Severus Snape: Charcoal

I see you...

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.

Molten Gold

A silver droplet flows so quietly
On borrowed weight, the force of the earth
While a lone golden ray tries in vain
To hold up the crystal, barely of girth
The battle is fought and the valiant Sun
Gives up, but doesn't go quietly
It penetrates it with all it's power
And makes it shine, like itself so brightly
A prism of sorts, a knife on colour.
Perhaps there is more to just a tear
Beauty, perhaps, however baleful.

Sreedevi.

Snape, Snape, Severus Snape...

Disclaimer: I have only re-created something that was already done by someone else. Idea is someone else's.

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.