10 minutes later I was 5 days ill
Well I haven't felt like writing much since the last album was finished up until last weekend. It might be because I took up painting recently. When I say recently I mean in the past 1.5 years on and off. My piano practice has ceased partly because of this expression and partly because I have run off two different downstairs neighbors since I inherited the piano. I'm back to writing music though and it feels like I haven't breathed in months. I finally took a breath of music and poetry last weekend and I feel again alive. Feeling alive sure can be fleeting though I guess there in lies the beauty. If you can’t tell yet, creation has become my religion. Why worship god when you can be him? Ok so I just wrote that because it scared me, but hey, my songs and my painting are my children, my creations and to me they live.
At lunch today I was alone reading the end of Demian and then I realized that reading holds time hostage assuming time is good in the first place. (side note- can a hostage be bad? I mean assuming bad is real) Then I laid down and began thinking what some would call poetry off the top of my head, relating my life to the outermost leaf of the tree above me and it became a whole story. It “grew” from the following outline…
1. The inevitable while still improbable possibility of existence (not to mention redundancy)
2. The certainty of your own uniqueness and distinctive strife
3. The realization of your impending likeness to the herd
4. The struggle to break from this without being anti-
5. The predestined march to the end
6. The beauty of this end and means to it
7. The dream of living on
8. The reality of dream
9. I’m mortality (now that is beauty, which is found in co-existing)
After playing this out, as I do most days, I finally decided to put an end to it all, at least for a while, and that is when I stopped time for about 10 minutes. The splendor of life is definitely the paradox of it all. To make sense of it all you must make no sense. That is the closest you will get to truth. This gives a hint to language and it whispers… you have been a leaf all of your life.
At lunch today I was alone reading the end of Demian and then I realized that reading holds time hostage assuming time is good in the first place. (side note- can a hostage be bad? I mean assuming bad is real) Then I laid down and began thinking what some would call poetry off the top of my head, relating my life to the outermost leaf of the tree above me and it became a whole story. It “grew” from the following outline…
1. The inevitable while still improbable possibility of existence (not to mention redundancy)
2. The certainty of your own uniqueness and distinctive strife
3. The realization of your impending likeness to the herd
4. The struggle to break from this without being anti-
5. The predestined march to the end
6. The beauty of this end and means to it
7. The dream of living on
8. The reality of dream
9. I’m mortality (now that is beauty, which is found in co-existing)
After playing this out, as I do most days, I finally decided to put an end to it all, at least for a while, and that is when I stopped time for about 10 minutes. The splendor of life is definitely the paradox of it all. To make sense of it all you must make no sense. That is the closest you will get to truth. This gives a hint to language and it whispers… you have been a leaf all of your life.
posted by John Paul at 9:53 AM
0 comments
