Koala’s response to being petted
It really is remarkable how reactive music can be. Just a few notes strung together in a progressive rhythm and…flick of the fingers …time-travel is achieved. I sincerely can’t tell you the date. Remembering my social security number is a responsibility that takes me far too much thought. Yet there are chords that, when I first heard them…they struck so deeply that I can visualize every fine detail with acute reminiscence. It was bone-chillingly cold. She always smiled as if she had a really juicy secret. This time she did. The wind tugged on my hair like a lover beckoning me back into bed. Where I was, who I was, the feelings I carried with me, they’re all resurrected in the here and now. All it took was a simple click of the play button. I’ve dodged this piece for two years, but now I’m ready to say hello again. Music is the foundation of my emotional resonance, reinforcing a sentimental bond that can never be forgotten. Sometimes, oftentimes, it’s all that survives. It’s just a fossil of a bygone time.
Self-fulfilling prophecies of destruction,
Emotion eludes reason and deduction.
Seduced by deconstruction.
No more than a walking jigsaw of jumbled up contradiction,
Panic is no longer fiction.
Essence becomes worst enemy,
Self the conductor of enmity.
Soul the foil of control,
No more than pieces left to console.
While dueling to stay true,
Even though it wounds only you.
“Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.”
- Lewis Carroll
I feel like a lot of people don’t really recognize just how beautiful our world, from mundane daily routine to extravagant, sincerely is.
Lothlorien represents purity. That’s something I feel that, for all the successes I’ll grant Peter Jackson’s translations, they didn’t quite capture for me. There’s an ominous trait that I never felt in the novel. Lorien is a sanctuary, offering a getaway from the imposing and sometimes unfriendly world. It is the closest remnant to the undying lands, Tolkien’s blatant analogy to heaven. When my time comes, I will be buried with my copy and should there be an afterlife governed by your desires, here is where I choose to be lost eternal.
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold,
and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came
and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon,
the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin
there grew a golden Tree.