The Mental Orchestra
Playing the tunes of my intrinsic mind that builds up to the much awaited orchestral score of my life. Well, pretty much upto this point I’ve lived at least. What am I talking about? . . . Let’s play it a little back. <<
As most of you can probably guess, my mind begins it’s score with a huge heavy bass drum. No, not a harmony nor a melody but heavy fucking bass drum. Let’s begin my mental orchestra.
2 seconds for every beat. Play the bass drum. 1 — Dumh! 1 — Dumh! Bass. Dumh! Bass. Dumh! Heavy fucking bass — Dumh!
They never end. There you have the 24 hours of the background drum for every week of the orchestra. The consistent rhythm that never rests leaving no peace for the instrument.
For the melody:
The scene is cloudy. The mist spreads all over and the leaves are shaking on the ground because of the drum’s banging. Each step is blurry and decision vague. A high sweep of violin, descending while the mental chatters. Every word is loud and endless like the drums.
2 seconds for every beat. Play the violin. Let the mental get loud. Let the words become notes of a sailing ship with no destination. Close your eyes. Feel the intrinsic mind. A high ascending note of the violin 2 seconds long backed by the drums. Listen.
A sharp trumpet fades in. Staccato. Like blinking pulsars. Off it goes, away from control, totally berzerk. The mental is loud. A migraine of sounds fill the mind. No control whatsoever. The trumpet flows in the mental, so beautiful to look at from a distance. So beautiful to look at all of the sounds coming together from a distance. Yet no control over it. Mind you, all of these sounds must play endlessly, only then will we achieve the perfect orchestra. Look! look at the sounds from a distance. Listen.
The vibrations of the sounds gather the mist, cloud the mental. The mental makes the body. The mental makes the face. Like a web growing on the face. Like the branches of a devouring tree. Clouding feelings, clouding the present.
Silence. Feel the silence beneath. The drums are distant, almost invisible. The other sounds are fading. The breath is held for a minute. Silence spreads the scene. The quiet, it’s so addictive, this quiet. Where has it been? A perfect bridge for the orchestra. The silence. The mental sees the quiet. Close your eyes. The air is felt. The mental feels the floor, hears the leaves that rest slowly through the banging, taste the silence. A vague sound fights it’s way into the quiet. As if it is trying to break something. The breath is breaking. Breathe out. Begin the mental orchestra again. Loud. Chattering. Drums. Violina. Trumpets. Oh the beauty of this mess. Paint the mental with the most inharmonious harmony. Breathe. Let it all of it go berzerk. Let it chatter. Dance.
There you have the tunes of the orchestra for the day. Don’t expect the same tune to play again. Expect variety. An intriguing mess. A barbaric cello, a minor toned harp, a screaming soprano, the depth of the mental.
2 seconds for every beat.
Welcome to the Mental Orchestra.
