dishchan
Flashing lights, red carpets, glitz and glamour. As you sit in the back of the limo, contemplating all the people outside, you wonder is this it? Is this what you really wanted? Because even though you're surrounded by the best and everything in between - you can't help but wonder if there might be something more, for less.
As soon as I woke up, the montage of images from the night before assaulted me with a vigor I'd forgotten was possible, and then as quickly as the memories came, they left leaving me grasping for anything more than a feeling . . .
That song by Jay Sean or whoever "Do you Remember" . . . has kind of become my anthem since I translated it into Japanese for everybody. I suppose that's fine. I'd rather have that be my anthem than "No Woman No Cry" or something . . . but still. Do I have to dance every single time you play it?
Sideburns, bellbottoms, images washed in sepia, with a lit cigarette (of tobacco or marijuana) smoldering in the background. Protests filtered with rebellions, and posters declaring this is the 70s.
Oh geez. I was all prepared to write something great today and let go from the day's stress. And then DIGITAL pops up. And all I can think of is some random WHY DO I REMEMBER this N*SYNC song from my high school years . . . and Christ. >_<
All you want is an audience. Someone, something to hear the echo of your voice as it reverberates without meaning into the vast space between one ear and the other. You just want someone to listen to your endless babble. Even though no matter what or who hears you speak, it'll never give you the validity you wish for.
All our stories are woven together. Like the wrinkled, wizened story teller's basket. We're all one strand of a greater story. But the importance lies not within our ability to to be a strand or a part of the whole, but to be both.