I'm feeling rather... pensive.
I'm feeling rather... pensive.
This is a rewriting of something I wrote a long time ago, while listening to one of Mahler's symphonies. This was while we were looking at Romantic musicians.
There was so much I wanted to say before the music began.
What is the Romantic ideal? To create, to express ourselves and our imagination... and yet there are strict rules in doing so. One must know the rules in order to break them, they say.
And yet, if everyone followed these rules, the world would be boring, would it not? That is why we have rebellions, after all.
Our world is one of depth, and yet we are increasingly shallow. Yet with time and thought, we can deepen our inner puddle into a pond, a lake, a sea, and then finally, an ocean.
I myself am I a small lake, I believe. But the same gems still lie beneath the surface. Diamonds, lapiz lazuli, emeralds, rubies, gold, silver... they are the secrets of my heart.
Were I younger and more foolish than I already am, I would share these secrets. Yet, I am wise enough to recognise a simple truth:
The greatest gem is one never seen.
And so, I bury it.
That is my rebellion.
The "gems" and "water" parts might not make sense. They're a reference to a poem by Rumi, which celebrates music. I'll see if I can find it sooner or later.
So why was I feeling pensive? Sometimes, I feel as though my talents are pointless. It's easy to be eloquent in the English language, I was thinking. Anyone can paint pretty pictures with words, I was telling myself. There are only five absolutely basic stories - nothing is totally original, I said to myself.
Maybe.
But that won't stop me from trying. If I want to tell my stories, then I'm gonna tell them, darnit!
This is a rewriting of something I wrote a long time ago, while listening to one of Mahler's symphonies. This was while we were looking at Romantic musicians.
There was so much I wanted to say before the music began.
What is the Romantic ideal? To create, to express ourselves and our imagination... and yet there are strict rules in doing so. One must know the rules in order to break them, they say.
And yet, if everyone followed these rules, the world would be boring, would it not? That is why we have rebellions, after all.
Our world is one of depth, and yet we are increasingly shallow. Yet with time and thought, we can deepen our inner puddle into a pond, a lake, a sea, and then finally, an ocean.
I myself am I a small lake, I believe. But the same gems still lie beneath the surface. Diamonds, lapiz lazuli, emeralds, rubies, gold, silver... they are the secrets of my heart.
Were I younger and more foolish than I already am, I would share these secrets. Yet, I am wise enough to recognise a simple truth:
The greatest gem is one never seen.
And so, I bury it.
That is my rebellion.
The "gems" and "water" parts might not make sense. They're a reference to a poem by Rumi, which celebrates music. I'll see if I can find it sooner or later.
So why was I feeling pensive? Sometimes, I feel as though my talents are pointless. It's easy to be eloquent in the English language, I was thinking. Anyone can paint pretty pictures with words, I was telling myself. There are only five absolutely basic stories - nothing is totally original, I said to myself.
Maybe.
But that won't stop me from trying. If I want to tell my stories, then I'm gonna tell them, darnit!