Japanese, the music that floods this room, punctuating the barren walls at appropriate intervals. I wonder if I have forgotten how to smile outwardly, because every time I try, people stare at me. A friend told me to talk using my mouth instead of my tongue. I used wildly exaggerated speech, and he applauded. Oohh, that was exactly right!
The last episode of FLCL started amidst boxes and piles of clean clothes, and ended on vacuumed carpets and clean bedsheets. Someone said something, and I turned my head and watched metaphorical matter spurt and squeeze out of my monitor and speakers. It was integral that I turn my head, in the scene which boy-Naota talks to woman-alien-Haruko under the light shadows of their bunkbed. It was like seeing the answer to a puzzle fold out in front of you, like the incomprehensible remark of some friend made a long, long time ago in a distant galaxy that strikes your mind like a giant chisel and stuffs the sudden revelation within, leaving you to stop short in mid-social-activity and jump for joy, leaving surroundings dazed, center gone, like the dead crater of a giant impact, only alive this time.
I watched, and I understood both ways. Too many metaphors existed for that. The metaphorical implications were astounding, available topics ranging from hell to heaven to desire to adolescence to whatnot. It was a smorgasbord that you pick food from, a variety pack that caters to everyone. The problem is, apple-eaters don't eat lemons, and french-toast gourmets despise buttered toast.
I watched, and I cried within. It meant all the world to me, and then I understood that it did and that it didn't matter what the context was. I have never understood why people don't understand abstract art. Perhaps it's another issue of eternal self-questioning, "What does this mean?" If you see yourself in it, go for it. The only people who hate buffets are people who despise walking up to tables to get food. What does the food mean? It's something you eat and gain nutrients from, it's an aphrodisiac, it's a social activity, yes, but that's not what food is. Just eat.
She was beautiful. You read, and you think 'trite' and you press the '-', you think 'Your passionate feelings about love have already occured to others' and you press the '-'. Please understand that you read at your own risk. Please understand that experiences are things that matter, like the clear sparkling bits in handfuls of wet sand. Think-- wasn't there ever a time that you thought like this? Felt like this? Wrapped in rolls of opaque emotions, every layer a wave and a crest and a single typhoon raging against coastal waters?
If so, don't vote. I want to be the first daylog without a single vote. I want to be the first person with clear pupils.
I want to be the first person with a silent mind.
Neither - or +. Just don't, if you symphasize, because an upvote says 'nice', a downvote says 'not-so-nice'. Do you realize?
The strongest message, now, is having no message at all.