A Painful Song

i come back to where i start, one starts again, this is a game, these are ground rules, this is not a game, these are the essentials, there are no illusion's, this must be done, it has to be done, this song is painful, it has pain, it was always painful, the singer is great, these are great songs, other songs too must be great, even if they are unheard, one will hear them, one must, we must try, after all there is so much pain, these songs cause such commotion, they always do, though they didn't when i was a child, perhaps i didn't listen carefully, perhaps i didn't understand, maybe i didn't care, i was always happy.
what if i don't ever get to hear the song that i have now forgotten, what if i miss out on that pain, that wont do, this is unfair, i need justice, songs are seldom painful these days, i know what a painful song sounds like, i always knew, we did, we seldom missed out on such details, i know this is trivial, they always said so, and i thought they are right, but what do they know, this pain is invisible, it is not in the song, it is never in the song, it is the words, it is never the words, i know, shall i, it is in the memory of that memory, the pain of this pain, new pain.....

The Inconstant State Of Emotions

What a fallacy to even think of trying to understand someone......when our own tempests come with such surprises that one fails to understand the way one reacts......oh, the obstinacy of arrogance, the brazen , futile try to try.
I do not claim that loneliness is absolute. we do share the fleeting torment of a moment or the unhinged Ecstasy of heady hours, those that ask for the satiation of original thirst or the anguished cry for justice. yet, after the moment, after the summation of minds or the inconstant equilibrium of hearts, the moment of dissolution comes. i won't say that the few moments of Ecstasy are an illusion. the permanence of any union is.
The cultivation of pessimism is not a morbid occupation. the state of idee fixe is......this melancholic state is one of being privileged with such outrageous colours that as soon as they are worn, and as soon as they are hidden, the senses weaken, the clouds settle in, the mist deepens....this is fog, sadness, loss of childhood, separations, exile.