I generally did contrive to play some. But when I began to get rid of devices I had to give up the music as well.
Baggage, basically, is what I got rid of. Well, things.
Now and again one happens to hear certain music in one’s head, however.
Well, a fragment of something or other, in any case. Antonio Vivaldi, say. Or Joan Baez, singing.
Not too long ago I even heard a passage from Les Troyens, by Berlioz.
When I say heard, I am saying so only in a manner of speaking, of course.
Still, perhaps there is baggage after all, for all that I believes I had left baggage behind.
Of a sort. The baggage that remains in one’s head, meaning remnants of whatever one ever knew.”
- Wittgenstein’s Mistress, David Markson (p. 15)