Playing Without Weapons

She played her mysterious saxophone as if we could be together alone in concert halls and Republican and Green Democratic balls, behind and in front of magisterial boundary walls. She brought in a few million dollars from quiet more sedate enraptured listening fans Before her critics complained She takes no risks, no dissonance dare pass her wet vibrating reed. Hopelessly romantic, Without a hint of unpredictability. Too many sustained wooden notes! She is to saxophone performance as communion and compassionate communication are to tiresomely pedantic religious orthodoxy, behind and in front of multiculturing experiential walls. About half a billion well-voiced dollars later, She thought it time to respond from a patriarchal position of musing strength. "I invite those who don't like my ecofeminist natural music to not listen with such obviously desperate disappointment. Instead make your own muse on your own performing saxophone or flute, Your own drum of choice. Become wildly successful with your own well-tooled, but unweaponed, message. Make tons of fan co-invested money." "And, when you do, I am sure I will have a chance to listen mindfully with you. And, I hope I will become greatly amazed with spatial wonder and timeless awe." "I will be so happy to raptly listen and write your superlative review, to become your greatest co-empathic fan." "Sadly, until that great gettin-up morning, I will continue playing my best music alone, and hope you will now know my muse and I best hope to become your John the Baptist, in faith waiting for your richer Messiah tunes of even greater wealthier healthier rapture."