(no subject)
Beating, beating.
Throbbing, throbbing.
POUNDING.
The reverberating beat of smashing metals, and colliding wood onto plastic is one I freely accept under such circumstance--one that has happened too many a time to count with my limited digits. The shrill of hammers hitting--in threes, in twos, sometimes in multiples of both or sometimes just one at a time in succession--combined with the beatingbeatingbeating, makes the ensemble more lovely... more pleasing. And the siren, oh the siren: the redeeming factor of the deafening... things. For thing is what I call those I can't describe. Its melody swiftly passing through everything and anything, gently filling gaps of light empty spaces and dark lines with its variety: one that I have rarely seen in my lifetime. The siren drags the beatingbeatingbeating along with its melody, and together they create a mélange so beautiful, so heavenly, that it is ineffable. The light empty spaces and dark lines fill up with the variety I once mentioned; it's... to put it into words, an anarchy of nature, only beautiful: swirls of a cheery and visible brightness, a fresh, relaxing energy, yet its been tainted by some darkness to give its unique shade of nature, and a calming, soothing gentleness, the middle of the two. The siren, flitting smoothly and gently with its melody and the beating, swirls the variety with its swift twirling and gliding, making new shades I could never describe. And I drown in it--the beating, the smashing, the hitting, the pounding, and the siren with its melody. And I let it drag me with it into a place, some place I have never been.
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I can't describe colors. T_T They aren't as tangible as music is... Or perhaps, I have yet to associate them with something more tangible than emotions.
That is me, drowning myself in music, with the volume pulled to the topmost, whenever I feel stressed and in need of relaxing.