|Artistic Photography, Influence, and Symbology.|
|Oracles of inspiration. Prophetic splendor.|
|Art is but a masquerade. Art is a better way to say it.|
Anyway, without running off on some dramatic tangent, let's about those influential particles (fuck, I hate sounding so pedantic sometimes) that I just talked about; firstly, in trying to understand what has been the sole reason for its emergence or sudden existence, I pondered deeply over the possibility, that it may have something to do with (if not directly related to) the fact, that I had recently been showered with a multitude of educational, romantic, networking, and prospective opportunities. There's no better liberty, than waking to a day that's filled with something to look forward to.
|Pic: Bruno Mars performing during promotion of sophomore album- INSPIRATION|
I guess that's why I like writing so much too, apart from the other heap of explanations; there's an element of surprise- a certain kind of novelty in writing, because you think of the story when you've take a break, and then depending on how long that is, you really look forward to what you're about to write. It's almost like having a really riveting TV series in your head, that you tune into religiously to follow. Opportunity then transcended its definition, and surmounted now to being a point of influence, subjectively- for me, that is. Secondly, I think that the void I have come to occupy; being at home is something I really had to adapt to, because I was so accustomed to my 7am coffee-table-antics with Sam, Nadia, Darrian, Dean, Lucia, and all the other famous cohort, whose daily bread was passing, but lived by the adage: "dance and learn". Pretty radical, huh?
I've been writing like the plague ever since...what the heck-else am I supposed to do?
Investigation Discovery, E!, and one or two of the monotonous movie channels can't keep me entertained- I can't be a tourist forever- yes, the novelty of freedom has worn off, and becoming agitated, jittery, and eager to move on, to whatever I've got lined-up for the near and distant future.
Let the procession begin....(Drum-Roll)
|Photographic Inspiration: relates to aspect of history.|
Okay back to the discourse already. I'm trying to sound as ordinary, frank, and unedited as I can muster- even careful to repeat sentences, as I do in real conversation, or quite frankly miss gulps thereof. It's rather obvious I would think, for those who read my posts often, to pick on the alternation between the voices used in this one, opposed to that used in the more planned, structured, pre-planned posts that I scribe into one of the many notepads I have. I'd get to the computer sometimes, and sometimes those things won't ever see the LCD light nor ever come to know what the others spoke of when they said, 'Hey page, look I'm on screen!' HA HA okay I should not have said that. Saajid would have asked me; 'Are you zee zee again?' now I'd answer yes to that, indefinite and inexorably because lord have mercy, I have transported from a sense of bewilderment to a strange sense of indifference- a transient phase, you could say- wherein I am wholly aware, conscious, receptive, demonic yet sweet, aggressively excited, and somewhat inexplicably nervous, or anxious rather, for the want of a better word.
Music is another one of then remnants or part of, because remnants alludes to pieces or shades left behind from, and hell nothing here shattered.
Here's why, clearly:
music is an excuse
notes can be rung to good use
you can feel the shadows comin'
out the eccentric rhythms
oozing like polyphonic slugs out
the polished surface of the clarinet
or the bass, space-gliding around the
chorus in which you may very be acknowledged
or find the answer you have beckoned
the music to find
music is a way to retain
heal or further implicate pain
music is satisfaction
lyrical degradation at times- resurrection,
complexity, music is felicity
LP's moving through sound-infused gravity
music is power
a certain kind of knowledge
music is a journey- a bridge
between your heart and desire
music is benign fire
the message of the conspirator
and the prophet alike
music is a confidence
a way of life
a conglomerate of metaphorical verses
doused in beats and tones
music is the matter of the bones
your song is written in its stone
|Kaleidoscopic representation lending light to the utopic|
Phew! talk about being here, there, and everywhere, whilst simultaneously being subjected to startling bangs, clatters, and other noises, because Asa like so won't chill though. Ha ha. Yes, we were talking about inspirational things weren't we? Yeah!
By the way, the above poem was a sleek attempt to evade typing out some long-ass-point-style explanation. Look I'm brave, but that would have tested me in some really confuckulated ways!
The one other thing that I want to wrap up on actually, is the point that HISTORY has been a focal part of the inspirational wave, I've been drenched and carried away in. History because I've resumed enhanced introspection- attempting to reconcile with past vendettas and/ or grudges. I want to at least be able to ascertain between why I came to hate someone, and also why I still hate them even when it's no longer geographically, socially, and even personally relevant.
I was asked the other day, why this history thing is such a big deal of me. I'm not good at delivering such revered sentiment in response to, opposed to in presentation of. So, I withered a little- before finding some warranted agility, by which to bring myself to answer.
|Nostalgic collage. Collection of cleaned dirt. A re-telling of sorts.|
I am that kind of person- seemingly moody, though not all. I don't know what it is. I also become quickly infuriated when someone is repetitive, irksome, and nags all the time. So that I guess adds to that whole moody things. People rely on you, to fulfill and meet every single ideal they have envisioned you, and once you start playing out that role, they never ever expect you to stop doing so, so you do things on your own terms, and subject to people only when you feel it won't be as efficacious, so as to implicate you in their destiny. You don't want people to latch on, but you want them there- hence, it's deductively logical to assume that, if you want people to be sources of ceaseless authenticity and beneficial presence in your life, than you've got to start treating them, as if they have their own lives and don't just merely exist in yours.
And that's history- it's what I'm writing to use a means of catharsis, or a platform for reinvention and the recreation of things that had fallen beneath the weight of time to difficult to bare, or a generation to stubborn to care. It's been a recurring theme in my poetry lately; nostalgia- ardent longing for, remembrance, reflection, introspection and recollection- or the reemergence of, I suppose, of a life lived in rather shady circumstances, that had nonetheless turned out to be one I seek to zestfully rewrite, write through, and create a legacy, for whomsoever comes to be piqued therewith.