music

It's the music that does me in I think.

That raw evocation of spirit.

And once unlocked, I don't know if the emotion is digging its way into my chest or out of it. It's so hard to determine direction when I'm gathered in the meloncholic embrace of desire frustrated.

And the day to day reality, that occupies mind and body is swept aside in the rush. Not good, or bad, but simply more primal.

I understand the desire to wound the body to feel alive, but it is the delicate laceration of the soul and heart that makes me ache with the sweet pain of life. And then, when I feel that I must engage life at this primal level, I am engaged on another level.

The idea, meme, concept, image, or again, music, that makes my spirit pause and contemplate the more rarified aspects of life. The delicate esthetic. And all the fractal turmoil is shaped into a delicate arc. Architecture of the mind out of the rough ore of life.

Choice seems impossible, perhaps pointless. Even knowing that not choosing is a choice I am conqured by the status quo, that endless plain of true existence.

a nice sentence I think

Angela had only to emphasize a point with a sharp gesture and Gilbert went from bombastic to solicitous, and it took some time for him to get back to his full propensity for pretension.

and a teaser:

He had discussed his developing powers, at this point, only with his grandmother. And as informative as that conversation had been, it scarcely counted as a conversation with any degree of normalcy, considering that his grandmother had been dead for several years.