Heartbanging
Back. Back to the city of singing chains in evening docks and ticking streetlights. It calms me down. The city overwhelms me, comes into my soul, mildly setting the brain into more or less tranquile form. I need it desperately, need this feeling of tranquillity, of familiarity and... of home. My heart is at home there.
Several hours before that. Straightened hair over the face. Semi-ecstatic, semi-hysterical, delirious headbanging in front of those who have suddenly entered my life to leave it equally for sudden. Vibrating basses in stomach, soil-crushing riffing - and a bunch of long hair, rhythmically coming up and down, hiding the face and those sparkling pieces of flame behind the tiny drops of ice in my sight. I turned myself inside out, unwilling to hurt anyone, but the damage was done. I've hurt myself like I never did before. Like crossing the threshold of insanity, where you cannot control your actions, you just watch them aside, and only later understand, that the carnage around you was done actually inside of you. The metal guys around me were looking at me and shaking my hand with sincere respect - I really have shown them, how it's done... But they couldn't even think, or even imagine the wildest reasons of such behavior. They pushed me to the first row - as a sign of their great respect to my energy and savage headbanging performance; but no one ever will be able to look behind the scenery. That was more of despair, than of ecstasy. I didn't want to move closer to the stage. But still I did. Resurrection of the past, again. Wasn't it enough just a day before?..
Still I don't understand, why it happens so often, that I'm tearing the old scars again, and later watch the blood running from these veins, surprised, and with honest tears of pain. I thought that the happenings of fall 2004 are not dangerous to me anymore, that it's over, and the same thing won't make me cry twice. But... The sepia-colored photo on my desk still is not just a piece of artist's pride.
Several hours before that. Straightened hair over the face. Semi-ecstatic, semi-hysterical, delirious headbanging in front of those who have suddenly entered my life to leave it equally for sudden. Vibrating basses in stomach, soil-crushing riffing - and a bunch of long hair, rhythmically coming up and down, hiding the face and those sparkling pieces of flame behind the tiny drops of ice in my sight. I turned myself inside out, unwilling to hurt anyone, but the damage was done. I've hurt myself like I never did before. Like crossing the threshold of insanity, where you cannot control your actions, you just watch them aside, and only later understand, that the carnage around you was done actually inside of you. The metal guys around me were looking at me and shaking my hand with sincere respect - I really have shown them, how it's done... But they couldn't even think, or even imagine the wildest reasons of such behavior. They pushed me to the first row - as a sign of their great respect to my energy and savage headbanging performance; but no one ever will be able to look behind the scenery. That was more of despair, than of ecstasy. I didn't want to move closer to the stage. But still I did. Resurrection of the past, again. Wasn't it enough just a day before?..
Still I don't understand, why it happens so often, that I'm tearing the old scars again, and later watch the blood running from these veins, surprised, and with honest tears of pain. I thought that the happenings of fall 2004 are not dangerous to me anymore, that it's over, and the same thing won't make me cry twice. But... The sepia-colored photo on my desk still is not just a piece of artist's pride.
posted by Attera Nox at 11:44 PM
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