A Dream in May

The music grew louder and faster than ever before. The three musicians wrote and played in a dark ecstatic fury; they were acting out all of the pain and anguish, beauty and joy in the universe. Colours swirled, blended into darkness; and then they were gone.

Suddenly I noticed my gradual awareness of the musicians' absence. Yet, those who had surrounded them were left with their song as it's elegaic resonance echoed on. At first the people played the song of the musicians, but then they began to add their own songs to the song. They captured the music, it endured, it was frozen for a moment...

(This part of the dream has been omitted)

I wish that I could work this out; I wish that I had the courage to sing this song. The musicians never returned; the song endured only for a short time, but its lingering affect, a change in the air could be felt, something had changed in the process, but the people know not what. The people began to speak of themselves and their own songs. They forgot the melody and the harmony, focusing only on their single refrain. The song grew dim and crept into the darkness of a heart that could not understand its sounds and thereby come to believe that it was his song. The song was able to reside and survive in that humid and dark sanctuary; alive in the ignorance of its host.

It may just be bullshit, but it was the moment that I realised that truth was hidden, something to be dreamt, that I was able to appear as if I were playing the game well, appear intelligent. I am really more of a lazy dunce. I see through things rather, notice ripples in dark corners. I used to think that I was merely observant, but now see that it is that I have different eyes; I've seen my eyes now, they are strange. True joy comes to those who realise that they have eyes, yet then chose to close them, being more content in their imagination. To revel in blindness, complete ignorance. The world becomes more vibrant to me, more pronounced hues of colour caused by the impending darkness. To see this beauty one must see and dwell on the absolute transience of everything. Everything is forever breaking down (or up?) into oblivion, but once it reaches its end it will have become everything again and thereby repeat the process. The spirals continually become larger and smaller?

(This was all a dream)