Senses Working Overtime
Aug. 12th, 2003 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talktoolooseI'm really alive these days. That counts for something.
Okay, I'm freaked out and in artistic crisis, but that's nothing new. My heart is currently in paraxysmal atrial fibrillation but that's just annoying.
The world, for some reason, seems really clear at the moment. Tastes explode in my mouth: last night we had a tripe and tofu sidedish at the Dumpling House and I keep getting seismic aftershocks of texture and spice.
Sounds ring through my beautiful blasphemous cathedral with sure voices, revealing nuances I've never heard before: the suck and slap of humid pumps as the woman walks by my park bench; the hot bones of my desk lamp crackle and snap as it stretches out its spine, tense from bending over my papers all day.
And touches and smells make me weep. The whole world is full of echoes: a piece of linoleum conjures childhood triumph, the whisper of leaf on leaf before the storm begins in earnest recalls travels through distant forests.
They say Jaco Pastorius heard music in the rustle of treetops.
Why is the world so with me just now? I find new levels of understanding in the obscure languages of melody and in the scratch of pencil on paper. My heart, just now clattering in my chest like a trapped sparrow, is perfectly synched to the waves of emotion -- not controlling them, but riding them, trough and crest.
Okay, I'm freaked out and in artistic crisis, but that's nothing new. My heart is currently in paraxysmal atrial fibrillation but that's just annoying.
The world, for some reason, seems really clear at the moment. Tastes explode in my mouth: last night we had a tripe and tofu sidedish at the Dumpling House and I keep getting seismic aftershocks of texture and spice.
Sounds ring through my beautiful blasphemous cathedral with sure voices, revealing nuances I've never heard before: the suck and slap of humid pumps as the woman walks by my park bench; the hot bones of my desk lamp crackle and snap as it stretches out its spine, tense from bending over my papers all day.
And touches and smells make me weep. The whole world is full of echoes: a piece of linoleum conjures childhood triumph, the whisper of leaf on leaf before the storm begins in earnest recalls travels through distant forests.
They say Jaco Pastorius heard music in the rustle of treetops.
Why is the world so with me just now? I find new levels of understanding in the obscure languages of melody and in the scratch of pencil on paper. My heart, just now clattering in my chest like a trapped sparrow, is perfectly synched to the waves of emotion -- not controlling them, but riding them, trough and crest.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-08-12 12:14 pm (UTC)and i like that about riding, not controlling, emotions.
lots and lots and lots of beauty.
no subject
Date: 2003-08-12 01:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-12 06:08 pm (UTC)i wish i knew. although right now, i feel perfectly honored to be used in any fashion such an amazing universe sees fit.
(wish i felt that way all the time!)
no subject
Date: 2003-08-12 04:17 pm (UTC)