Rantglass - because that's how things are.


Exactly nothing.

Into the sun.

So we strain to pick through thick rolling accents, decipher age-old life stories and strange awakenings, and attempt to relive the wonderful memories that brought them to wherever they now may be.

We would hungrily lap them all up as they come, and then proudly congratulate ourselves for having heard them right the first time, confidently thinking that we have nailed them down left, right and centre. This, while elsewhere the battle rages on: to discover the subtle differences to a carefully selected choice of words, ponder thoughtfully over the finer nuances, and seek their intended meaning and significance.

This could end in us gleefully running through the halls of our high schools, seriously considering getting a green plastic watering can for a fake Chinese rubber plant, or be desperately afraid of turning evil and eating her brains.

We thought we were right, although we were not school janitors, jolly gardeners or mindless zombies.

The fact is, the only ones who know better are the ones who have stayed up late many a night, fueled not by coffee but by sudden bursts of inspiration, furiously scribbling random bits and pieces into a black-skinned notebook, and whose next avid reader might just be a diehard fan unwittingly contributing to the record companies’ coffers by continuing to purchase CDs just for the colourful lyric booklets and beautifully-handwritten inlays.

A penny for your thoughts, or so they say. So what if I do not want it any other way?

Details of this entry.Saturday, June 16, 2012, filed under Musings.
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