October 24, 2009

Acappella

Saturday, 26 January 2008 at 00:58

Everywhere I hear voices, gushing in like the all too loud murmurs emanating from Poseidon’s bounty. Still they are oddly synchronized, brought to strange harmonies like the ululations of the water which is a tribute to the myriad world we permeate in our slumber.
Rising and falling, reaching an intrusive crescendo, all at once in a million different ways that inanely unite. Here, the grinding sound of metal blends with the hymn and no distinction is known as it blends into the manuscript of time, into the million bars and measures that can only selectively touch the mind and yet overwhelm to tears and insanity.
The oratorio is a nebula of itself, weaving entirety, clarity, but appearing to us a vision of perplexing infinity from which men are exiled, a plethora of all that is important yet trivial.
It compels the martyr to a cause of even questionable implication to give up life and yet desire a “beyond”, an umbilical chord to the song from which we will never emerge distinctly conceived or divorced.
Wholesome, and yet corrugated by corruption.
In the midst of this chorus and the tabernacle of eons stands the conductor, the dichotomous artist who conducts all sound and weaves the extension of himself which he loathes and aches for in the spirit of confounding divinity.


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