanity and

nature.

A barren Terra wails but we

are not comforters Vrebatima.

(nods)

We are merely the scribes

who observe and note the

crimes for future reflection.

Tell me a story Vrebatima,

but allow me to keep my Buddha.

I have nothing else.

Tell me again about the

fires and the tsunamis and

the screaming; and

the fallen Buddha statues.

Поведайте мне Vrebatima …

сообщите мне!

Break with your emptiness

and violate the nothingness,

Vrebatima.

Tell me about the dried-out

moss on the floors of the

naked forests, and of the

sad Russian lullabies sung

by the dying hummingbirds.

Remind me of the carcasses –

long since picked clean by

crows that had become vultures

out of necessity of survival.

Jog my memory, O Vrebatima:

сообщите мне!

04

Believe: in the Sacred Rats.

The Execution of the world is –

the execution of a Ritual.

An angel, rushing down,

made a heart-rending cry:

Let rats fuck their daughters;

coin dolls born from the

Dollar –

On the gold of their fathers

fucked in manure …

Let rats fuck their daughters!

…………………………

Power

Power

Power of prices alone –

ascending from the worthless world

to Zero:

0000000000000000000000!

After zeros

(instead of bullets)

only holes are left –

0000000000000000000000!

There are no more

Great Chinese Walls!

The decay!

The Empire died like

a pitiful trembling

rabbit.

In cash-machines there is

a “share” for each –

the Universe will no more be

rammed through by the hawk.

It’s clear now:

God didn’t die –

the Will died …

Der Wille zur Macht?

Nein! –

Das Nichts zur Macht!

Das Leere zur Herrschaft!

0000000000000000000000000!

05

I am fucked … we are all fucked.

The Great Bear is howling in

the Siberian woods …

and Vrebatima has hunger

in her soul – as do I.

Our forefathers were perhaps

foolish to give up the Cold Wars,

to kill Saddam Hussein and

to invade Afghanistan.

I followed the Sacred Rat,

and he deceived me

time and time again …

fucked me up real good.

As the leading superpowers

we had control – and we

agreed to disagree, making secret

strategies together, for viewing

and consumption by the world.

The people of the world were stupid.

They never understood the farce …

that every argument and action

was contracted and choreographed.

We provided both excitement and

the security of balance.

But now we have lost our rhythm,

and our equilibrium is shaky at best.

I miss the rat …

Do you still remember how to

dance Vrebatima?

You used to be so elegant …

a true Russian princess.

Let me rest my beak on your

womb my beautiful predator;

and please caress the feathered

nape of my neck with your

claw – two unlikely lovers

baring resemblance visible

only to the initiated:

of beak and claw, both royalty and

scavengers of the spoils

of imbalance.

Where is Buddha? He has

disappeared from the mountaintop.

And where is Christ? He has

descended from the cross.

(It was cold here on Terra,

and we needed the wood.)

They are both having tea

with Nietzsche, who is

dressed up like a ballet dancer.

Where am I, Vrebatima?

I am lost in my own transformation …

in the winter of my own samadhi.

Wake me up from my dreams …

but let me hold onto my illusions

and my delusions.

I need the escape … I crave the drug.

Maya is heroin for the tired soul.

I am fucked …

I am …

I …

06

Ich –

Ich bin –

Ich bin tot –

Ich tot bin!

I – Vrebatima! Я – Mahakala!

I – Yama! I – Shiva, dancing

only on corpses …

I – Destroyer of this

too (super-too!) human

Universe!

I – Bhairava, but not rapturous

God Eros –

to hell with sex, Transforma:

Cut off the balls of each

inamorato!

Shoot off the head of each

beautiful doll!

I – des Todes Tod –

I – Clear Death –

I – Clear Death –

The ABSOLUTE OF ATTACKING DEATH!

For: all “people” are riffraff!

For: Transcendence Itself

and He who transcends wants to drink

their blood and shoot them down!

What, Transforma, didn’t you

know that?

Didn’t you feel the Clearest

Unevitable Essence of Death?

I – DESTRUCTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I – ABSOLUTE SPIRITUAL BREACH!

NO PITIFUL REMNANTS!

In the ass are fucked

only yelping sluts …

… all soft ottomans

have been shat on by young

pussycats …

But Nietzsche ordered

to bomb Las Vegas!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

07

Funny about the military missile

platforms in space.

Only one-third of them are pointed

to Terra; the rest are pointing

to outer space.

Man is a predator out-of-control;

a soul-virus and a threat

to the whole universe.

I mourn for the aliens who were

tortured and killed by us, in

order to steal their intelligence.

Information we were not ready

to use properly, and which led

to our own demise as a world.

And the Intervention (says the

voice in Transforma’s head).

(sighs)

And the damned garbage floating

around in the Terra orbit system …

as below – so above.

What? Shhhh! (says Transforma

to the voice in his head)

The old USA was a “whore-goddess” …

a giant golden vagina with penis-like

hairs, hoarding and fucking and

standardizing all in its path.

“In God We Trust, and his name is

Dollar.”

Blah, blah, blah …

and all that blaehhhh …

(Transforma laughs hysterically,

then sobs, and hiccups and farts.)

You know, you tell me to

forget about sex … but

did you know that

I was once fucked by the

finger of the God?

It is true; by the middle finger

of his right hand.

Impaled, like the Spaniards who

were forced by the Incas to sit on

sharpened tree stumps until

their guts exploded … as

punishment for their greed for gold.

Yeah … (thoughtfully). Impaled.

At my moment of death I saw the

Sky of the Last Days; the Destruction

was a magnificent show:

beautiful pink, orange and purple

skies, with mushroom clouds as far

as the eye could see – and beyond.

And all was so quiet, too;

except for the gentle lullaby that

hummed in my head.

Сладкая колыбельная.

Сон – это спасение… отсрочка.

Sweet lullaby.

Sleep is salvation … reprieve.

To my left there is a child in

tattered clothing, half-starved and

too resigned to beg anymore …

and to my right there is

a whirling dervish, spinning

’round and ’round – lost in

his own private ecstasy.

Both are barefoot.

Alas, there is no death …

only sleep.

08

Are you listening, Transforma?

Ich ist das Nichts zur Macht!

Ich ist das Leere zur Herrschaft!

Between us there can’t be

Any Harmony.

Between you there can’t be

any Germany.

The Fair Eagle of Severe Spirituality

has died forever.

The Chinese “I Ching” hexagrams

didn’t turn into Ravenous Beasts.

Confucius is not inspired by

the voids of “Mein Kampf”.

But, Transforma … Tao killed the

dragons in vain –

Now bullets won’t

find the revolver!

Nobody will shoot

The Yellow Emperor!

People forgot:

God’s Dick – is the Ram of the Sky! –

The Аmerican Saturating Revolution

is not worth even a single dick of the

japanese kamikazes!

Europeans …

pleasant Takheshi Khitano

will never repeat the hara-kiri of

Yukio Mishima.

Look –

exponent of piffling lives

“life of spirit” after suicide by

Hitler.

09

бритый

Bald … barren … bare

as the mountaintop on

which we stand.

Our new vision shall

rise from the ashes,

as the Phoenix.

And I shall learn

to love you Vrebatima.

If not, then we shall

ride the missile of Hell

together – bareback …

(snickers)

a crazy cossack

and a psycho cowboy

Azrael is my witness …

we will never die …

only our bodies will wither

and disintegrate to dust

and we shall be remembered

in the annals of history …

perhaps as mere footnotes

remembered only by trivia fanatics

in decades to come.

But I will always dream of

our voyage, Vrebatima –

over and over again,

like a merry-go-round that

never stops, changing simple

joy to horror.

A bittersweet nightmare …

If only the dreamer would

never wake up.

Can you promise me that …

Vrebatima?

Бритый

yes, I love my bald dreams …

and Russian caviar.

10

worms …

only worms …

now only worms are – Holy! –

always continuing, creeping through

dead God …

Snakes slide away …

Rats run away …

The Mystery of Creatures wakes even God up …

But when Jesus hears the word “culture” –

He doesn’t take out a revolver:

John Lennon can masturbate,

jump, masturbate, jump,

masturbate, and jump

on and on …

Do you see, Transforma –

even Lord Krishna left the Battlefield

and took Arjuna with him.

What for, O Lord?

To fuck Saint Silvia

in two holes.

Do you understand?

Gods and people – are only the Spirit’s Porno!

Ja! Ja! Ja! –

Buddha’s ejaculation into His own

Skull!

Nobody wants to eat

corpses of sybaritic

natives …

Germans?

Where are the marching

Germans?

… there are no Wild

Holy Exotics …

… no one exercises

in Breaching of the Spirit …

… there’s no one to be fed to

the rats …

… the blood stopped to look for

Light …

…a dick doesn’t thirst for twats

of the Sun …

………………..

ex nihilo nihil fit.

satori?

samadhi?

Shun’ja!

(photo courtesy of azSacra zaRathustra)

PART TWO: THE GREAT ENDING OF THE END.

01

ego cogito, ergo sum?

Auf!

Auf! Nicht röcheln!

Nicht röcheln!

cogito Todt Ist,

sum ist Summa Summarum

Nichts =

Nein ist Nichts!

Nein ist Nichts!

Nein ist Nichts!

Auf –

Auf –

Nicht!

Here is the Key to it all:

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

Nichts Nichts Nichts

das Nichts zur Macht!

das Leere zur Herrschaft!

02

(sobs)

You undress my gods shamelessly,

Vrebatima!

I huddle and shiver in the shadows

of my own spirituality.

There is no god but God …

and I am God – naked

and exposed in the face of

my own and collective

illusions and indiscretions.

What is the use?

Billions upon billions of gods

running around, making their

own realities in confusion.

Let us cut out the spiritual pork!

Bring back the Age of the Guru …

and bring back the Prophets.

It is too much responsibility to

be my own god.

Tell me what to believe …

show me how to act.

Lead me back into the

Darkness.

The Darkness of the Eternal Womb …

the elixir of Nothingness.

03

I am not a Dark Tao. I’m not Nirvana.

I am not Om ……………………..

I am – Isana. I am – Nataraja.

I am – the Clear Transcendent of Death.

I am – The Left Hand of God –

and I can only Kill.

I Kill all the Truths.

And first of all – Myself

as a Truth …

I AM – ABSOLUTE BREACH OF SPIRIT!

That’s why – Killing myself! –

I know for sure:

Western gods – shit!

Eastern gods – huge

manure heap!

I know! – the old Will to Power

should be replaced with Nothing to Reign:

das Nichts zur Macht!

I see! – The Great Noon should

turn Emptiness into Domination:

das Leere zur Herrschaft!

The existing formulas are not enough:

“Be strong”, “Werdet hart” …

Now you should Kill

“yourself” – within Yourself …

and even –

the Omnipotent within you!

Exactly so! It is only by killing the Omnipotent,

that you can understand the last

Truth of Horrors’ Horrors:

“The Devil is Dead” – it is truly more

horrifying, than “God is dead”.

O Great Gods! You are – Stinkers! –

too many of you … but You are all still

alive. What a Lie …

only one Devil is the Spirit of Honour! –

because he is always dead.

Deus est mortuus?

Diabolos mortuus est!

04

I stand naked before you, Vrebatima …

yeah – even naked before myself

and the god within me.

I have faced Death,

but Death was only mortality:

an experience that I longed for

only because it was faceless.

Hiding a secret that no one

really cared about anyway.

I am not proud, Vrebatima.

I weep for Amerika …

and the “dream” …

long since exposed as illusion.

Yea, I am naked and dirty, Vrebatima

… and blinded by the sunshine

reflected on the snowcaps.

I hear you … but you must

court me if I am to believe you.

I only know Détente …

I have never known Love.

Silence is greater than

the absence of Noise.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare.

It is in the Nothingness

that I find meaning, and there

that my Existence has value.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare …

stripped of all intent;

an existence devoid of fear

and purpose.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare

as the Now … the moment,

of Silence …

without expectation or

apprehension.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare …

as the word “no” –

whispered in orgasmic

ecstasy.

бритый

Bald … barren … bare …

stripped of all humanity

and self-respect

by the airport scanners.

05

Also sprach Zarathustra:

Gelobt sei, was hart macht!

Naked? … But that’s not enough –

you need more,

you need to strip your skin off

while still alive:

reveal your bones –

reveal your intestines –

reveal your Emptiness!

Aha! … Transforma demanded

“to cut the spiritual pork out of gods” –

and suddenly … immediately surrendered

without a battle.

Spiritual rebellion but for a moment?

Do you only wish to “suck off” the Gods? –

in this case Hölderlin will question you with severity.

It’s better to be like Lord Krishna –

to fuck the 100 000 beautiful gopis

immediately and all at once.

But it is – the same decadence, Transforma!

Better yet, let me quote

“The Dhammapada” for You:

He killed his mother and father, and two kings from

Kshatriya’s caste, destroyed the kingdom together

with its population, the brahmin became imperturbable –
Does it mean anything to you?

Here are the words regarding Spiritual Luxury from the regal

“Bhagavad-Gita”:

I have become Death,

I have become the shatterer of worlds!

Kill the Gods, Transforma!

Kill this eternal whining, crying, quaggy,

tear-dropping god Eros!

Kill your own dick!

Exterminate all the stupid lovers,

poets, readers, spectators of Your

Exhibitionist mania –

shoot them all down!

As earlier in old, good Germany,

we will talk in the language

of the Clear Transcendent –

Transzendentalphilosophie!

THE HIGHER TRANSCENDENT IS SHAPED FROM NOTHING –

WITHOUT dicks!

WITHOUT twats!

Only – “das Ding an sich”!

Do you know that Kant was good at shooting

with his “Shmaiser”?

hitting: 10 out of 10!

And can you do that?

I remember, that in “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”

the following was written:

There will be a time –

Hitler constantly shooting himself

might miss sometime

and make a hole in somebody’s head –

it will be Your head, Transforma!

It is so mulish

that even Buddha could break

a stick against it …

Bang! …

Bang! …

Bang! …

How many sticks are necessary to break

against your bald head?

The Right hand of God should do

more than just masturbate.

Stop wasting seed

and tears …

Buddha said: no more Existence!

THERE WILL NEVER BE EXISTENCE!!!

Nullpunkt!

Nichts!

………………

Schreibe mit Blut:

und du wirst erfahren,

dass Blut Geist ist.

06

Vrebatima, surely I will never

reconcile with you in this world.

The old rules worked just fine

until recently; money, power,

greed and the threat of missiles

and sex have always been

our personal gods.

Do not fool yourself.

I will send you some beautiful

black orchids, dripping with

the blood of one thousand

national anthems … and then

you will understand and

once again cry tears of joy

for our lost Cold War.

It was our only hope for peace.

Our only real expression of Love.

The only proof of Existence.

What is the use of Divine Intervention?

What was the point of the crucifixion

or the Holy Wars?

If we achieve peace then we must

find new enemies in outer space …

it is the way of humans, Vrebatima.

It is the way of the Warrior God.

Meet me at nightfall – in the barren courtyard.

And bring your Sword of Silence!

07

… this and then there is Victory?

I will quickly draw a Sword of Silence,

strike a blow –

and Silence has already approached …

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

………………………..

… ……………………

08

(sobs)

… and so it ends, Vrebatima.

In cold silence – détente.

Once again we agree not to

communicate, not to seek

resolution or understanding.

Is it really human nature and

the way of the gods, or is it us?

If it is truly destruction that we

both really want, then surely it is

Silence that is the Great Destroyer.

(sighs)

It is an uncomfortable silence, hostile and

fraught with projections and scheming.

It is a “noisy” silence … quite different

from the Oneness of Unity and

the Absence of Separation.

It is a silence that makes angels and

the soldiers of Divine Intervention

cry with sadness.

(indignant)

But it is a silence that we know

all too well, Vrebatima …

and so far, the only silence

we truly trust – deep down

inside ourselves.

(snickers nervously)

Es triste … pero es cierto.

09

Be afraid of the Absence of

Evil:

not the dark,

not the beast,

not the blade,

not the poison –

but the Tear Itself will kill

the child!

The Grass Itself will kill

the lamb!

Not the shadow,

not the tiger –

but the Aroma and the Rose will kill

you!

I saw the terror of the first flower

on a Spring Field:

alone – it didn’t want

to bloom for the Sky …

didn’t expose

itself to a Kindred Sun

and the first dew

trickled down it

and the first moth

was startled by it

and the first bee

flew away

show Your Nothingness on

the petals!

expose Yourself

without any blooming!

You are – the Void

without name

and shape …

Come from

Nothing …

And Again

Vanish …

10

Expose yourself – and wake up.

Yes … wake up.

Wake up and

destroy the dream.

Embrace the nightmare

of Nothingness.

Caress the baldness.

Lick the Sword of Silence.

Stop waiting for Divine Intervention.

Become the Divine Intervention.

Let it be your zazen.

Sing me a lullaby without words,

and without sound.

I no longer believe in the messiah …

or in the antichrist.

I see both in my own reflection

in the mirror of darkness.

The only tears that I have left

are tears of blood …

it is only blood that I can offer you,

Vrebatima.

Tear down the cross and

send the virgins home.

I, Transforma, will sit on my mountaintop

and you, Vrebatima, will sit on yours.

We will bridge our differences by

watching over the goings on and

when necessary – cooperating on

keeping the populace in blindness.

Together, we will maintain the smokescreen,

with the help of religion and the media.

Always a sideshow on the stage of consciousness …

distracting the masses from the real danger:

the sweet-sounding lies that soothe and abet.

I believe in the worms, Vrebatima …

and the unspeakable names of

the gods within all who both embrace

and cower in Darkness.

Tear down the cross and

send the virgins home.

THE END.

Photo: azSacra zaRathustra (courtesy azSacra zaRathustra)

Photo: Adam Donaldson Powell (courtesy Adam Donaldson Powell)

GREAT SPIRITUAL ANARCHY: SEE VIDEO HERE!

“Zero fucks given” is both true detachment and the ultimate stance of the spiritual warrior.

Read the article HERE!

Great video: Yukio Mishima ~ The Boy that wrote Poetry ~ The Samurai that waged War (death poems)

include: Arminda Canteros, Berenice Lipson-Gruzen, John Ranck and Jacob Lateiner. Here is a recording of Mr. Lateiner performing Beethoven Op. 126 (Bagatelles)

Here is a short video about Arminda Canteros:

The classical musician society in New York City at that time was rather “interesting” to say the least. I remember the half snobbish – half avant-garde very competitive classical musician scene in Manhattan in the seventies and eighties, where musical pedigrees and lineages which could be traced back to famous composers and pedagogues helped concert pianists in need of cash to command prices of $100 or more an hour for weekly piano lessons. I studied with several myself: most notably John Ranck, Berenice Lipson-Gruzen, Arminda Canteros, and finally Jacob Lateiner. They were all colourful personalities, talented concert pianists and – with the exception of Mr. Lateiner – patient with the imbalances between my excellent interpretative skills and somewhat lagging technical skills. These were the days and years of Carnegie Hall debut dreams, lp (and later cd) recordings for the elite performers, hours of practice, mandatory Beethoven, Bach, Grieg, Mozart, and of course Brahms ( which was my favourite ), before I could earn the right to play with the fun French Impressionist composers like Debussy, Ravel etc. and with Karol Szymanowski.

John Ranck became my friend and mentor, in addition to being my first serious piano instructor in the non-college world. He was a kind and generous man who taught me musical discipline, cured me of my stage fright by continuously inviting me to perform at student recitals and soirees, and he also taught me much about ridding myself of destructive love relationships and other problems which threatened to get in the way of my musical pursuits. He was openly gay and lived with his partner in a luxurious condominium on Ninth Street and Fifth Avenue, in The Village. We remained friends long after I moved on to new teachers, and even after I moved to Europe. Unfortunately, years later – once when I visited him while on vacation in New York City – I made the mistake of telling him that there was at that time much heated debate in Europe regarding the Israel vs. Palestine issue. I proceeded to tell him that I had sympathies for both. He started to wave his arms, but I continued talking – not understanding his sign language. Suddenly his partner came into the living room and ordered me to leave their home. I did not know he was there, and did not know that he was Jewish and/or a Zionist. Not that that would have stopped me from voicing my views. Many of my employers, best friends, neighbours and lovers at the time (and before and later) were Jewish (including some Zionists), and I had studied and practised both the Kabbalah and Sufism myself. I have always been open to discussions with persons with other and alternative perspectives. However, that stupid incident ended a precious longterm friendship, as John chose to let me return to Europe in silence in order to maintain peace in the household … and his partner (S.) was not interested in explaining his behaviour or why he had a bug up his ass.

My next teacher after John was Ms. Berenice Lipson-Gruzen. Berenice looked like a Parisian fashion model with her stunning features, used heavy French perfumes, smoked French cigarettes, and looked half her already then advanced age. She was a fireball and extremely sexy … She excelled at performing Debussy and Ravel, and literally unnerved me with her electricity. She made a habit of sitting tightly up against me on the piano bench, covering and guiding my hands with her own. I went nuts, and eventually had to tell her that she was deliciously distracting. Her comment was a coy: “Oh, really Adam!!?” Berenice had me bathing in Debussy and worked with me for quite a while on Ravel’s “Valses nobles et sentimentales”, which became my signature piece along with several Brahms piano pieces ( Opus 117, 118 and 119). While Berenice was away on tour she arranged for me to study under her teacher: Arminda Canteros.

Arminda was a charming elderly lady, an amazing pianist and a great pedagogue. It was Arminda who started me on the road to proper classical technical discipline. When Berenice returned to Manhattan I decided to continue studying under them both. I explained that I needed what both of them were teaching me. This, of course, insulted Berenice.

After some time I eventually moved on to my final teacher ( also on the Upper West Side of Manhattan ): Jacob Lateiner. Jacob was an excellent pianist, very well-known, “all business”, and both soft and hard at the same time. I can give one colourful example: one day on my way to his condo for my weekly lesson, I was mugged outside of Zabar’s in the middle of the afternoon … by a wacko who insisted that I had jumped him the day before. I was knocked to the pavement and suffered a mild concussion. When I arrived at Lateiner’s flat I explained what had just happened and said that I was unsure if I could play the piano. He immediately fetched a drink of whiskey, told me to drink it quickly, and then commanded me to sit at the piano. Like a military commander, he ordered me to play Beethoven, Mozart, Grieg etc. ( all pieces he had started me on ). Finally, he told me to play the Ravel. After a few minutes into the piece he marched over to the piano, snatched the music away and threw it to the floor, and barked: “I don’t know who these people are that you have studied with previously, but I forbid you to ever perform this piece in public!”
And with that he smiled, said he hoped I was feeling better, took his $100 and I was off to practice for my next lesson in the following week.

Because I had started my professional training at such an adult age ( in my twenties ), it was doubtful whether my talent would be enough to gain me a musical career. In New York City in those years EVERYONE was an artist of some sort, and the litmus test was earning your income from your art. I managed to earn half my income from performing music at all venues possible, including restaurants, bars, weddings, bar mitzvahs, hospitals … whatever – both solo and in violin-piano duos. I even got a great compliment and generous tip from Art Garfunkel while playing at a restaurant across the street from John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s condo building.

I realized that I would never be as great or well-known as my teachers, and being a classical musician was a hard life and all work all the time for me. Thus, I went back to school and took a master degree in international and development administration, before writing my first poetry book and moving to Norway to start a dance- theater company with my Norwegian dancer-choreographer lover.

Music became my poetry, which became my music through words and pictures … eventually encompassing visual art as well ( I had my debut as a painter in the mid-nineties ).

Adam Donaldson Powell (piano) and Cathy Craig (violin), New York City.

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