Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!
Down I plunge to the prison of my mind!
Down that path into darkness deep as hell!
Down to the chords of jealousy that bind!

The dragon came, I slayed and won
It flew and was gone
Now it’s back
Healed, recovered, stronger than before
Shall I fight or plead leniency?

Can I practice what I preach?
Can I study what I teach?

<3

Or is the dragon an imaginary one whose feet are made of wind?
Only time will tell
Though I better be cautious
I’ve been too daring I think
Too bold.
Facts without substance is fiction.
Love without feelings is lust.
The wheels of the bus go round and round
And all the way through the town.
The town of love.
The love bus.

<3

I worked for a Bollywood show recently. It was heart-thumping.
Wait, did I say heart-thumping? I meant clubbing. Honest. It was like club music save for the drinks. The dancers were the audience and they were very very enthusiastic, which led me to wonder, since the songs were in Hindi, Tamil and English, chances are those who understand Hindi didn’t understand the Tamil songs and vice versa, yet all danced/jumped/hopped/shook/yelled/screamed/shrieked/bounced enthusiastically throughout.
So, what makes these people dance despite now knowing what they were dancing to? The rhythms? There can only be so many permutations of available rhythms.
Assuming that we’re using the basic four beats in a bar, and a one bar phrase, we would only have 24 permutations, which isn’t really that many. Furthermore, if one would to listen intently to Bollywood music, you would realize their rhythms are neither that unique nor specialized. It all follows basic beats, and most, if not all, are on the on-beats.
So we can conclude that it’s neither the rhythms nor the music that’s infectious and lifts these people to their feet.
Then what is? The energy behind the beats that are steadily pounded out?
Sometimes, I wonder what it would sound like if a concert band were to play a Bollywood piece. The tubists would bounce, the drumset would break.

.

Sometimes I wonder am I the Phantom or Raoul. Would I get so jealous that I physically claim Christine to be mine, or allow her to love me naturally.
But I am neither. Not as bad as Phantom yet not that good like Raoul.

It's hard to find someone whom I can click well with. Perhaps it isn't time yet. In the Notebook, it took 15 years before they came together for life. Life ain't a storybook, though with you, it seems to be a fairytale. Happily Ever After. Or part thereof.

When you've made your choice, then will I make mine. Just.. be happy.