The "complimentary" Fuge is charming, smoothly dismembering the construction. The substructures seem to reveal, but under close scrutiny we realize they are more intertwined than what we comprehend from the Clavier...
I don't even want to talk about dichotomy, or the illusion of an being or a state. On the stool I subject myself to a hearing influenced by all other senses--fingertips generating spheres with keys, heart beating to the tune...Now what I can only write is the insecurity and fear of knowing how surreal is the little world I have musically inhabited in. Bach just made the confrontation more imminent.
So for once I am going to give myself a jab of anesthetic to ensure I can sanely continue deciphering that cosmic perfection of Bach. I used to care about how my music affect others. Nonsense. Inspiration from my performance? Non-existent. I don't care whether you understand my Bach or Chopin because the "grace" inherently may not be mediated (and I sound like a knight of faith..)
Nothing is more important to me than the consciousness of each of my fingers. As for the audience, saying "i'm lovin'it" is more than enough.