Morsels of Daydreams II
While Music blasts and blares at night, Silence reigns the day.
Silence worms her way into your ear and concurrently burrows out from your other, leaving violent vibrations in her path no lesser than her twin sister’s at nighttime.
Music and Silence penetrate your brain, numbing all 1500g of it. Night and day, the twins feed on loneliness and grow on depression, and the nightclub is their buffet.
Using old stuff is for the poor. Collecting old stuff is for the rich.
The brain sits in a spaceship and sets off for whichever random planet it desires when consciousness gives way to unconsciousness.
The reason most of us don’t die at traffic lights isn’t just because we believe in those glowing little signals or in the goodness of people to follow them. It’s more like those rules have been beaten into us since we were ankle-biters and are now practically part of our DNA to minimise our chance of dying. They’re like an unwritten code flowing through our veins and arteries until we step into Vietnam.
Cigarettes. Milk.
Sitting side-by-side on the convenience store’s window display.
We never stop putting things in our mouths to either nourish our bodies or take our lives away.
Music offers a quick escape hatch from this version of reality. Just put on your headset, wear your earphones, or insert your earpiece.
Hit play. And set off.
For a more enhanced experience of the world you’ve been teleported to, close your eyes.
Let your symphony of sounds get in sync with the new frequencies.
Vanishing points are fascinating. It’s like your brain knows that you don’t have the capacity to take in everything all at once, so it whispers to your eyes to narrow their focus, thereby manifesting vanishing points into existence.
As our earning capability goes up, the bubbles of price tag constraints begin popping away and giving way to luxurious wants.
Having facial is like undergoing a (needless) rehearsal for the embalming table. Just as morticians strive to make their stationery clients look their best for their final event, estheticians strive to make their fidgety clients look their best for their next event (and hoping that they’ll stay still, like a corpse, in the process).
The past, it seems, has a scant bearing on the person we are today. Rather, it is the events that are readily available to us in the present — those within our reach, unfolding before our very eyes — that shape us. The past recedes ever further into the background, supplanted by the immediacy of the here and now. Only the connections we consciously choose to maintain between our past and present selves remain, serving as tethers to the person we once were. (thoughts mine, rewritten by ChatGPT with the prompt of so doing in a philosophical tone)
Morsels of Daydreams I stored here.
