Little twists of reality tangling together. They blend into undefinable shapes. Confused stories. Muddled memories. The vibrant colours explode before your eyes. Yet you cannot see clearly. Sometimes you can't see at all even when you try. Maybe you are falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and it never ends. Or flying, free as a bird some might say. The blank areas of the canvas you can't see. The unpainted moments. You strive to catch a glimpse but get nothing in return. Then the randomness. The sudden loss of pants. The movement of time and space. Impossible journeys, impossible events, impossible love. Death. That's here too. The freedom you can have only in balance. You may have your world all dandy and sweet. You can have unrequited love and never ending passion. You can have anything! Anything you can imagine! But you can also have anything. Anything you can imagine. You can have darkness before the storm. The storm can hit and leave you helpless. With the power to have it all you have to have the ability to lose everything. To be powerless to the continuous rolling force. To have to sit through unimaginable pain and imagine it. To deal with unbearable despair and bear it. To face death and know you are without a doubt doomed. The mixture of life all rolled into one. The power to have it all and the chance to have nothing. The balance that is set and unchangeable. But we would never give up our chance to dream.
Sleek metal edges cut through the air. The rippled gold rings true and strong. Straight reflective lines stand everywhere. The puckered surfaces accept the roughened wood as its own. Well worn areas are pounded once again. Dust explodes off the vibrating kit. The harsh clangs of the crash and the sharp rap of the snare are sweet music to my ears. My hands follow out familiar rhythms. Jamming to my own beat. The seat is solid beneath my exuberant movements, supporting me always. The smooth wood grips firmly into my hands responding to my every move. Creating beautiful sound with their rhythmic patterns. The pedals under my feet press of their own accord. They work with me as one. Together we play. Buds in my ears are snug and fit protecting me from the noise explosion. The waves of sound wash out from every surface as no skin is left untouched. Every blemish is a mark of music. A single moment in time. My moments in time. My drum kit.
Sleek metal edges cut through the air. The rippled gold rings true and strong. Straight reflective lines stand everywhere. The puckered surfaces accept the roughened wood as its own. Well worn areas are pounded once again. Dust explodes off the vibrating kit. The harsh clangs of the crash and the sharp rap of the snare are sweet music to my ears. My hands follow out familiar rhythms. Jamming to my own beat. The seat is solid beneath my exuberant movements, supporting me always. The smooth wood grips firmly into my hands responding to my every move. Creating beautiful sound with their rhythmic patterns. The pedals under my feet press of their own accord. They work with me as one. Together we play. Buds in my ears are snug and fit protecting me from the noise explosion. The waves of sound wash out from every surface as no skin is left untouched. Every blemish is a mark of music. A single moment in time. My moments in time. My drum kit.
