"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Through the simple processing of information (or perhaps none at all) in my already degenerate brain, I spent 8 hours today fixing a minor glitch in my dress for the photoshoot. After sewing, unpicking, resewing alongside further arbitrary mechanical motions, I realised the problem had nothing to do with my bad sewing, but rather the way the cloth was cut. For better or for worse, my fizzled brain failed to process the signals that was supposed to invoke a whack-head-against-wall reaction of sorts and so I pretty much sat there in a slight stupor before fixing the problem in all of 5 minutes, after which proceeding to the point-of-no-return after pressing the power button on my mac. And here I am the third time today, attempting a blog-worthy post.

Was reading Sylvia Plath earlier on and oddly the first thing I thought of was the idea of obsession as a madness. People always talk about excessive actions as something necessarily detrimental, but that's an assertion made in the context of purely simplistic motives - as much as passionate excesses of individuals have led them astray, it is perhaps the liberation that allows a different view, a different world, and a different mind. The vague lines of creativity and insanity seem to be all but determined by society's attempts to construct discrete definitions through the judgement of one's excesses and its products. If it contains significantly profound meaning, perhaps then the madness will hold a modicum of respect and notability in society, Dionysian to a certain extent. Otherwise, it's pretty much out-of-sight and back to Bedlam as the sole alternative.

When all the world drops dead, what is left behind? The same way the society tends towards a strict level of stability to lock those different (one may argue inherently dangerous) away from us in hope for securing a lasting equilibrium, many people shun the madness for fear of being engulfed in its wrath. But is the demonizing of all that is different actually necessary? Happiness is indeed a hard master, but in paying for this kind of happiness, one is shortchanged by missing out on the unorthodox.

I guess essentially we all occasionally let our minds wander; it's just the consequence of binding us, or letting all be born again. By conventions of choice, we barely even consider the questions, let alone the need to decide nowadays; instead, we sing, we dance and we laugh as the world spins madly on.

Labels: Thoughts