Superfluous Baloney
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Music
Once the symphony of thoughts begin they don't want to stop. What is it today? A waltz? No, too fast to be a waltz. A tango? No, not angry enough. A foxtrot? No, not happy enough. What ever it is it plays on and on in a circle of notes and noise. Surely the conductor will need sleep soon and the music will end. But the notes continue demanding attention, demanding an ear, demanding an answer. One continual rhythm that becomes a constant maddening noise. Sometimes it plays too soft, sometimes too loud, too fast, too slow, but rarely is it just right. Rarely do the notes collaborate to form a bit of harmony. Never the right volume, the right beat, the right notes. Always out of sync. Someday it will all come together and blend into a united harmony of sounds. The opening notes of a beautiful composition. The symphony will complete the song. The dance will end. The conductor will rest.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Gray
When I head home the whole world just turns a little grayer. The sky is not quite so vibrant a blue, the grass is no longer that alluring shade of green. Everything seems out of focus...fuzzy. My world feels off kilter. I wonder through my days without thought, allowing them to run together until one bleeds into the next. One indistinguishable blur, smeared together like finger paints on a gray canvas.
My little world that used to solely revolve around so little is broadened as I begin to orbit around a new center. The rest fades into the blur as it holds less and less importance against the growing warmth of the new sun. Everything is the same, yet feels devoid when the center is gone. There is an element missing that causes things to appear less vibrant, less interesting than before. Each time I go and my new center is taken away, the rest of my world seems irrelevant. As the days pass without the center I grow accustom to the gray. As the distance increases the dullness is a little easier to bear, but the vacancy never is filled.
I know the gray will eventually be banished, and Eden will return with the reappearance of my center. With it will come the vividness and warmth of colors, my days will once again be distinct with meaning. In the meantime I learn to trudge through the unfocused gray.
