Suckling; "... let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings."

In case your were dying to know what the weird shit was at the end of yesterday's entry, it was my way of whining, again. I'd written several different paragraphs about the vagaries of existence. But they each sounded so self-absorbed, I decided I try gibberish. Whenever I get on one of these bents, I'm so overwhelmed by conflicting emotions that I implode. I wind up not being able to articulate anything.

I've been listening to a lot more songs of late. Several times, I've noticed how oblique all the lyrics seem. But then it occurred to me that it may be that I'm drawn to oblique lyrics, hence to certain artists: Dylan, Radiohead, U2, Pet Shop Boys. Maybe there is a subconscious shifting process going on that somehow allows these lyrics to speak for me.

It may be that it is not limited to music. Any number of times, I've thought of how a non-verbal work can capture how I feel. My guess is that there is some serious right-brain left-brain spillage here. The left brain is flooded to such a degree that only the right brain can make sense of it.

I admire those people who have musical and artistic vision. But my abilities stop at the appreciation level; I'm not able to create. About the best I can do is to suckle from their work. (Gee! I rather like that last sentence.)

I was reading a number of journals earlier, and in each the person was struggling with some almost overwhelming emotional problems. Guys with some intense psychic pain. And again I am rendered mute. I don't know how to communicate my concern.

"And nothing can we call our own but death,
and that small model of the barren earth,
which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
and tell sad stories of the death of kings."

PAX!