Wednsday Morning, 2AM

19 11 2008

Why am I still up? I find myself wide awake on a very early Wednsday morning – I should be asleep: Wednsday is our heaviest day at school, with classes packed wall-to-wall…yet instead I am here, writing another post while listening to Peter Gabriel, Toto, Sarah McLachlan, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Mahler symphonies, Puccini’s Turandot, and what-have-you. This could turn into a stream-of-consciousness post – hopefully I’ll be able to wrangle something worth reading from it all…

We finally opened the bottle of wine I bought for my birthday back in October – it’s put Lyndon and Jonas, my co-teachers who dropped by to watch videos on YouTube, soundly to sleep…but I’m wide awake. Why?

I realize I haven’t changed out of my office clothes yet…and I’m picking out the lyrics to Toto’s I Will Remember…trying to remember a deep-seated melancholy that tonight, I’m not sure is actually there. But it’s certainly not mirth in there, either – an emotional Limbo, if you will.

Back in college, I hated being referred to as an artist – I associated artists with decadent hedonism (ala Oscar Wilde) or people gone off the deep end; to this day, I still cringe at the idea – however, I would be a fool not to see that I do indeed have an artist’s temperament: I find joy and despair in equal measure in what a lot of people consider strange things – an expression on someone’s face, a memory, a postcard, the sound of waves breaking on the shore, the sound of a certain note high-up on the double bass, the smell of old books, looking up at the sky from underwater, raindrops falling on my face, a single, lonely balloon floating up, up into the sky, lost among the clouds…

I used to be a wordsmith of sorts: I used to be able to put words together in what some people have considered creative and/or powerful ways. I seem unable to do so now – it’s as if the muse has departed and all my efforts are pitiful and in vain. The words flit away like sparrows even as I attempt to lay my eyes on them.

I remember a morning in South Carolina – my mother and I walked through a little forest path behind the cabin we shared with a vanful of churchmates, looking for blackberries (huge, tart blackberries at that) and trying to avoid running into any stray vines of Poison Ivy (not that we knew what we were looking out for – I certainly didn’t). It was summer, so the humidity was high and the weather balmy. But more than anything I remember the feel of the woods, with dark green leaves speckled with sunlight. We didn’t get far: Mom and I soon decided to head back and eat the blackberries. I wasn’t more than three or four years old.

It’s hot here in the boarding house. I’m still wondering why I’m awake.

Ah, Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor…I remember you…an article in Reader’s Digest named you one of the saddest pieces of music ever written. Barber’s Adagio for Strings is also a top contender for that honor. Either one will break your heart.

A little voice in my head keeps telling me, “There is no hope for you; Nobody knows, and nobody cares – embrace The Darkness; We have been waiting for you. We always knew you would find your way back.”

…must ignore the little voice…must ignore…must…flee…

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2 responses

19 11 2008
meow

you told me that the past years (till present) have been some of the happiest in your life. don’t let The Darkness take that away. The Darkness isn’t where you belong.

22 11 2008
momi

alcohol no matter how small has a way of affecting the brain. note that it takes away the water in cells when microorganism are placed in it. it is a depressant.

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