Perhaps music is really a mathematic extension of our emotions themselves. An almost tangible, yet concrete stream of pure emotive dynamics. Why does such imagery stay so universal and ring so true with so many people when they listen to this music? Is the imagery created for the music? Or is the imagery created by the music, as a harmonic, emotional, mathematical output? Ok so maybe all of that is too much of a mouthful. Maybe even some of those words were misused or misinterpreted or etc. But I am still interested in what music really is. We know so little about metaphysical properties, probably because it is all speculation and we can't really prove any of it yet.
"Wow, you are quite lucid for a stoner."
"Jeez! You goddamn mentalist!"
"Mentalist? What?"
"You are prejudiced against people who have different mental approaches."
"I have never heard of that."
"Well I fuckin' made it up. But that is what you are. In fact we are all mentalist to every mental approach that isn't ours by nature. But you can decide whether you want to be aggressive about it or not. In effect, this makes you an asshole."
"Well sheesh, all I said was you were lucid for a stoner."
"Yes, and that had some very condescending implications didn't it?"
"Well, now I am angry, and yes, you are just a goddamn stoner."
"And I was angry 5 minutes ago. Time is up."
Sharing the shower with a community of ants provides ample time to study their behavior. When the water flows (which is sticky and ensnaring, since the water molecules are proportionately larger in relation to the ants' bodies) the ants climb instinctively for higher ground. Somewhere in that little exoskeletal head of theirs, they know very well that great danger and possibly death await them in the depths below, or in other words, that gaping black and silver hole that is the drain. And you know, the sheer size of the surfaces that they climb could be thousands of feet if we converted it to ant-size. They cover such immense ground in such a short time.
I don't know what a spider wants with an ant. Maybe it is like a man resorting to eating a rat when he is starving. There is nothing better out there and at least the little rat provides some sustenance, which is better than nothing. It is better than starving.
The wind was sharp and cold like a chilled knife today. It sliced right through me, right through anyone else. A hoodie is soft and porous. Easy to cut with wind.
Gun shots are like loud, terrifying, barking punches; they are extensions of the knife and fist. Offense.
What if I had no fear, no remorse, no pain, only anger? Anger that has grown to such a gargantuan scale that it has completely eclipsed all other emotions. If someone pointed a gun at me, I would be yelling and scolding them for making me irritated. They would keep me in a maximum security prison and I would think everyone who ever did anything terrible was far below me, even those who had committed the worst atrocities. I would be the greatest monster the world has ever seen. I would kill not for pleasure, not for excitement, not for necessity, but because of the mere fact that anyone living other than me is an insult and a threat to my very being. I would be the greatest perversion of time and space. I would be a supervillain.
They say keeping things to yourself that could be told to others is considered lying. I consider it preserving my sanity and social belonging, if there is anything left of the two.
END.
