"The Shame"

Sitting here, listening to Alex Cornish's "The Shame" and trying to figure out why with all of my upbeat energy, I always seem to fall into another dimension of numbness . . . Today should have been a great day, where everything had been taken care of  -- I would be relaxed and ready for tomorrow's big day.  But somehow things didn't go according to plan -- My plan.  And even now, I seem to have found myself changing the positive habits, for the old vices that use to keep me complacent.  In that moment where you don't want to smile, laugh . . . You just want to SCREAM, into a pillow, and feel like you're okay.

Tomorrow may be the big day, however I've had to make many decisions on what not to do and as much as it hurts, I cannot have the happiness that I really want.  I just need to settle on what could possibly turn into a happy moment -- Even if it's by isolating my subconscious and racing until the end.

I'm slowing down, running from the truth -- I can't really change this.  I can't really change me.  And why should I continue to try and force the inevitable? This just has to be the way;  My way.

~Kyra C.

"Don't laugh too hard, something bad will happen"

As I sat in the classroom, pondering the thought of a ten minute write, of something as abstract as putting together a story with only a few key prompts -- my shift became apparent, it was going to be about music -- of course.  So, as I sit, today, stroking the keyboard in anticipation of putting paper onto a white screen, I delve into my own personal music library and just sing . . . Sing, internally, and forget about the prolonged silence held within this room.  I type.

"Don't laugh too hard, something bad will happen"

It amazes me;  the synchronicity of each step, as the drummer's leg leave the ground.  Pulsating with extended vibrato, when the mallet pounces into the base drum.  BOOM.  BOOM.  Then, silence.  Almost as if to shift from reality, to death . . . As absurd as humanly possible, the drummer, freezes in place.  Sweat drenching the uniform, eyes glazed;  yet trapped under a helmet.  Stand still.  No one moves . . . A camera follows each angle, until there's enough to capture a full scale.  CRASH.  Not one person looks around.  Eyes fixated onto the distance;  no one looks toward the sound.  It's unimaginable, like tiny soldiers, the drummer's peer over.  Head's still in place, just to gaze at the cause for sound:  A mallet hit the ground.  What to do . . . A snicker protruding from silence?  Absolutely not.  Don't laugh too hard, something bad will happen, echo's within.  Yet, at that moment, nothing could be worse.

And as I've typed my last word and finalized with a period, I say goodbye -- or so long.  I will be back with yet another story.  But for now . . . Silence. :-p

Much Love!!  Peace out, dudes.

~Kyra C.