Thursday, September 03, 2009
as it settles, like fairy dust long expired
Sometimes, after classes, I'm on an unbelievable high, endorphins all fired up from good music. Then, the crash. I've been reading Schopenhauer again, so that could be part of the reason. When one considers our imprisonment, shackled by the endless yearning and desire, of course tragedy will lie in its promised unfulfillment. Have there ever been happy endings? Now, immersed in monads from the past with accumulated meaning, temporarily unindividuated, the silence after the final cadence is a rude shock to the senses. To be submerged again, my name given away, another piece of music, another act of compulsive repetition, when will the sublime reliving of suffering end? To feel the tension between dissonance and consonance, longing and fulfillment, and then, the desperate need for resolution and its resulting anguished satisfaction, this isn't difficult to comprehend. But to have it lead ahead of you, limbs jerking grotesquely between objection and submission, repeating with no end in sight if only it existed, my blanket of the eternal night.
she procrastinated @ 23:35 |
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