ordinary madness.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, a deep sadness overcomes you. It gathers it’s strength from all the pain and the loneliness you ever felt. It could be the second bottom of a bottle, in could be the 2 a.m. madness that forces you to wash your dishes and mop the floor like a madman. Or maybe it is just that dark haired girl that once wept for you at a train station just so that you wouldn’t leave.

You finish that second bottle of the random belgian beer a friend recommended. You try to focus on the Murakami in your hand but it is not as soothing as books used to be because now it’s an iPad or a Kindle that’s weighing down on your hands. It is decisively not enough so you resort to music, sentimental, melancholic, to die for. What will be your weapon of choice for this night? Yumeji’s Theme from “In the Mood for Love” should do it. It’s a very asian madness that you have created for yourself this night. Is it the Murakami that opened that last creaking door? Or was it the alcohol that you will end up regretting the next time you look in the mirror?

In any case, your weapon of choice is the violin, the crazy violin, the delicate piece of fine wood, the one the carves out names in your heart and in your mind. The stroke of the bow is sawing right through you, to the core and back out. It is all much less tragic than it appears, but in this very second that you read that one line, this very second that you took the one sip, it felt like a bow, a bow with an arrow. The higher notes submerge you deeper and deeper, drawing that bow is what carries you beyond every string. The contrabass in the back just plucks the doors behind you, so that you cannot escape.

And the light shines through, clearer then ever, the dust particles are the ones that make this moment so divine. Something as simple, as filthy as dust can make it or break it. As you know, light is more beautiful when it needs to fight to be noticed. Well this lover of mine has put up quite a fight. In this godforsaken place called church. The light just hit the chandelier, the fake chandelier with the electric light bulbs, the energy that wasn’t. The imitation of everything that is wrong and wretched about this place.

Anyways, it is just a joke. An ordinary madness.

 

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