Friday, November 14, 2008
All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon.
Eclipse by Pink Floyd
I know not how to describe great events that I happen to witness. I fail as a writer to bring anyone closer to what events around me may have inspired. This is perhaps because I myself am seldom inspired by what goes on around me. I lack the vocabulary of words to describe the material things that happen around me. I don't know all the different shades of colors nor the proper names for the types of clothing and worse yet I don't know the names of sounds and I can't describe the visuals and the imagery that surrounds me.
Come to think of it, there's not much there is that I take pleasure in when it comes to events, books and arts. My taste is limited to a handful of writers, musicians and film makers. My tastes are simple, moderate and predictable, very much like me. I dislike naivety and I possess a bitter distaste for needless sophistication. My tastes reflect those of a normal human being somewhere within the wide range of a simpleton and an aristocrat.
I have no tolerance for things that do not communicate to me. Mindless entertainment is not my thing. I haven't seen enough great things to want to move beyond what is objectively good and venture into the absurd and incomprehensible. I'm already overwhelmed by things I already do understand and that's why I can't appreciate as yet the things that try to go beyond.
Like I said it might be because I haven't seen enough, but more likely than not it's because I process things too analytically with my mind. That's why things have to make sense before I can appreciate them.
I suppose I could be at a disadvantage for not being a 'feeler', but there's a plus side to my nature. To be able to take in feelings through the mind's channel is to be able to express my feelings through the same channel.
So despite my inability to express well the events that surround me, my gift, I've often felt, was to express the feelings inside me. I possess a vocabulary of thoughts, not words, that deciphers and expresses my feelings and that's where I’m at an advantage.
Forget the plethora of lucid and decorated words that fill the pages of a paper or magazine. They are words used as pathetic fallacy to bring us closer to the hypnotic effects of an art piece or performance. They are a disguise to be objective about how art makes us feel by attributing the imagery to the art work itself rather than our inner feelings. The truth will always remain in what we feel and how we feel things.
I don't care much anymore for what I say or how I say it. There's beauty in finding our own way of saying something that's already been said. I fail to see the point of having someone write your words except if you really want to share it with the world and bring them closer to you.
I'm told sometimes that I say so little about myself when I express my thoughts. I try to talk in general rather than talk about specifics. I'm not sure how it's possible to observe this while I pour my heart out through my thoughts. Which is better to say, that I have too much work or that I'm overwhelmed from the world to the point of breaking?
To me the latter says more, does it really matter that work is doing this to me or just plain old life? Is it important to talk about the life, the kind of work I do, the kind of subjects I studied, or is it more important to talk about what I love to do, what I've learned and what effects life has had on me.
In my thoughts are a thousand pieces of my soul, I'd rather pour out the pieces of my soul than pour out the pieces of my material body. In my thoughts are feelings around which my world revolves.
Yet now, words fail me, thoughts fail me and I'm not fully able to describe what I best describe. I'm left with little words and little thoughts to explain my own self now and how I feel. The rhythm in my head has stopped, and the words don't flow as they once did. In my head the sentences don't form at the right beat, there's an irregular latency that spoils any harmony that used to exist. The words don't travel all at once as they did.
I'm at a loss for words, the kind of words that would best explain what I'm thinking and feeling. I know I'm thinking though, but there's a rock mingled with the thoughts inside my head as they all float together. The thoughts are thought, but then damaged by the rock, never fully making their way out of my head.
Is that how it feels not to know what you're feeling? Like a maze with the truth at its exit, a truth about your thoughts and feelings. Only you've lost your orientation and the plan to exit the maze got jumbled up.