Grey Sunday

If you listen to any one sound for too long, you find yourself within it. Perhaps it's raining outside and your windows are open, you melt in the sound and time passes by a lot faster than you think it is. You become a part of the rain. Not a tiny little droplet that is  entirely under the control of the storm (who wants to give up control?), you are the rain. You notice when it starts raining harder no matter how subtle it is. And what's that, wind? It's blowing north. If we were to live in a place with trees that weren't evergreen and everboring, perhaps a leaf would start its journey right by your house and flow with the tempest until it ended up in unknown territory. It could explore the new environment, the new climate; it could simply rot.

Same with music. You listen to a song for too long, maybe it's on loop because it's a new favorite, maybe you are too lazy to find a new track, you start identifying with it on levels previously thought impossible. Yes, at 00:20, that's me! A few more seconds in, and the story changes, it becomes too intense, that's not me. But I can see myself right in that chord, in that guitar solo, in that synthesized sound. I recognize myself. Could I define myself by it?

You fall asleep or pass out to a monotony that wasn't noticed prior, and your dreams open new possibilities to you. You are a part of that guttural scream escaping a junkie's throat. Your life could be summarized in the knock on a neighbor's door that goes unanswered. Your future hides inside a meow of an abandoned kitten that is freezing outside your window. He would jump in and warm his sickly body in your blankets, but the mosquito nets keep out all that is not wanted and not accepted. Hell, even the mosquitoes freeze to death mid-flight. The blood within rejects them and goes on to do what its original owner can only eventually pray for – die.

I notice none of this; I remain oblivious to the passage of life. Perhaps I've had a little too much too drink, perhaps the sounds of life get drowned out by familiar electronica that suggests nothing but the fact that I owe my sanity to the technological progress. Perhaps I am far too lost in my thoughts of yet another plan to be thwarted by the illogic of the human emotion. Perhaps I just don't care.

Perhaps I want to convince myself that I could fall in love once again. Perhaps I've found a viable target but something is stopping me. The orchestra from track number 9. That violin at seconds 45 through 58. Isn't it telling me something? What could a string instrument know of strategies and careful planning? The cello itself couldn't stop me from making my move. I know it's not about love; it's about satisfaction. The piano knows that as well, yet it keeps going, it keeps up the pace. It keeps me in check. I can be cold-hearted about this, I can take notes in a legal pad and draw imaginary checkmarks in my head. But for what ultimate goal? The cello, the piano, fuck, even the flute will have to stop playing. I will be left alone with fake feelings and a few cheap stars in my pockets. They cannot be traded in for one big thing, I will have to watch supernovae from a distance and feel slightly jealous.

And go right back to my ways.