Picking out all the stars that we like

It's been a while and I really can't say that I've been percolating and collecting interesting thoughts to share.  It's really not like that anymore.  I wished that writing for me was more of something that I could do objectively.  That I could objectively create art, create writing, create beauty without feeling so involved, so vested, without being such a big part of it, so entwined and refined into it, such that these pixels can barely be differentiated from the reality of the matter.  Such that the sounds of my life has faded away into a kind of oblivion-like space, quiet like the sea at night, birds whistling through the air, the pulsating waves its own kind of silence, its own kind of boundary, and yet, in those spaces, somehow those sounds echo through everything and you're in a kind of oblivion.

I guess that's what I'm looking for in these minutes that I am taking to type this.  I am looking to oblivate.  To wipe a clean sheet over memories, to reduce past poignancy into nothing-ness.  Why?  Because there's a beauty in not having anything, in expelling the past that enroaches on the present like a precipice casting a shadow on the city.  It can be a beautiful mountain, like a beautiful memory, but the shadow that it casts could either be constructive or destructive interference, freeing or constraining, elucidating or clouding.  And right now, all my memories, all these pieces that has made me who I am I feel is making the signals more complex, the waveforms more noisy and jagged and for once I am feeling like I can't fourier transform my way out of this one, can't find the melody precisely, like finding the harmonics on a cello and perhaps the point is this noise, perhaps, like modern compositions, the sense of discomfort is interesting and essential and valuable, perhaps it was what I was looking for here.  But today, I am tired of the noise, tired of the ceaseless nothingness that is mocked by the poignancy of my past, and today I want to retreat to Mozart by a seashore, to the howling of the winds and the water on my ankles, to the sun and skin of the matter, and I just want to spread my arms and feel, and laugh, and look at you, and smile.

"I know it's late but I can't help but think here,

That the day hasn't shown all its cards.

Now its out to the stars of the ocean

Let's not retrace our steps to the car.

Now your eyelids they faint and they shiver

Like the wings of the last birds to leave

For the south, for the heat, for no reason

I watch as they fly for sheer joy.

Picking out all the stars that we like 

Between finger and thumb

You laugh as you pass me the night

And I hold it so close to my chest

With your hands in my hands

You say this is just how we'll rest

Until the light turns to sound"

Snow Patrol, "Dark Roman Wine"