Cirque du Freak : The LImb

I am split . Since consciousness grew and insights emerged, I find myself cut in half . Traversing  life, I exist  in control and  liquefied at the same time.  My hands stubbornly grasp the present and my feet are firmly planted on today's ground. Here it is happy. Here it is safe. But my head is minutes, days, years ahead of my limbs. Where my hands are steady and fisted, my head shifts through pages after pages of  meanings, death, or simply of being there, wherever that may be.  Where my feet casually strolls , my head races  towards every "what ifs"  By design , they are a unit. By design they are parts and I am their sum. Lately it has not been like such. Lately, it is all equations and rhetorics a mile a minute.   Lately , I am nothing but stiff joints.  So by the time my hands decides to cooperate and write, my head already convinced itself  that  there is truth to this claim; life is a circus. Every  tightrope situations,  cannonball dreams,  that despicable feeling of being fierce yet caged, and the  hopeful idea of stealing the show with daring grace.  Yet, my world is this makeshift tent, where I am still learning how to ride my unicycle. Balance you see, has always been my challenge.  From walking on my stubby one-year old legs to straining for the better part of my life between letting it all out and letting it all silently go. Practice is a must because falls are frequent. I trust that my safety net awaits but I know fully it could only hold on for so long. So I thread lightly with my earplugs secured to block out the rest of the world, because sometimes a simple "No !" can displace me. Still, I relish every chance I get to honestly tell about my anatomy and cannonball   dreams. In this space at least, I am a complete story.

Music Box

Have you ever heard a song so beautiful ,  you just know it will  forever be a part of your life's playlist ? It will never be enough that it grips your soul  for exactly 3:57 minutes. So you play it on loop, an attempt to engrave that fleeting art to your existence. Heh.... I 'm being overly dramatic, but you get my point.  Simply put though, hearing the sound waves is enough to make you go "oh my God this song" while clutching your heart , wiping your barely-there tears, and rejoicing for this one thing that humankind actually succeeded at, "playback"!  I'm getting side-tracked here . On to the point . This is an amateur attempt to review songs I love so much I could picture myself growing old with them. They are  secrets hidden in my music box, but I'm sharing them nonetheless because its a tragedy not to.  I am not a fan of, top-tens Thought Catalog is known for so consider this song randomly listed for the sole purpose of being favorites. Also interpretations are solely mine. I do not have the privilege of sharing fries with these artistes nor are we textmates, but they are master riddlers and they make me think.  So here we go...

Still - Elena Tonra (Daughter)

It's spiraling down
Biting words like a wolf howling
Hate is spitting out each others mouths
But we're still sleeping like we're lovers

Combine a hauntingly powerful melody and a dark poignant prose of  an undeniably true existential dilemma of being "stuck" with someone, in something, or somewhere that simply makes you unhappy. So of course this will be on loop.

In the Shallows - Elena Tonra (can we be besties?)
Dry your smoke-stung eyes,
so you can see the light.
staring at the sky
watching stars collide

I swear this woman is a walking heartbreak. She does not tug at your heartstrings, she rips , knots and rips them some more. Feminists may get an aneurysm from what the lyrics may be implying, 'I'll die if you leave", but it's a reality for some. It's an ugly truth that some of us get lost to our feelings , woman empowerment be damned. There is no grand orchestra ala Florence and the Machine  to speak the depth of the person's lament, instead there is a deceivingly light acoustics that await you and then... "le creys"





Featherstone by the Paper Kites
Past all the signs of the slow decline
Live like your love wasn't meant for mine
Now you've gone, now you've gone to a different life

This song is as good as any coming-of-age movie. A default tune during road trips, it speaks of nostalgia and hope, of growing apart and growing up. Why the title? I have no idea






Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine
I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you

Seriously, Florence Welch and Elena Tonra are founding members of the highly elite Happy-Songs-Are-For-The-Weak club.  The grandiosity of this song, so artfully made, convinces you that some things though unhealthy, insensible ( I took the stars from your eyes then made a map), consuming, can also be beautiful.

Awhile is Now

And so she tells herself..

"Chin up little girl. Show the world your tear-streaked face and smiling eyes. Let her hear your words and the sobs in between. Tell your story from the beginning to the climax down to the perennially desired denouement. Stand proud in your ripped clothes and mended soul because you have survived, and it is glorious. Your scars are your cartouche, intricate and permanent.

Look into a mirror, into a still lake,  or into a murky puddle, it doesn't matter because the truth is , you are beautiful. 

Put on your white dress and dance to your heart's content or don your black frock and finally say goodbye . Learn , make blunders , understand , and learn. Repeat  until your final breath. This is the vicious cycle called life.

On days your entire being says "I am tired", sit on a hammock and sip some tea. Feel your cheeks lift and your soul grow . You hear Veronica Shoffstall's written soliloquy loud and clear now ;

 "And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open with the grace of a woman not the grief of a child."

Inspiration : Veronica Shofstall's  After Awhile

Traitor

He is. Sin and redemption . Shame and pride. Torment and peace. Empty and overflowing in both anguish and strength, but not joy never joy.  Because for every fleeting moment that elusive creature is within his grasp , guilt always wounds,lashes,whips and tears. But he moves forward you see, tethered to  guilt  and shackled to rage, he soldiers on. He knows no other way than this.   He walks by my side as I prattle about what he missed while he was gone, or rather when he was lost. He keeps silent but this is expected. I hold his hand feeling the rope burns  as he grasps my hand firmly, And so we walked , our steps rhythmic and leisurely towards everything he shunned and everyone he has rightfully or wrongfully abhorred. He braves the crowd with their scrutinizing eyes and sharp tongues . Lies and truths mixing in the air as they murmur to each other as he passes by. For a moment, anger courses through me. I wanted nothing but to snarl and hurl every insult there is.  But logic prevailed and I held my breath, settling  for looking straight into their eyes instead. As if the mere act, will bore into their malicious skulls  that I feel no shame walking beside this boy. This broken boy turned into a lost  man over night  by a bloody circumstance. Their hushed tones speak volumes of contempt , twisted truths and false wisdom.  I am not surprised that I am being judged as well  , questioning my actions as though it is their birthright to do so. Destruction and betrayal they deem his future to be. Loneliness and hurt they expect mine to have. They see his claws , I see his scars. They feel only his anger, I feel his heart, tired and mangled. But I do not blame them , they are victims as well . In that crowded street,  we all are.  We walked seemingly without a care in the world . still, he holds my hand and for all the plainness that gesture brings, it means the moon and the world to me.