Thought Songs, Bad Ideas,

My thoughts fade in and out. Drifting from fiction to physics to fucking and food. No focus, like a radio station just out of range. If I listen hard, I can make out what I'm hearing, and if I know it, I can hum along. But if it's unfamiliar, it's like listening to charlie brown's teacher sing. Sometimes it sounds like one song, and I'm humming along, then all of a sudden, I can clearly hear that I'm singing the wrong song. The song I thought I knew, thought I was listening to, isn't being played. In fact, another song, one that I know and know that I dislike is playing. Like a radio, I dial away, searching for a song I can handle. A song that doesn't sound fake, like a slapped together commercial for an album that probably sucks. Not a psychotic sound like an airplane suddenly losing its wings and falling like a rock, speed metal, it really makes me anxious. Even then, time and place. Don't want to find yourself in a top 40 situation humming a psychedelic robot trip. You'll find you stand out. Doesn't mean you can't indulge in some spacey thought trains on your own time. Then again, is it better to be accommodating of others, or true to your own musical taste? I guess it's nice to be considerate. Don't blare the scariest satanic shit you have when you religious uncle comes to visit. Forcibly exposing people to songs or ideas they aren't in a state of mind to enjoy isn't a good idea. Especially if you want them to give your stuff a listen.

Sometimes, you need to jam with someone, to introduce elements of your influence to their own. Like when you can't stand their music, and the feeling is mutual, then break it down. Find common ground. Everyone likes to keep time. Ebb and flow are elements of so many things, songs included. A thought train has a flow to it, picking up momentum as pieces connect, pulling more and more in, like gravity, until you've got insight, inspiration, exhilaration, an idea or concept, firmly rooted in your mind. Ideas, like songs, fade over time if not revisited. They become more and more obscure, until all that remains with you, is the framework, the message, the beat, the chorus. If you revisit an old idea, like an old song, it may seem inviting at first, the familiar often is, but you will quickly remember why you put it away. You can pick apart songs and ideas until you find something of merit, but the time might be better spent jamming out something new. Just go from the whole of your understanding, let your mind flow. Damn earworms. Easier said than done.

(Something fun to try; syncing your thoughts with songs. Whole different show.)

Satisfaction, I can't get no. I imagine a battle of wills fought with music at the height of psychedelic delirium. That space between reality and dreams, where anything is possible, but nothing ever really happens. Because it isn't real, it has no time, no place. It is outside reality.

The station is drifting now, to a hum along song, it fades out. I'm going to turn off the radio, before another song starts. Don't listen to bad music, if you can help it, and share good music whenever you can, or at least whenever you have a receptive audience. And don't take anything you read on someone else's blog too seriously. Especially here. \m/

Piece of Fiction (Part 1)

He put down the book, finished.
He sat digesting what he had read.
A tulpa, he thought.
A thought-based life form, brought into existence by intense meditation, and maintained with thoughts, as opposed to food and water. If such a thing could exist, and apparently has existed, then perhaps the tulpa model could be applied elsewhere. Perhaps these phantom limb sensations he'd been experiencing since his arm was amputated, were in fact the beginnings of a tulpa-arm.

With time and effort, he thought, I can bring my arm back into existence. I can make it as real as before. Maybe better; if the arm runs on thought-energy instead of food energy, maybe it will never get tired. The possibilities swirled in his head at dizzying speed.