Round and Round the mulberry bush...

I've been listening to the same songs since a couple of days. Same bunch. Over and Over and Over again. And is the bunch big? No.

11 songs. 11.

I have no clue why. I feel like listening to little else, or doing something else for that matter. Movies don't interest me, books enthrall me as much as cleaning stables, and there is absolutely nothing else I want to do. I haven't moved past two pages in my studies. My mind is in a sort of lock down. Refuses to concentrate. Write, sure. I can do that, but what do I write about? My friends tell me I have managed to come up with a good number of articles and short pieces, and yet, my mind craves something more. I feel stuck in a bunch of moments, and like those songs on my player, they are going on and on and on.

My mind is doing something else alarming. Reminiscing. And Images. Beautiful images, Ugly images, weird images, Images I have no idea where from, some that Have to be imaginary, because they do not exist in this world, and some others that take my breath away. It's like some sort of slide show in my head. Fleeting, beautiful, and elusive. The harder I try to fix an image to examine, and maybe discover it's origin, the more vague it becomes, till I have forgotten which one I started off with. I swear, sometimes I think I am going insane. Anyone have any other better ideas?

Beautiful though, to observe how your mind pictures a song. At different moods, different images. One day "Pompeii" makes it an intense dance, and a war on the other. Then again, war is a form of dance, is it not? I'm pretty sure I look zombied in public, judging by the mildly wary looks people on the subway have directed at me. Or maybe something else. I sure as hell have not grown two heads. Try listening to "Menouthis": It's brilliant and intense, I assure you. Has my insides twisting to do something impulsive, like contemporary dance or something. Nutters. Brilliant, but completely demented.

All my days pass in a blur. I feel guilt. I should be working, and I try to, honest, but nothing happens. I just can't! I have no effing clue what's going on, and I can't even concentrate long enough to figure out the meaning of all this. I come full circle, and realize I have zoned out. Disturbing, I know. I probably am a head-case. "Within" by William Joseph is another amazing piece. I just sat through eight hours at the workplace and got nothing done. What the bloody hell!

I think I'll check myself in now, thank you very much. Bring on the strait-jackets. I haven't changed my desktop background in weeks, not that I have realized it till now. Memories have frozen. Little things are making me swing between moods in the matter of minutes, smiles are spontaneous, and anyone you ask will think I've lost it, because my smiles are usually very rare. I think I am in my happy place, my happy confused place. Great. Now I just re-read what I have typed so far, and do you realize the circles in there? I could beat the Olympic symbol.

Before I drive you into your happy confused place, I shall cease and desist. I insist.