Music is the hidden arithmetic exercise of the soul, which does not know that it is counting.

– Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz



 Fractal Fugues &



The talented cat Felix Blum and his composing pen friend Weintraub remained unstained by fame throughout their fragmental lives.

Blum’s Summer-Memoires tell orphic creation myths about fervently bred cardinal works, which fail to hatch out.

The present edition has been diligently distilled, bottled and ornated with a cryptical report by the erudite Lord Albert Peregrin.

Inclined, as well as upright readers, might feel welcome to step on this oasis at the source on a fluffy footnote-carpet. 

The publisher

Lord Albert Peregrin came into the world as an offspring of the depleted cockatoo-nobility on the antipodal Cape-York-Peninsula. From the mangrove forests to the atoll, he stunned his surroundings with his exceptional cognitive gift and absolute pitch. This, at an early chicklet-age, when he fell out of the nest and started composing contrapunctical puzzles by disposing nuts after orchid-patterns and singing them by heart. Youthfull years of wandering followed in the captain’s bunk of an inflated sailship, where his cryptological expertise became cherished at treasure hunts and blackjack. After a traumatic ship wreck, he was left behind on the Galapagos Islands, and initiated in the cosmological arcanum of time loops under the spiritual leadership of Turtoise-Master Lonesome George.

It was in the cactus-closet of that warped world, that the legendary lepidopterist Sir Nigel Peacock discovered and hired him at a backgammon-game to become his highly venerated desk-talisman.

Lord Albert gradually secluded himself in the maze of his brain convolutions and picked the marginal note as a favoured literary device to express his accurately charted knowledge. On stagnant blue Sundays, he outlines counterpoints of dots, lines and coulours as illustrative contributions to the memoires of his lost-to-the-world friend Felix Blum.   

Capellmeister Weintraub's Grimoires

Musicians and entlightened lay people will presumably enjoy the music-theoretical contributions and contrapunctical puzzles by the forgotten Capellmeister Peregrinus Weintraub, who consummated distillation after a work accident in the orchestra pit and secluded himself in an orange-box in the desert to compose his opus magnum.

In search of the source code of the universe, he scoured franticly the fugues of the great masters and consigned hermetical sketchbooks, which still wait eagerly for their deciphering.

Readers, who would describe themselves as immusical, may confidently skip these reflections in the delusion that they represent blank metaphors for mental turmoils within an ant-composer trapped in the Möbius strip of the creative process.


The three routes

Text passages drawn on musical foreknowledge are rendered in cornflower-blue colour. The hurried musican can hereby favour that shorter and steeper cornflower-blue path, whereas the musically renitent may follow unimpeded the cat paws of the tale on the jetblack imprinted lyrical road. Eventually, the ruby wine-red path through oneric mazes should be entrusted to strolling riddle-lovers, who don’t emphasize fast-paced games.

The three routes are indicated with coulour and outlined in the route description.

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