August 14

Truth be told, I do not know what to write. All I know is that I am writing, and that I must write. It is not that I should write, it is that I must write, for there is something within me – or perhaps infinitely external – that compels me to write. Not for the love of writing, but for the innate gnawing instinct that life must be more than consumption and reactions and that writing is the basis of proactive thought, action, and creation. Let my life be more than I fear it will be.

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Days have been interesting. They melt together like the broken halves of butter sticks left at room temperature before baking, and I find myself covered in splotches of flour that I didn’t realize had billowed onto and coated my black leggings. If only I had worn an apron.

People say summer is a great time to rest and grow and recover. I’m starting to believe that they are right. And I look at myself, and I look at what’s left, and I wonder why I never heard the bells when they chimed in the morning along with the sweet singing of birds lost and found, searching and soaring. I wonder why the morning dew never seemed fresh and inviting, why it clung to my skin like the residue of grocery store labels on glass jars.

I try not to look at myself. I try not to see my gangrene toes. If I just ignore it, it will resolve itself, and we will all be better for it.

How does a kitten feel torn from its mother and sisters and brothers to be placed into the grabby hands of a maniacal animal lover desperate to save such a pitiful creature? Does it miss the familiarity of where it came from and the echo chamber of a genetic pool that can’t help but keep to itself, never daring to explore the outside world full of lunatics and monstrosities? Or does it embrace the new, foreign life that it has fallen into? Does it even comprehend the significance of environment and adaptation? Perhaps the kitten is happy to leave its childhood bubble of comfort in hopes of pursuing a more adventurous and independent life in which it may decide who it will be and why. But perhaps this new world is a world that is rainy and dangerous, not suitable for impressionable young kittens.

And yet, perhaps it is that very danger that allows a mewling kitten to become the majestic, roaring tiger it was born to be, that it once was, that lives in its very DNA which has become so complacent. May we all be tigers, and may tigers be all that we dream them to be.

Musical Musings

one of the saddest feelings is knowing that you’ve worn out an album and listening to it will never again bring that feeling of novelty and excitement. this has been on my mind a bit lately because of my (flagrant) musical theatre phase. i wore out phantom, though it has so much ingenuity and complexity that i think i’ll still be able to listen to it sometimes, and i most certainly wore out wicked, love never dies, and hamilton. my “latest flame” (bonus points if you get the reference) is evita, and i am afraid that i have pretty much worn that out too (and only after a few days!). acknowledging that i’ve worn out an album is actually really really really sad for me, because listening to an album is just such an adventure to me. i don’t really know how to describe it but it’s like taking your mind and spirit to a new place and seeing and experiencing all these new things that only appear in dreams and fantasies. it’s amazing and it’s a language that’s so native to me that it feels like home and i don’t really know what else to make of it.

as i was attempting to organize my itunes library today, it really hit me that i find it incredibly difficult to revisit albums & songs – so much of the music that i’ve downloaded gets neglected over time. i find that i listen to songs/albums incessantly for weeks at a time, and then as i wear them out, gradually just stop listening to them. and trying to listen to them again after their initial excitement has worn off just isn’t the same – my brain knows the song too well and is able to predict every note and rhythm and the song becomes boring.

i suppose it’s really, really sad to me because it’s almost like the loss of an old friend, an old friend who shared secrets with you and introduced you to new concepts and had dance parties with you and sat with you on the bus ride home and was there for you when you couldn’t fall asleep at night. an old friend who led you by the hand to a faraway place so amazing and sparkling and bright and unbelievable to you, a mere human, confined by your physicality and gravity.

music has that ability to take you far away while somehow keeping you grounded and i love it so much i love you music don’t ever leave.