What a shock. Who knew that Chopin's compositional oeuvre, which is certainly finite, renders finite interest! If only there were more composers than Chopin, and a pianist other than Horowitz, perhaps the choice of topics wouldn't be so cyclical.
Also, I'm quite sure that Comme being gone, and Alistair and I being barely here, makes quite a difference, so to speak. When everyone is following the same set of social rules and stigma, everyone is the same in a place like this. Some are smarter, some are dumber. Some are ignorant, some are versed. Other than that, all the same. Painting with one color.
How painfully, pithingly boring the lack of even a few splashes of color can leave a blank wall.