But it was like sweet staticof sweet sensations in the bathroom. of sensual pleasures burning in my head. of selfish desires in the corner of my bed. of sweat droplets on the cold tiled floor. of dozens flashing lights invisible to my eyes. of her scent not her in my room. of nobody dancing to the sounds of indie music. of loneliness in this crowded, yet empty place. of rapture that doesnt influence me. of sleeping at 6am, alone, with nobody caring. of crying silently without any teardrops. of missing the people in school. of irritations from the voices of people who dont know anything. of crazy laughter in the middle of everywhere. of my mind. of the man sitting at the ceremony, blasphemy to the gods. of the wake, two different worlds, one solemn and serious, the other real and imperfect. of chanting buddist mantra, addictive rythmn that captures the essence that brings you together. of thinking about observations. of self-suffering. of temptations in a dark empty room. of myself.sometimes, i wonder why we dont feel all overwhelm by all this things that we feel and see everyday. its like we are sponges in the sea, soaking up water without any thought given to it. some of us are mutated, grown tumours that give us the ability to think. but tumours are cursed creatures, and we thinkers often torture ourselves just thinking about events, emotions that are controversial. Most sponges just passed by life without any thought, no goal, no aim in sight. is that what life is all about? death covers the living like a plague, unstoppable and irrelevant to influence. what brings death, brings life. the wake of my grandma was a beacon of light, attracting people like moths purposefully flying around a bright light at night. even with the death, people flock, they give their blessings, flowers, laughter, joy and happiness to the bleak atmosphere. One can't help but forget about sadness, and join in the laughter. its like the dead becomes unvisited, even when it is the one precursor to this life. the dead becomes a tiny entity, not worthy of respect, only given some when the chanting sessions begin. But the session is a drudgery, aimlessly chanting chineses characters that we dont understand about. We all know it is meant to help the deceased to move to the land of ultimate bliss. And we chant, but we chant without value, without understanding. Our beings are there physically, but our words, our thoughts, they do not coincide with the scared mantra. We are ultimately desecrating the mantra itself, for we do things aimlessly. Like sponges. But it was like sweet static when the chanting starts. outside influence gets tuned out, blaring noise filtered through the combined eforts of descendents trying to bring their deceased her last worthy moment. it was surreal, enticing, allowing us mere humans to get a taste of utopian peace. mediatation, selflessness, empty hollow thinking and chatings. they take us to the next level of life. but it only lasts for just that moment. And noise comes back, concentration breaks. And we relive drudgery again. Justin ranted at 9:43:00 am on the |