Elbows on the table, hands resting on the head.
Silence.
The only thing that can be heard in the room is the sound of an old fan.
In front of my eyes, the title of yet another song that I have been listening to on a loop is playing. Every once in a while a telephone rings.
Music has comforted me, delighted me, ecstasised me and damned me.
Music is the nerves that are unaccustomed to the wind and that make your skin crinkle.
Music is an entrance to this strange world of emotions, which is on opposite poles, crying, smiling, remembering and hoping.
Music is the yearning to feel the wind, to feel the sun tingle the lips.
Music stretches your arm across the table and puts your head down.
Music is dance, dance senselessly.
Music is never regretting or repenting.
Music is the thing that makes you feel excited and at the same time calms you down with the same song at the same minute.
Music is the thing I run away from because it is a reminder of a kind of freedom I can’t allow, or to put it more honestly, I don’t want to allow (there’s a lot to write about that, but that’s the way it is with many).
Music is the desire to walk aimlessly in the drizzling rain, music is a spell which seizes every sense and transports you to a parallel reality.
I do not yet understand how I released music from the cage in which I had imprisoned it, but since the first chapter I have been burning inside, and day by day the fire grows stronger and more uncontrollable. From the first day out I became more and more apathetic and insensitive.
Even though there are no speakers around me, a tune is playing in my ears, my feet are tapping once in a while.
Out there, it’s business as usual, except that I’ve stopped responding, smiling at those shouting, smiling at those filming me, smiling at any kind of irritation, because I don’t want to stop that music.
But the outside world, as we know it, is a perfect brake for a human being who is probably not made to be free. I would be dead in search of myself, I would be dead in excesses and curiosities.
Yesterday I saw myself surrounded by this high, narrow wall, until it became a cylinder with very high walls, and I couldn’t get out. I’m in the middle, not screaming, not reacting in despair, it’s me now, sitting in a kind of static limbo. But it is nowhere near apathy. I look up and see a crowd of confused, confusing human beings from far-flung countries who agree on one thing: I am guilty.
Music is the desire for an unconditional hug without ifs and buts that I hope to find every time I leave this building. An embrace that says goodbye, a strong and wordless embrace.
Perhaps it is time to give in, because reason, instinct and soul agree on one point: if you don’t give in now, you will drift away.
This is the beginning of the surrender process. It is time to put down the records and turn on the radio.
This is the beginning of the surrender process. It is time to put down the records and turn on the radio.
Music amplifies the emotions of living, of being destroyed, of everything. The life is in the music and it is not the other way round.
Silence.