Sorrow

Cocoa, Mahogany and the Cello

Something dark, something resonating, something wonderful and something so invigorating.

Each time some maestro draws his bow over those taut, tuned cello strings, and the first sounds, so deep and rumbling, emanate, I have to clutch at something, to stop my otherwise assured fall into something I may not approve of later. It started many years ago, when I heard the very first classical piece, but it was not love at first sound. I loved the tune, surely, but then, the first few times I was so entranced by the more prominent sounds, I barely noticed the others. The mind does not register very clearly what you don't want to hear. This is true.

It is only when you listen, not with your conscious mind, but your sub-conscious one, that you start to appreciate the true construction of that wonderful piece of music. You start to break down the complex structure into simpler ones, dividing and sub dividing, untangling and reassembling, till you finally extract that last, most exquisite drop of crystal that resounds so clearly, and you encounter nothing; nothing but silence. You have successfully separated the most number of different sounds you can hear and understand, and if you knowledge of instruments is good, you may have completely segregated them, I'm sure.

Well I was not, all that good, it being my first time, but I did notice, now that I had taken care to "look" at the music, that there was more to it than meets the ear. Those 'Oh-so-brilliant' violins were so - Empty - when all alone. Not that I don't love solo violin pieces (Forgive my plebeian nature with terminology), it was just so much more complete with the cello. I think they are the most amazing of string instruments, with the harp and guitar at close second.

I found that the whole cocoon was built with all that heavy, brooding and soulful cello, and the others were the ornaments on the Christmas tree. What's Christmas without the tree eh? When that neon bulb went on in my head, I fell, headlong into an abyss, I fell in love with the cello. I went on a cello spree since then, grabbing any little thing I could, listening to all the little bits I could get my hands and ears on. Where I came from, the internet was no so vastly used in homes as it is here, and not nearly a quarter as fast, so I lost precious time. Buying was out of the question, our wallet was not deep enough.

And then I found high-speed internet, and my tiny dreams came true. I listened. Oh I heard! I was in rapture.

Those waves of mahogany flowed over me, caressing, enticing, ensconcing, enervating and I was reveling in it. It left me longing, wanting more and more till my skin prickled, my toes curled and my whole self tingled, in anticipation and fulfillment.

I loved music even more, if That was even possible. I am obsessed with it, cannot live in it's absence, and it runs through my very core. I have it strung into my very nerves, muscles and sinews. It holds court in my soul, my heart and my mind. I tried to learn, but found myself too lacking to be pure. I found my amateur skills a blasphemy. I resorted to walking around with music in my ears, tapping my feet and generally in a trance. Whether I am waking or sleeping, working or relaxing, it has me so thoroughly like a puppy at it's feet.

Obsession, I think so, but no obsession has been this wonderful.

Draco, Sweet Draco..

My Attempt at Art -- Comments welcome (please keep them clean, though! )

To be or not to be.. Incomplete

It has been a busy couple of weeks, what, with all the work that I have to do, the subjects I have to study, and the exams that I have to pass, all so that I can have a decent job to go by. It's not that I mind, it's just that I HATE having to do something as distasteful as having to resort to "help" from others to get the job. It just so seems like proof in stone that the extent of my intelligence is highly over-rated and it leads me along that line of thoughts that I am not worth that little piece of paper that commend my so called achievements in getting another degree. Mediocrity, however, is not shown by that generic format of the certificate, small mercy.

I have been in touch with more people in the last fortnight, than I have in the last few months, yet I have never felt so alone as I have right now. No, No, it's not that romantic crap, thank Jebus. I just mean in general. People are moving on, getting gainful employment, getting married, starting a new life, and yet, it feels strangely as if I am stuck in a moment and I can't get out of it.

It's not I am brooding and stalking around like a giant bat or vampire, snapping at everyone or some such. I'm not doing the classic Snape, but it doesn't change the hollow feeling I have, as if I am missing something. I would have shrugged it off as a "I want my chocolate" phase of life except that it's been there far too long than healthy, I imagine. I don't know how many more are experiencing the same turn of events, but I'm sure I'm not the only one rocking this boat.

What do you do when you start feeling this way? Incomplete, Incompetent, and so many other words I can spell with an 'I'?

Perhaps it will go away? Or maybe we'll become numb to it. How do you complete yourself? Oh and before you say "find your better half," I'll say go stuff it. It's not THAT kind of incompleteness, so there.

Right now, I probably look like a giant bat in a corner. But hey, all the better, people may leave me to my thoughts.

It's been a very long time since I felt any semblance of normalcy. So long, that I may as well have forgotten how to feel that way again. Then again, normalcy is probably overrated. Every day is a haze, just a routine to-do list. There is no feeling, not even when I a learning something new, which is always the best way to get me all high and happy. For all the love I profess for learning, this is probably wierd. Learning, being surrounded by books, and just stocking the mental pantry is just my thing. I thoroughly enjoy being geeky. Yes, completely batty, I assure you. Yet, it is what defines me. Rarely do you find me not exercising the mental muscle (Don't even go to the part of the physical exercise). Surrounded by walls of books, always thinking of new ways of doing things, and all that jazz.

Don't get me wrong. I am far from brilliant, I just love to learn, and my ability to learn is inversely proportional to my ability to retain things, and it's not the learning that is the thin end of the wand, certainly. If I could retain all that I learned, you have no idea what the outcome of that would be. There are so many things I wish to be better, my memory is on the top of the list, but there may be a bright side to forgetfulness. There are so many things that I would gladly forget and probably have, and that is a good thing.

Just the same, I am in the state of mind when every song of longing, separation, and happy endings leaves me in a fit of self loathing. Oh how I wish, I was one of them, all those people who look so happy, all of them who are in such wonderful places of employment, and have so much more than me. I just want so much more than this. And it's not that I am unwilling to work, mind you. I probably will do what needs to be done with a passion rivaled by none other, if and only if I am motivated to do it. Therein lies the problem, the motivation is just not there, there is no spark, no urge, no desire, no passion, no drive. There is nothing.

I probably shall run mad if this continues. I have dallied in the arts, the sciences of the mind, philosophy, history, music, literature, sports, and have found that once I know I can do whatever I please, the need to dally in them goes away. I want a lot, I have need for little. How do I build this? The things that deal with a lot of thought such as philosophy, and psychology are those that excite me most. In fact, I love messing with people's minds. I know, sadistic, but that's me. I love to pick brains, I love to watch people squirm when I try to figure them out and, more often than not, succeed.

Merlin, there are a lot of "I's" in this, aren't there? But what do you expect when my thoughts are being relayed to you by me? Smirk.

Mornings, noons, nights, time is of consequence and yet it is not. Twisted, but true.

Remember me...

If it is one thing I hate, it is being proven wrong. Apparently, everything that I am is proving wrong, and the next person to tell me I am smart, or intelligent, will never know what hit them. I have no interest in being lied to, and it is detrimental to my health to lose my temper so often. Or so they say.

I hate being mocked, and if I am lied to, I am being mocked, so think twice. It is so pathetic to sit every day and watch everyone leaving you behind. There is very little sense in "resting while I can" when that rest is riddled with self deprecating thoughts and suicidal tendencies. There is only so much a person can handle, and after years and years of bearing down on disappointments and all the dreams that ever were, you just find it very tempting to test how little effort it takes to throw yourself in front of a speeding train. I don't trust buses.

I hate being the butt end of The Creator's Jokes, and I hate it even more when he keeps me alive every day, in good health, only to mentally torture me, with those so called "tests" of his. They are supposed to make me stronger, are they? I am a believer in God and all things Great, but honestly, yeah, this is a Great Joke. I'm just not laughing.

In what way did I wrong anyone so much that I am being so driven to insanity. It takes just one look at the pity or charity people show toward you, something you cannot miss, mind you, to take one more step towards finding the perfect way to off yourself. When you know the blame does not lie with you, or as I would like to believe, it takes so much of patience to bear the hurt and the regret you feel when one more non-productive day goes on by, and you are still as useless as ever.

I swear, by the Creator himself, if I am rejected in one more interview, I can safely throw myself from a high cliff, or get hired as a maid, because, obviously, "It is not my fault, it's just luck, you see" and I say, go to hell. I'm just a waste of a lot of space, I should think.

As screwed up as this seems, I feel like a complete incompetent imbecilic idiotic insufferable ticked-off moron. I have no freaking clue what is wrong, and frankly at this point of time, it is moot point, because even a retarded high school drop out can find a better job than me. How does that feel? You have no freaking clue.

I want to believe it when people tell me, something better is around the corner, but after months of being turned down at every bloody company's interview, you run out of "something better" to be waiting around the corner. And to top it all, I can't even freaking cook, to live out the rest of my days indebted to some one who felt pity on me to pay off my loans for me. Talk about mental health, I'll stop at mental.

Everyone is a smart-ass about it, as if they went through it personally and then lived to tell the tale. Did you feel so pathetic as well? Did you wake up every morning and wonder why you did? Did you look at your bank balance and just forgo that thing you wanted to buy, but now you just can't? Have you tried to smile when you really feel like slitting your wrists so you could just go numb? Have you ever felt like taking a ticket to nowhere and find a job earning 6 bucks an hour just so that you could feel more among what you are truly worth? Have you ever felt the Need to die??

There are so many things threatening to break right now, and one of them is just my barrier of self reserve, that last thread between sanity and the insane need to laugh hysterically and blow my head off. There are no more words to show exactly how screwed up my life is. You know you are freaking useless when even the god damn kid rummaging through garbage seems more happy than you are right now.

Frustrated? If you didn't get the point by now, you have it all. Ignorance.

Wishes in the night...

There is a weight in her chest
That threatens to choke her
And she tries to stop those tears
That threaten to spill over.
There are so many many times she hopes
That the night will be so binding
But each morning she wakes up
Blinking against the sunlight blinding.
She goes through the hours weary
Of the night that is approaching
To embrace the darkness so calm
Before the fear within turns consuming.
There are so many dreams she sees
And lives through them smiling
For only in our dreams are we free
Before the daylight threatens, unending.

Sreedevi.