December 13, 2007


I'm thinking. One minute, you're sitting there, completely content, and then almost instantaneously, you're up and on a rampage, inexplicably. One minute, it's post-bop, the next it's glam-pop; where do those lines blur, if at all? There is a very definite departure of one into the other. So it is with this lovely little thing. One minute, it's all tingly and sweaty palms, and then I'm shaking and perspiring with anxiety. How often it comes to mind the ease of a permanent and hasty solution. However, I will continue to hypothesize instead. A little work, more. So, teary eyes, where have you strayed? Is there more than one rough edge your iron just won't smooth out, despite your best efforts? Is this dysfunction still guided deftly by the strings at my fingertips? A natural progression towards the inclination to be self-assured and self-reliant must ensue at some point, approximately; one certainly cannot spend an entire lifetime huddled in the dark and dusty corners of their own minds. There is some exact percentage of this that is being fed directly via brain wave into my own soul, because I am not beyond these implications. How does it all end...well, it already has; the accepting is the part that sometimes creates the false impression of unfinished endings. It's like looking at a ghost, when in reality, it's just a sheet fluttering quitely in the wake of air flowing through an open window. It's done, finished; yet the memory is active. The memory will haunt this house indefinitely.
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