A veritable introduction.

As satisfying as a salutary tale is, it often tends to leave us raw and gasping for air. This is probably the most vexing paradox of the aesthetic community. It is like looking up to the stars while looking down.

So what is one to do when consumed by the pensive hollow, plunging into lachrymose paroxysms with every sporadic introduction of nostalgia? Existing in absolute immobility, we can afford to shed tears of stillborn regret as we reflect upon our own recollection with our newfound perspective.

The emptiness inflicts a poignant agony that implores us to escape from the travesty that has shackled our lives to satire and sardonic dreams. Time passes in subdued movement as we continue to contemplate our own purpose juxtaposed against the story’s protagonist.

We are enchanted by a sense of cryptic rumination and we quickly lose consciousness of our surroundings. Lights flicker beneath the rotating fan blades in an unbroken chain of repetition. Yet our spirits remain in musing oblivion tearfully penning elegies on phantom paper.

At this moment in time, the walls have been razed, the barriers demolished. We are free minds. We are at the peak of our creativity.

Promising never again and future retreats to paradise, only causes more torment to blistering eyes as we persist in our endeavour to rebuild our comfortable illusion, which is but a conjuration of the human mind, ever hopeful. So affected are we by a good story that we once again crave for the recurrence of the fulfilling void we had experienced no more than a minute ago.

Tales with no soporific value serve to ameliorate our minds and liberate our hearts. And this is why we as human beings are indeed, suckers for stories.

~ by cryhavok on December 16, 2007.