Just About Everything

No. 4 - PERPETUAL PHRASE

There is something personal about this chapter to me.

It's one of those parts that are deeply connected to me as well as the song. Just listen to it in the end..... those lyrics are really, really good.

I sincerely hope that I'll be able to express myself correctly. It would make me really happy if I could do that.

Perpetual Phrase probably won't be as good as the others since it'll be more of a personal thing but, well.... thank you, whoever you are, for reading this.

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PERPETUAL PHRASE

The wind is still blowing like a hungry dragon breathing fire just for the fun of it. The nature seems to be overly irritated with all the people crawling all over, if you could think of nature as a living object.

I was never one for the picturesque way of describing things around myself, but I guess that classes with Mr. Harding still have an effect even after all these years. I just can't help but think the storm beautiful, yet very accurate resemblance of today's mood.

The world is at a horrid part of its existence. I may be a little melodramatic today, but there's no help for it. Some moments just tend to have a bigger impact on us, people in general.

I've never been one of those people, I don't blab all about me to everyone, whether willing to listen or not. Although I find it hilarious given the recent situation. A man like me, sitting here should not feel what I do. If he should feel anything at all.

The world has its place for all kinds of people and we're all victims of our own selves. I sound like a physician now, talking all mighty and profoundly about the concepts of human life. One would think that I'd at least have someone to say, but it's nothing like that.

The mere thought of the events of the past leave me with a great gaping hole somewhere deep, deep in the middle of my chest. Nothing is like I've imagined, yet I have it better than most of the others. 

It seems that this evening is going to be the moment they talk about in every one of those deep mindblowingly psychological debates. Remarkable breakthrough? Not so much, from my experience it's all just messy and hurtful rubbish that gets recycled and made into another product of our own misery. When one is no saint, he can't expect anything else. Good comes only from good.

The thunder is reflected on the full glass wall, making the world visible to me and keeping everyone else out. The fully grown pine trees the house is surrounded with from the east side are almost like grimreapers with their long, bony, ghostly hand reaching out. They're swaying rapidly from one side to the other, being fueled by the strong wind, and shooting millions of rain drops all around.

It's an immaculate sensation, knowing there's nothing between you and this force of nature except for a thin, human made piece of clear substance.

If I were a poet, a writer or even just a local lunatic, I'd be composing sonnets, their value rivaling those of the great masterminds of the decadents. But seeing as I'm only me, the man looking back on himself, the image of a stranger before him, I don't do anything. I just watch, observe. Make eloquent nonsense in my head. All for nothing.

This time of the year it's worse than ever.

I take the flask from the dark, handmade wooden cabinet and fill the glass I'm holding in the other hand. The liquid has the color of my soul. Strangely dark and used looking, but still see through. Is it bad or good? In vino veritas probably does not apply to Scotch.

The theatricality of the nature's show corresponds with my inner thoughts.

I gulp the drink down and enjoy its sharp edges and smooth structure, hoping to understand. Or forget. Or just doing it because it's something to do.