Set ways of setting things.

Erasing the silent scratches on that old rusty guitar was never an easy task.

Every time the skin touched the old polish, the sounds came alive like a ghost story in an IMax movie theater.
There was so much tension in those strings - the strains are still lingering in the fluctuations of air pressure.
They could have been frozen on plastic discs - electromagnetic gigs in a developing circuit of plastic and silica.

Something is always moving. That's the nature of its sound.
That's the way the notes off that old rusty guitar made stories in her head.
The cavities of her skull enveloped the music like a woman who wraps her arms in a sudden cool breeze - shielding a child yet to be born.

Something is always moving. The structure of the songs unfolds out of rudimentary chaos.
Its all the same old story.
But is there any such thing as an old story?

The oldest story does not have a beginning.
Who knows when it all started.
Where is it going?
Who knows?
Moreover, after all is over what shall remain?
Will the story continue or will it refrain?

The oldest story will keep on going.
No end to meet.
Just more twists to turn.
More beans to spill.

The scenes will change like the washed out chalk powder on a slick black board - just words written on a temporary fabric.
Partially memorable information - bits and pieces of knowledge.
Who suffers and who enjoys?
These concepts are mere toys.
The mind plays away...always.

If you believe something it comes true.
Not because it is something you believe but simply because it comes true.

If you don't believe anything it still comes true.

How does that work?



Don't believe it!!!