So tell me what song is it ?

 So tell me what song is it?
The one that beguiles me time and again...
The one that calms me, the one that fuels the spark I keep low, my juvenile rhapsody of melody...
The one that simmers in my thoughts and emotions, together on a twisted aisle of melancholy...
I tune, step down(C-G-C-F-A-d) to peak, chord by chord, precise and in lieu...in lieu with my chain of impulsive thinking...(Am-F-G)
O'er the shadow of the tree outside my window sparkles a pale moon like rhythm...rhythm to tides divine. I ask is this the song?
Wind blows in the dark night, slow but hasty contradictory like me,like I rage, then fall...

 I comfort, I appall...I sing, go hush...gracing silence I abhor...

Saccharin is not the sweetest substitute, and neither is other music...so tell me which song was it? So tell me what to sing...
I ache to hear it, it overwhelms my heart...
I sung it once, I sung it twice...I must sing that song again... But that song is one I’m still unaware of.

I remember what sabre of a musical encore it was! It beat all sore notes, marveling in sync like the aftermath...aftermath of the musician's glory...
I felt it singing back to me, the song I used to sing...
I lost my trail, I lost my lead...all I have is a symphony...
(F-G-F-G-Am-G-F)

That song I must seek, or will it find me? Find me ne'er the daggers end...
The music, a low storm in my head...swirls me in that melody...
Involuntarily my fingers seize to stop...from one chord I lead to another...night air bellowing behind my back...mellow I hum, mellow I feel...
It's eccentric, the presence of that song...I can recollect, a moment that far...
Reason. Reason is what I need. Reason to why I forgot, something so true, something that led my heart from the start...
Will I find it? Or will it find me? That song I forgot...
Questions of queries of uncertainty, still in my head... Will I find the link to the symphony?
Time to rummage...

 And find what I lost my peace for, that simple, subtle, that song of my own.

Burn out.

Must I burn out? Like a flame of good riddance. Take away from me all that was flame, impatient, feisty, cruel and forever yielding. I walk to a place unknown to me; I walk bare foot, my walk solemn. There’s a fire starting in me, and I’m saving a flame in my name. Dedicating it a rhythm, dictating it a note and humming my song, familiar to what it feels. It burns inside me, it simmers after a while...in dire state of affairs. So save me some oil; toss it over when it brims with a slight touch of my toe as I walk past it...before I drown, it must brim over, it must fall...before I drown in the abyss of thoughts...

I ebb at the end of my flame, with fire in my eyes, because where I gaze I find dark. Dark until I let my sight linger...I need to find a way, I need enlightenment, and it’s for that, that I burn. So save me some oil, keep tossing whenever it brims, keep tossing whenever it does not...just keep tossing where I gaze....from where I look ,the flame will arch . Arch into a direction new, lead afresh .A little oil and my simmering flame. It burns low, low inside me, feeding upon my thoughts ,devouring every nerve slowly, charring every contour of my being. I simply stand while this inferno rages inside me, calm in the face of the night...in awe of the beauty of the full moon, feel its touch on my skin, gingerly I smile. I like what this feels like, to feel what it is to burn, to know what has never been felt. Just like I used to play when I was naive, cut my finger through the flame, skim over it again just to feel the extent of heat...to now when I myself have become one, a flame...

Draped in the cloth of my effigy, burnt silken rust, I feel the subtle light from it against my skin.

My flame is chaste, lifting into vapours as rain falls on my skin, it never lets it linger lest I begin to feel again, the sins of the world...lest I realize the cloth I’ve draped will fall like a veil of lie, that falls to the test of times.

At the sight of the moon, the fire within me glints in my eye, reflecting all that I dream. All that was meant to be hidden, to be hushed under my breath until I found my stand, until I was where I belonged. It was meant to be showcased, not veiled off...I rage, I burn .I will not bow, no. How can I while my flame still burns?  It still burns inside me nonchalantly; I need to be its emotion. Or I will not leave. I must stay. Stay here and find where I must arch, to a place where I belong, and the one that belongs to me. It is beyond rhyme and reason to say I fail to find, my lead, my way when there’s fire in my eyes, when I’m not blinded my its eccentricity. I will find a way, a way to burn my evil down. My thoughts are juvenile not crippled, quietly they burn, they flame.

Must I toil further to save my seething mind? Must I save my share for you? Are you willing to take? Will you accept what I would not sacrifice to lame ashes, a few marvels of my own, all burnt in my flame?

Mind gorging,brain brilliancy. All of us,merely passing by.

I vaguely recall dwelling into my thoughts, dreams, and ideas. I seldom speak much against the raging amount of thoughts my constant pensive think pad of a head churns. Each one of us has words, thoughts, emotions unspoken, unheard of. Mostly we never acknowledge them for others to be obliged to hear. And why? Fear. We all fear the anti in us, might be an alter ego, and could be a fiend of thoughts and mostly one with graver conscience; a state of constant activity. There is never a moment apart from our own self, not even as we sleep. Our mind churns the legacy of subconscious activity. Momentarily we live where we might have been, might be, fear about or desire to be. But who remembers dreams these days? In all hustle bustles we call living. Each of us is merely passing our days by.  Who has the time? To spare a minute into a world aside. One that is tranquil and somber or something besides the tearing hurries of milliseconds. Passing by. Christianity proposes that human beings are more than just a physical entity, but possess a soul, a doctrine known as dualism. Naturalism says that human beings are purely physical beings and that all manifestations of human beings are a function of an advanced brain,where the mind is the brain. Or is it?  Is this why we are so efficiently robotic at times? Is it the reason why we seize to find peace within ourselves? This is the conflict.

I’m a realist, or so I like to believe. And though believing in dreams is an unlikely prospect, times too many, it is sufficiently legitimate.  This I realized as I read more into how the brain functions and how the working of mind overlaps with the concept of consciousness. Within each macro brain region (micro level being the genes but there are merely 30,000 genes in our body, so even if every single gene in the body is devoted to a synapse, i.e. a helping hand in the system of chemical transmission, one would still be out by 10¹⁰ connections in the brain hence it is better to attribute autonomous functions to macro level i.e. the brain regions than gene level) there is absolutely no single isolated complete function. It all forms a structured set with macro regions functioning like building blocks. A single brain region, like the prefrontal cortex say, can participate in more than one function. So brain regions are like timed performers on a stage (i.e. the brain), and not as freelancing bits or individual autonomous units. Our brain is beautifully fragmented and absolutely nothing that dwells inside it can be unreal, maybe merely less believable. But then the mind is where partiality strikes mayhem for its functioning is still unknown, almost chaotic. It is where consciousness resides. I address mind as a corollary of brain here, mostly because I’m in partial favor of the Dualism theory of mind ( it states that the functioning of the brain and mind is not inter-dependent, ignoring the consideration for existence of soul because I’m still not very convinced on that one. But it suggests that mental function may not be linked to brain function in a cause-and-effect relationship necessarily) instead of Strict Materialism (states that functioning of the brain and mind is inter-dependent or correlates).This view was further strengthened when I recently read about the Identity theory of mind. The theory holds that the mind and the brain are less distinctive entities. The processes and functions of each of them can be correlated and are often parallel but not identical. Stability of thoughts and consciousness hence can never be assured. So while you think you’re resting your brain, you've actually got an active corollary. The mind refuses to seize action at any given point, and hence the disambiguation of its apparent linkage to “the soul”. Experiences are reflected in the strength and extension of brain connections and it is in this very process, whereby connections mirror what happens to us and how we deal with situations, and this is where the mind comes into action, again. In situations regarding apparent “out of mind” state or something “mind blowing” an individual no longer is accessing personalized cognitive perspectives, but experiencing diminished personalized meaning of the occurrence in a way that one becomes the passive recipient of incoming sensory information which eventually gets stored subconsciously and remains there inadvertently. Hence one keeps collecting memoirs of sorts, bypassing diverse information. The key is to learn to use it to one’s benefit rather than just getting past it. Your dream could well be the answer to an unsolved question, that fleeting thought might be one’s cue. It is for us to learn to take things slow once in a while, and think. Not simply pass by. And that way maybe one can calm a racing mind.

*note* This piece is a part of a case study and also an answer to an array of questions(without being fundamentally statistical/or preachy). 

About time.

It was center stage again, a midst the familiar never ending expanse of the theater. The familiar smell of old parchment alive, lying abandoned across the floor. Familiar were the remnants of emotions, of a something that was to be.

Tonight. He waited. He yearned. He contemplated. He was never so sure. But it was all to be proved.

A proof that all that he was tonight could be a winner. All with a sole reason, to bring her back to life.

Tonight. He feared none, his skepticism a bay.

Tonight was his last chance, perhaps the only in eternity to ever have art and passion by his side. She was a marvel, chaste and fiery. Reasoning was ought to be belittled.

The evil sat in his corner, amused as the clock chimed. It was about time.

And so it began with a whisper to her ear, a gentle laugh after which he held her close in one soft stance. Mellow, turbulence of intricacy trebled in the air as the music sublimed to deafen again. He hummed as he swiftly moved, not leaving her eyes even once. Emotion was all that he needed to win her back. Pulsating brilliantly in his being, the emotion that was to be shared.They waltzed through the night, into the arms of the morning sun skirting them like a pyre, and beyond,across the stage, until she fell limp again and her eyes closed mirroring the beautiful corpse that haunted him. The corpse that had brought him back from his own dirge, from monotony to a blazing energy within him, back to his work, his art. She was no inspiration but now he was driven with all his might for her, for all that he had. Knowledge of the fictitious and noble beliefs alike. And all the worldly disguise. His art was his treasure, every note, each score, a melody of his own but here, in his arms lay the encore. Encore! of the all that had a meaning, something more powerful than what he could ever reason about. She inspired him, and now she couldn’t just bid goodbye. But she had,an impulsive surmise.

The evil sat in his corner, amused as the clock chimed. It was about time.

He stood with the cold corpse in his arms, radiant in the light, radiant as she once was...when she was alive. He remembered telling her it was all in vain,it was a treacherous bay. To this she had always been aside,she never meant goodbye. Now,in his arms she was away,ensued by all that was unfair. Emotion gutted every inch of him.And here, she whispered softly to his ears, and smiled. Caught the shock in his eyes, and this time swirled along his side to face the evil and usher a goodbye. “Au revoir!” most pleasantly, the general coy, to only hum from where he had left, dancing back into a day of their own until the curtains closed yet again and dusk lingered. Away they would be again,treachery,treachery!

The old parchment had read, “About time”. And that was once on a good summer’s eve.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhmQ1TDOlSo