Music and Moods

Music and Moods

Yesterday morning greeted you with a rather nasty email from a guy. At least that guy wrote something to let you know of his feelings. The other bastard for whom you had a great deal of respect just ignored you. What an arrogant asshole! You promised to yourself that you wouldn’t support him any longer. At least you took a risk and reached out to him. Anyway, despite an inauspicious start, you came home feeling quite elated because you triumphed over adversity. Moreover, on the way home, the music from the Spanish language radio station cheered you up and made you realize once again that as long as you can still have the faculty of hearing and appreciate music, life is still bearable, even beautiful sometimes.

You are not like Obama, carrying on with the attitude of princely dispassion. You are all fire and thunder and waves of passion.

Today gray light is struggling towards morning. Dawn is breaking. Another morning is struggling to get into view amidst the dust and sand storm. Winds are blowing hard from the west, whipping up the dust and sand particles into the air, creating a hazy view, and enveloping the city in a whirlwind of whizzing sound. Rustling palm leaves sway with the winds. Loose papers and discarded plastics bags flutter in the air. The diffused orange streetlights appear like distress flares falling through murky turbid water. They don’t illuminate as much as give the air a dim sad phosphorescent rippling of the darkness. You have the car stereo on again. Luis Miguel is crooning a ballad of lost love. Of course, you think of her, of why it is so hard to forget her when you know you no longer love her.

Your right foot still throbs with pain from where you kicked the would-be robber. You are not young anymore. You are definitely getting too old for violence. Luckily the robber was not on guard, relying too much on his trusted gun. He made the mistake of waving it around too much and believing in your fake submissive attitude. You make the mental note that maybe next time you bring with you a gun. Actually it was his gun; it’s yours now. (May he rest in peace. He cannot rob anybody now). It’s safer that way. It can’t be traced back to you. Once upon a time you relished in violence and enjoyed the exhilaration of the decisive moments, the freedom from doubt, unfettered by any concerns about good and evil. Only the will to dominate and the triumph of power mattered to you. Now you realize we are all bags of blood ready to burst at any given moment. And you feel no pleasure. Instead, a sense of wariness and weariness is setting in, deeper and deeper with each passing day.