Colin Hay after ages!

After killing the day in my room, trapping it inside this little coop I call home, getting it's throat and strangling it until it ran out of breath, I got up and went outside. It was dark and I paused to consider the transpiring of the day. The morning was already a faded memory. I couldn't remember anything in sequence; everything was isolated and broken and I couldn't find the sequence of events. It had been just another day in a whole blob of indistinguishable, sticky summer days. A cobwebby something in my mind put a, well, cobweb over my thoughts and I needed to clean up and clear my head. Entering the shower, I washed and scrubbed myself thoroughly. The last thing I wanted was obvious traces of murder on my self. About half an hour later I felt clean enough to step out. Walking to my room I contemplated if I should feel guilty about what I had done. But then my mind quickly rationalised that it was best to not to wallow and extend the misery by feeling bad about what I had done.

I stepped inside my room and turned up the music. I tried to focus my mind on something beautiful, something that is the exact opposite of an oppressive single room, an expansive blue sky maybe? I needed happy memories. Immediately images of the sea flooded my mind. I could see the bluest of blue skies, bright sunshine, smell the salty air and hear waves crashing on the beach. I could hear Colin Hay sing about a beautiful world and swimming in the sea. To go out beyond the white breakers, the place to feel completely free. Sitting down to watch the sun sink in the ocean, and the sky holding back whatever bit of day it can.

I was feeling sufficiently better now. And it was time for dinner. Putting on my white tshirt I called A and started towards the mess. Walking past the little wooded area behind my building I sensed a bit of purpose in my walk. And finding that purpose lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. Like the oppressive heat of the day lifting with nightfall, it was easier to breathe again.

Wind Up Bird Chronicle

"All I could see were shaggy, grass-covered mounds stretching on and on, the unbroken horizon, and clouds floating in the sky. There was no way I could have any precise idea where on the map we were. All I could do was guess according to the amount of time we had been driving.

Sometimes, when one is moving silently through such an utterly desolate landscape, an overwhelming hallucination can make on feel that oneself, as in individual human being, is slowly becoming unravelled. The surrounding space is so vast that it becomes increasingly difficult to keep a balanced grip on one's own being. I wonder if I'm making myself clear. The mind swells out to fill the entire landscape, becoming so diffuse in the process that one loses the ability to keep it fastened to the physical self. That is what I experienced in the midst of the Mongolian steppe."

-H. Murakami.

A third reading in progress. Never ending love affair this.