Strained tunes.

Playing the guitar is fun. It's seldom a hobby for someone who loves the instrument, I'm sure they'd consider it a passion instead. I think it's one of the most beautiful instrument ever. You can create your own song, and give your voice it's own background music.

I think I get way too depressed when I play the guitar sometimes.
I find a strange metaphor associated with it.
The fact that I'm trying to sing, wanting someone to hear me out, in a controlled way, so as to make the song seem nice, feels fake.

I'd much rather play off tune, so long as I like what I've got to say. If that's all what I want to say. Does it have to sound good?

I think it does. I think polishing your skills, voice, communication, everything, it's important. But it feels kind of wrong, and terrible. Of how my broken ways, song, or tune, won't be accepted. I'd still try to play the song properly, that's the only choice I have.

It'd be so much better if I'd accept the way I am, and be proud of what I'm learning, and the good ways in which I'm changing.

Things seem so confusing at times. I honestly can't make sense of whatever it is that is happening. I'd try and play more, but I'd feel so lost. Can't be better unless I'm calm while practising, can I?
Still hope to get better though. But I think it should be only for myself.

Be a better person, sing a better song, so that I personally, can be proud of myself. Yes. I guess I'd be driven forth without much depression if I keep that in mind. I'd enjoy the music more that way.

Words were a cigarette.

Tangled with the green umbrella.

I hear laughter, ill at ease.

Was that me? I wonder in awe.

Grey clothes. A smoke in hand.

Words are smoke, such a charm.

Thoughts trying way too hard.

At ease and calm, but the chaos hidden.

They have found a place to grow.

But no, it seems wrong.

Anger in the ashes.

The smoke's all air now.

Futile and basking in the hit that remains.

Knowing well, that it's not going to last.

Charred lungs and a moment gone.

Maybe it was worth it.

Change, it's a constant.

But my thought's, they're a blunder.

Break somthing, the inner voice chants.

Burn the lighter itself.

Wish it was possible.

Atleast I know that smoking is injurious to health.

Guess it's all for the best.

I throw the cigerette butt onto the ground.

Sparks fly.

Wish I could save it.

I stare at it for a while.

And then, I step on it.

I killed the machine.

Something way too powerful at work here.

So, all my life, I’ve had these tiny theories of mine that I’ve developed. Theories that try too hard to make sense of basic questions that begins with what, how, why, etc. I guess everyone has a few of them, questions and theories we abide by.
And it’s all natural for us to grow onto them, and also, allowing those theories to grow up as well, like a tree, free to move up towards the light, or far beneath the soil, in all possible directions, twirling, unrolling, realising.

The point is, I really feel tired of this, these days. Tired of developing theories. Sometimes, I have a feeling, that there’s just something much more powerful at work here. That despite me formulating my stupid theories, this powerful work, that goes about unseen, works its own charm, revealing a world that’s perfectly balanced, but also, incredibly dark and beautiful.

What’s the point of trying to understand something that I’m much too small to comprehend?
Things keep getting weirder by the second. I might be losing onto my childlike innocence, but I’d struggle to be the kid that I am, deep inside, inquisitive, and curious. Growing up, things seem much more complicated now. And they are just getting more and more complicated. 

I wonder if I should try to make sense of all of this, or just simply, let go, and enjoy everything that ever is. It’s really beautiful. All of this.

Biblical - Biffy Clyro
Skylight - Biffy Clyro
Stars And Shites - Biffy Clyro
Many Off Horror - Biffy Clyro
No I’m Not Down - Biffy Clyro