All I am talking about is the beat. The rhythm. The binding force that drives us. I have been out of touch of late, out of rhythm. The music is not right, the bass is not falling on the right footstep. The artificial string sounds from the synth don’t move like the way my arms do.
Life is but a bother when the music isn’t right. Like the wrong soundtrack to a film.
Like the wrong word to for an action
the words, they do not come easy anymore. the lines, they form streams out my mind through to my fingers but they seem to be moving towards strange places I do not wish to touch. the shapes, they seem warped and pointless, unable to take contain the space which I wish to create. it all seems pointless, when you are silent.
oh how we grow out of our need for attention, our need for affection. how we have grown bored of the challenge. it would seem that I have lost my cause, I am weary, but I am still watching.
The time you take to acknowledge this Earthquake
determines a very unique set of outcomes
the key is in your Handm
The clock is ticking
Do you remember
You were broken and tears were in your eyes. I held you and told you everything will be alright for you.
Now it is true of you
But sadly, I paid for it.
You are sitting in a room. There are no doors nor windows. Now before you question how you get out of this room, first ask yourself how did you get in there in the first place.
You could have taken a bus. Drove there. Caught a flight. Skipped a heart beat. Parachuted into it with the crowd roaring and the flashbulbs going off. You could have sleepwalked your way there, teleported in, followed a hunch. It all seems impossible, in this room.
You can’t describe it. It is eerily quiet, but the sound of everything- your thoughts, your movements, your choices, the world falling apart- is deafening. It is pitch black and blinding white. It is cold. It is hot as hell. It is unbearably so.
There is a table in this room. Nothing unusual, something you would describe as made out of “wood” rather than chestnut, pine or huang huali. On top of this table is a gun. Not a pistol, not a revolver, an AK-47 or one that dispenses hot glue- it is a Gun. In all senses of the word. (Joke.)
There is a person in this room, facing you. It doesn’t matter if the person is lying down, standing up, sitting down, humming a tune or bouncing a ball. That person is there. That person is the person you love, and you realise this, suddenly, as you are aware of the choice you have to make.
You have been in this room for such a long time that you don’t understand the meaning of it all, the table, the gun, the love of your life. You have left this room somehow, and found your way back in. The person on the other side has left this room somehow, and found their way back in. In that instant you wonder about the choice between a parachute and a submarine. In that instant you wonder if the person opposite you is thinking the same thing.
There is a gun in your hand. As you grip its cold, hard, unforgiving surface and feel its weight, its power, a thought is formed within you. A thought wrought of the pain and pleasure and the meaning of it all. A thought combining love and hate and hurt and peace. You don’t know what to do; and you don’t know why it is you that holds the gun, and not the other way round.
“The gun is in your hand.” A whisper, barely audible.
Like betting on the wrong team for the world cup,
Like buying shares in a company that collapsed the next day,
Like feeding the dog that bites your hand,
I have made the wrong investment.
I have never been more confused in my life.
Before I typed the question every nerve in my brain was telling me I wouldn’t get an answer, but I still tried, I still was polite, I still asked even after asking many, many times. Why? Because I see value in this. On the other hand if you didn’t see any value, THEN WHY TELL ME SURE THING YES WE WILL OKAY OKAY OKAY WHEN IN THE END YOU ARE JUST GOING TO FORGET ABOUT IT AND SAY YES AGAIN WHEN THE ISSUE COMES UP? WOULD IT NOT BE EASIER TO SAY NO AND FORGET ABOUT THIS EVER HAPPENING AGAIN?
Don’t want my friendship, it’s fine. Just tell me.
