most faithfully it will occur.
my eyes were bloodshot this morning and it hurts to move them. i was covered in sweat and i didn't want to get out of bed. the dreams i had last night never seemed to end. it doesn't matter what they were about because no body really wants to hear about how strange your dreams were last night. Either way I didn't get out of bed for maybe forty-five minutes. when i did i skipped the morning process, put some clothes on and made my descent to the outside world. i was greeted by a strange balmy winter humidity, maybe 9º c which isn't hot but the unseasonal warmth made perfect sense for the mood i was in. i got in my car and looked in the mirror. i looked terrible. ugly. i made a few faces to myself and wondered why anyone ever finds me attractive. i need to brush my teeth.
sometimes i hear voices from afar. not like some psychological disorder (well, maybe) but more like the sounds of beautiful gypsy women singing enchanting songs in a language i cannot understand. the words are probably some warning that i'm paying no mind to but just like mythological sirens i'm fatefully drawn to their beautiful tune. i wonder sometimes when i see people sitting alone bobbing their heads if they are feeling what i feel and i just smile and wonder if the gypsy women are singing to them too.
when i was younger i would spend a lot of time at my grandparents' house because they lived walking distance around the block from me. in their foyer they had this great painting of a bearded man wearing a hat and walking eerily into nothingness carrying a guitar over his shoulder. that picture is probably why i play guitar the way i do. it's not just an instrument to me. i've come close but i have yet to find a student who feels what i feel when i pluck strings. music is a great responsibility. the power in your fingers to manipulate is very tempting. i've been to parties and sat in the corner playing guitar. i'll watch everyone in the room paying no attention to me but in a counter-clockwise motion i'll find a way to hit each of them one at a time be it by a song they recognize or music that i know would strike close to them - a song that reminds them of a lost love, a song that makes them want to smash things. this is the power in your fingers. look at my left hand one time. my middle finger is deformed. it doesn't bend correctly. i've been playing the role of manipulator for a long time.
when it is early in the morning the beautiful voices from afar are very loud however by nighttime they are virtually silenced. on some days they are mute all day and i miss them in great wonder if they will ever return but they always do. when i was younger i didn't hear beautiful women singing to me but i heard violins. i told my psychologist about this and she said i could be borderline schizophrenic.. that was the last time i ever saw a psychologist.you know.. i like america sometimes. i think it can be wildly entertaining how people can care so much about so little. have you ever seen aeon flux, the movie? you know that part at the beginning when everyone is confused and people's memories are overlapping? that's how i feel when i look at americans. when i was overseas i talked to a sleazy ex-pat who said the first thing he would do when he gets back to america is to go to a shopping mall. i found this to be curious and in return that was one of the first things i did when i got back. i could never explain with words what that was like. slow down... seriously...
one way or another slavic-descendant languages are finding their way into my interest. it started with polish and later ukrainian and now i'm gaining an interest in czech. the day to day language is entertaining just as it is in any language. it's fun to order food, to ask how much things cost, to ask how to say things, to wish someone a good day and to make jokes but the real magic of language comes to life when you are blessed with the company of music. i've heard songs of which i cannot understand a single word but i've been nearly brought to tears. i've heard women lamenting troubles of the world in soft moans that can be counted in the worry lines on their faces. i've heard the words of those who have seen more than you or i could ever fathom but in some magical linguistic-transgressing process i feel as if i understand every one of those words. the same words that sing to me in my head every morning.
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