Another three hours of basking and I have effectively spent myself. So I stop which is a good thing since at this point, I am truly sick of myself and the music that I produce. What seemed like a sweet and rapturous note is now enough to cause me to convulse in debilitating nausea. So the bass notes and melancholic melody stop harshly. They would be back tomorrow as sure as I would wake tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn.
I brush my hand through my hair that was once strong and flick off the residual rain drops from the downpour earlier. As I perform this attempt at grooming myself, I catch a glimpse of a stranger in the puddle from the corner of my eye. He looks a despicable figure and strikes a frail presence despite his clearly robust and athletic frame. I study him from head to toe and then once more like a scavenger eyeing a thrashing animal in its death spasm. He reeks of pathetic. His lackluster slit eyes betray his lack of conviction in life. I move closer to the puddle and indulge in this voyeurism with an unhealthy appetite. Oh, this poor sullen human specimen. Then I realize that he is me.
At this ghastly realization, I fall upon my bottom and sit as if shell-shocked. I rock myself slowly and surely back into my mundane reality. I never did realize that my bolts had come loose. That I had lost rein of sanity. I was under the illusion that I had kept it well-nourished and reined in my stables of fortitude. But now, I came to know that all along, it must have been buckling and pulling at its shackles with its animalistic brute strength. Day by day, its sheer determination meant that it was pitted in a seesaw battle against the cold iron shackles of my pathetic clinging grasp. It must have torn its flesh and cut itself to the raw bone. I get slightly woozy at the mentally conjured sight of bright red and gurgling blood and then bruised and infected flesh wounds. But despite the surely immense pain, it must have found me and my pathetic needy nature so contemptible that it persevered despite every screaming sub-molecule of its flesh. Oh, how grotesque I must be.
"Hey, mister. Are you ok?" a random stranger snaps me right back into the mundane reality that surrounds me and blows through my wet clothes. "......." I am unable to mouth a coherent response. It does not matter. He is not really interested in how I am doing. He has already moved on. He is one of those Samaritans who get more of helping others than the people that he has helped. So he carries on his way to surely rake up more spiritual points and "feel good points" so as to feed himself through the cold and lonesome nights. His silhouette cuts slowly across the grayish landscape. My eyes escort him out of sight and I get back on my feet. I pick up my cello, bury it in its case. I pick it up. And I place one feet in front of another and make my way to nowhere to do nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment