Torture Strings...

I love the haunting serenade of violins.  They usher me into another place, another time.  Here we are the Princes, & Princesses of everything we lay our eyes upon. But we lay no claim or possession to frivolities that are as fleeting as the seconds that tick us into submission.  I love violins, they speak the language of angels.  They narrate the plains of snow that avalanche into open minds covering old downtrodden blankets of unblemished white.  And the forests are my freeway as I weave in and out between trees older than anything I have ever held close.  I can hear the wind’s symphony through the leaves.  Mixed with the stringed instruments that fill my head with decibels of harmonic resonance.  I'm listening to music from torture strings tied to my ribs and synthesized to reverb the chants of my ancestors who watch me from above.  They watch with heads bowed and eyes full of love.  They watch the steps I travel in a boundless mindscape.  Here I am free to roam the plains of imagination, the arid deserts of hope, the wastelands of technological advancement, here I roam the thriving jungles of virtuality.  Strange...  the only signs of hope for our future are synthesized by the destroyers of our present.  To the tune of my violins they set blazes on your back, and drill into your pelvis to tap into your life juices to nurture their life styles, to fuel their cars and kill the fish.  And even as you are drained dry you smile in orgasmic pleasure with a death grip on hollow promises of a future on an oasis surrounded by deserts.  You smile...  You smile your toothless smile, and grin greedily.  Let me gently caress you, let me gently rip open your chest and string your ribs let me strum on the strings so you can live with the music that plays inside me.  The sounds I move to that fill me with joy and pain.  Your heart is not enough, your heart beat is not enough.  But as hearts beat and add percussion to strings you begin to hum.  Yours is such a sad song.  Off-beat and on time to symphonize the Ocean’s surface with the clash of waves as climaxes and pauses and breaks.  Thunder rolls and lighting flashes strobe your dance floor as others move to the strumming of your ribs, and the beating of your heart.  But pause and enjoy the silence.  Pause to enjoy the beats of other hearts, pause for love, pause for life.  Pause but never stop playing your haunted symphony.  Let your music funnel into their ears and fill their heads.  Let them see the pain that playing your music brings you, but how it brings you the rewards of life.  For you are the symphony that is being retold, but has never been tolled.  The music of your life is priceless.  This is the music you nod your head to until your neck snaps back.  What is the orchestration of your life and what instrument are you?  Maybe you should touch your toes and have me stretch your skin across your back as tight as that of a drum, and then I can drum the story of your humdrum being.  You could never be a violin, maybe a banjo, rattling off nonsensical ramparts, and running around with no time to pause, all the while those that surround you struggle to keep up with the beat you live by.  The same beat you’re dying by.  I wish I were a cello though, such deep and commanding emotion that sinks into you.  Too bad I’m a violin, with cat gut strings and brown varnished skin.  I love the haunting serenade of violins.  They usher me into another place Copyright 2001 AllisterI wish I could play one though... Written September 19th, 2001 © on Sep 19 2001 02:31 AM PST   18 • 0 • 13