The vibrations dance along the path of our ear canal, translating the story of the soul into sounds and words. Music will always inspire; interpretation is felt, creating aw inducing feelings leaving the victims in a state of trance. Music is the gateway drug to life, the always open door the light that forever glows through the cosmos. Melody will always connect in some way or another. Genres expand within themselves, filling out every nick and cranny of humans ever-expanding creative pallet.
A euphoric state, a sense of comfort or the fuel to the raging internal war; music is emotion interpreted by all, unique in each instance. Poetry comes to life, and stories are told, harmonizing into a collaboration of life experiences meant to be shared and felt not just heard. Sounds unit and tear apart in a continuing battle of the beats. I feel the soul behind each note, the story behind every chord. The whispers of ambitions, sorry and hope. Capsuled and memorialized by many or none. The fury of the crescendo, one’s emptiness hidden in their cadenza and the spontaneity building in the crescendo. Melody; be it of pattern or discord, music is the passage of one’s existence in one plain interpreted in another.
Music ignites my creativity, but who resurrects the creator? Who do the composers turn to when they themselves are the song to everyone’s montage through their memories, who do the melodists rely upon when they’re left lost with nothing but their echoes? Music comforts through its ability to bring similarities across all beings but when you created that commonality are you also inspired by your own creation or left empty after saving everyone else. The crescendo raises the question of are the creative damaged, just angles in disguise leaving selflessness at the door, sharing their souls; rising those around them at the cost of their own self-sacrifice? As Social Media rages the lives of the gifted are on display and what do we see? We see the suffering at its core, their eyes heavy their truth laid out for all to see and how hellish we treat them after their self-sacrifice. How much do we expect from those who sold their lives for the pursuit of self-expressionism? A whole other world running parallel to ours but a reality so very different.