I am in dire need to write and nothing is working! Although I still am going to try and spill what all I had in mind, which has been seriously depleted due to this irritation, however.
I listened to She Will be Loved from Maroon 5 after many years I guess and it took me back… took me aback. There was this time when talking about love, thinking about having her close or telling her how I felt didn’t use to feel like a shameful and weak endeavour. She… received a lot many texts from me which I would never have sent had it been myself like today. Something noteworthy here is how I have always failed to say these things and have always just written. But, why did I begin finding it all so futile. It was as if I began hating red because I saw myself bleed. Why innocense can be killed by realization that it has been refuted and used by people who didn’t really care. Can you not see what they’re losing in all of this? I listen to entirely different kind of music now and embrace a different picture of the world, the one which revealed itself when I could see beyond my own desires. Or did I? Desires and wishes cannot be given up until you’re not dead. I have just found how badly I wanted to see my truth as an apple while it was a peach… I lived in the delusion that I have an apple. But then there was chemistry of it, the mathematics involved in bonds of the molecule it was built with. Me today is one who’s aware of that chemistry. No realization shattered it more than the fact that I wasn’t even looking. Willing to talk is not weak. But it is not for me at the moment due to chemical structure of molecule of my truth–there are only metallic bonds in it. Existence of lie is a truth which shouldn’t actually hamper your understanding of how to associate with things. My association with music is profoundly self-explanatory. I liked soft melodies which were about a life being beautiful only upon having someone to care for or be cared by. Hailing from a small town and a failing family, I, with dreams and restlessness to break free, developed assocaition with things which one could be associated to only in a lopsided state of mind. But one thing is exactly like it was–my inside which is outside myself… it’s an observer, a storyteller who is hungry and devastated because he cannot find what he’s looking for. I am still holding on to that childhood dream… one which didn’t know where the line was. All realities are dream without a reference, a litmus test. My reality has suddenly began to skin itself to reveal the dream in its veins because my reference wasn’t what most of them believed to be. Oh, how lacerating the wrist is the most beautiful metaphor for what I have lived so far! Even funny is the fact that I have never harmed myself with blade… never saw pain in it. Well, seems you can never see the pain anyway ’cause it can only be felt in visuals from the memory, the ones which you can forget, but they cannot forget you… you’re their home for heaven’s sake! I require you to believe that you can NEVER lose who you are, your education and your knowledge–the hue of experiences–because it all exists within you, around you… in your being. The only thing which is holding you back is this feeling of loss… of dreams, of love, people, truth, a house you loved, a place where you ‘could be’ et cetera… And I ask why… why are you thinking that anything can take away from you your being? You will always be who you actually are! The only thing is that their reference, sort of IUPAC of reality, is to monetarize everything and then call it real and unreal… and your dreams have been so far sub-zero kelvin on their scale. So? So what?
I’ll do my loving in the Winter.
Jugband Blues, Syd Barrett