Ludic Lunacy
Sometimes I desire nothing more than to scream, loudly and extensively. And I do mean literally, too; not figuratively do I intend to sound here, I do not mean to say I get frustrated about matters and aggravated to a point of explosion. Rather, I mean . . . I need to scream, to release a primal energy that resides in the deeper regions of my soul.
It's interesting this habit, and it can never be pinpointed to be caused by something in particular — really, as far as I can tell, it is caused by an existence of a lot of different things in my head. When my thoughts clutter, when so many stimuli creep into my mind and cast a cloak of shadows over my entire conscious, when my brain is a swirl of emotions and ideas, that's when it rises forth like an eye in a hurricane: this singular urge to be loud. Heh, I suppose that seals exactly where it comes from: an overwhelmed feeling of being too weighed down with confusing thoughts.
And I accommodate this feeling, I can tell you that much; you will find me wandering about campus with my headphones on, singing along to the music without a damned care toward who sees or hears. I've said numerous times before to various people that I am convinced there is a marginal contingent of fellow students who are thoroughly certain I am a nutcase (marginal is being generous to myself, heh). Not that there aren't other reasons I present for people to be suspect of my sanity, of course.
Sometimes I know there is just no talking to be done, there is no soul-searching to be done, there is no introspection necessary nor do I want any sort of voluntary sounding board for my thoughts, but I crave noise — loud and chaotic noise. There's a constant rhythm buried in the core of my being that drives me toward music and song. I was once asked if there was a continual stream of thought in my head that always spoke to me, an infinite flurry of ideas and words in the back of my mind, and I honestly answered in the negative. I clear my head, and I don't hear words, but at a later time I realised that there is something there in the place of what the asker described and that is a beat, a rhythm, a line of musical sound — a pleasant, background noise. I would assume that if my head consistently talked to me, I'd excel more so at spoken communication than I do currently.
It's not the same feeling as the one I get that tells me to write, which is why this isn't coming out as fluently as I find it normally doing. Hell, look at that poor segue from the last paragraph, making reference back to the main topic and opening sentence without clearly defining the shift in focus. I find it . . . disconcurrent . . . with the logic of this feeling that it tends to accompany a headache (Yes, I just made up the word "disconcurrent," because I couldn't grasp an antonym for concurrent on hand). Like, now, my head hurts. You know, I'm listening to music at this very moment — Queens of the Stone Age — and I'm tired which is probably the direct cause of the headache.
Do you ever find yourself befuddled by the question of how to satisfy some aspect of your soul? Like a part of you is crying out to be attended to, and all you can comprehend is the need but not the cause or, invariably, the solution? At times, the hardest commandment I have bequeathed upon myself is "Balance." Doesn't take me a week after finding a centre in my being and a balance in living that it tips back in one direction or the other; God damn if I've discovered a fulcrum to level out my self, is one way to put it I guess. The urge to scream, I think it stems out of that, originating in the deep frustration of being out of balance somehow within myself. It's not a surface-level frustration, nothing like "This code is difficult" or "I can't get this drawing right," but more along the lines of an incommunicable grievance that growls in the recesses of my soul.
As of recent, I've been in a strange mood. Something tickles my mind but does not reveal itself in plain sight of my mind's eye. It's driving me up a wall, because I believe I have a handle on it one moment and then it slips out of my grasp and returns to intangible abstraction. I know one thing, it gives me a headache. I have a lot of headaches.
This is fast breaking down to disjointed rambling, so I will end this now before it goes completely off of the deep end.
Adios.
It's interesting this habit, and it can never be pinpointed to be caused by something in particular — really, as far as I can tell, it is caused by an existence of a lot of different things in my head. When my thoughts clutter, when so many stimuli creep into my mind and cast a cloak of shadows over my entire conscious, when my brain is a swirl of emotions and ideas, that's when it rises forth like an eye in a hurricane: this singular urge to be loud. Heh, I suppose that seals exactly where it comes from: an overwhelmed feeling of being too weighed down with confusing thoughts.
And I accommodate this feeling, I can tell you that much; you will find me wandering about campus with my headphones on, singing along to the music without a damned care toward who sees or hears. I've said numerous times before to various people that I am convinced there is a marginal contingent of fellow students who are thoroughly certain I am a nutcase (marginal is being generous to myself, heh). Not that there aren't other reasons I present for people to be suspect of my sanity, of course.
Sometimes I know there is just no talking to be done, there is no soul-searching to be done, there is no introspection necessary nor do I want any sort of voluntary sounding board for my thoughts, but I crave noise — loud and chaotic noise. There's a constant rhythm buried in the core of my being that drives me toward music and song. I was once asked if there was a continual stream of thought in my head that always spoke to me, an infinite flurry of ideas and words in the back of my mind, and I honestly answered in the negative. I clear my head, and I don't hear words, but at a later time I realised that there is something there in the place of what the asker described and that is a beat, a rhythm, a line of musical sound — a pleasant, background noise. I would assume that if my head consistently talked to me, I'd excel more so at spoken communication than I do currently.
It's not the same feeling as the one I get that tells me to write, which is why this isn't coming out as fluently as I find it normally doing. Hell, look at that poor segue from the last paragraph, making reference back to the main topic and opening sentence without clearly defining the shift in focus. I find it . . . disconcurrent . . . with the logic of this feeling that it tends to accompany a headache (Yes, I just made up the word "disconcurrent," because I couldn't grasp an antonym for concurrent on hand). Like, now, my head hurts. You know, I'm listening to music at this very moment — Queens of the Stone Age — and I'm tired which is probably the direct cause of the headache.
Do you ever find yourself befuddled by the question of how to satisfy some aspect of your soul? Like a part of you is crying out to be attended to, and all you can comprehend is the need but not the cause or, invariably, the solution? At times, the hardest commandment I have bequeathed upon myself is "Balance." Doesn't take me a week after finding a centre in my being and a balance in living that it tips back in one direction or the other; God damn if I've discovered a fulcrum to level out my self, is one way to put it I guess. The urge to scream, I think it stems out of that, originating in the deep frustration of being out of balance somehow within myself. It's not a surface-level frustration, nothing like "This code is difficult" or "I can't get this drawing right," but more along the lines of an incommunicable grievance that growls in the recesses of my soul.
As of recent, I've been in a strange mood. Something tickles my mind but does not reveal itself in plain sight of my mind's eye. It's driving me up a wall, because I believe I have a handle on it one moment and then it slips out of my grasp and returns to intangible abstraction. I know one thing, it gives me a headache. I have a lot of headaches.
This is fast breaking down to disjointed rambling, so I will end this now before it goes completely off of the deep end.
Adios.
posted by c.Jay Wrong at
2:01 AM
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