epistle; possessive: the music of Michael Finnissy

“Last week they asked me to write a portrait of you. I told them I didn’t think I knew how. The real and the unreal are too fuzzy with you, too elided now to ever divvy up again by so blunt a criterion as “truth.” “The autobiographical element should be understood as me-as-my-music or me-as-composer,” you whisper, evasive, grinning, impish.”