I'm listening to The Postal Service's song Such Great Heights. It's one of my favorites. As I head towards an area covered under dark gray clouds my entire mood is will be dictated by this album. I cannot speak of what my mood will be, it's kind of hard to grasp the emotional setting of the album collectively.
This morning I had thoughts of Sleeping In, not much to do in the way towards tomorrow, but if I had I would not have listened to this album.
Nothing better, would it be than to have The Postal Service to collaborate once more to produce an album following their masterpiece.
Currently, I am sitting in a bus, Recycled Air travels in and out of my lungs just as it does my ears. The mood almost quiet, only a child's periodic cries breaking the silence.
Clark Gable, in true gentlemanly fashion, would appreciate the kind actions of the fellow sitting near the child, as he distracts him with playful bunny ears.
As the light of day becomes the dark of night We Will Become Silhouettes lit by the moon.
Incased inside another bus, the person sitting near reeks of stench. This Place is a Prison, once outside I still would be confined within the walls and schedule of that institution.
In dreams, breaking out of this system would be the only cure for my slow drowning. A Brand New Colony starts with just an idea.
The confining ways of popular song structure do not speak well of my Natural Anthem. I am not one single rhythm, just as all, we evolve and change, staying solitaire just encourages us to breakthrough it's thin veneer with greater force.
But in all, changing what we are accustom to opens another box which we may or may not want. How are we to know what effects lead to what actions, what is the action when the effect is to Give Up.
No comments:
Post a Comment