I saw the rainbow last week. I was on duty that time, wet from the shower earlier on. It was pretty magical, really. The rainbow formed right in front of my eyes, and I had a good view from the top of the hill. I saw the end of the rainbow, or the start of it. It was there, right on Pioneer JC's tennis courts. No pots of gold, though. Only wet rubber pads.
The rainbow grew. And it grew really large. Now that same end of the rainbow was over on the KJE expressway. It was a magnificent sight. I felt so small. So tiny. I looked at it, stared at it. And they looked like ribs that hold up the sky, never will it shatter onto Choa Chu Kang.
I rushed for the guardroom's camera. And I stood up there on that hill. I've been on this hill many times, looking out. And I snapped away - my rifle hanging across my chest. It seemed pretty useless because there's no way the pictures are ever going to leave camp. But something tells me to take it anyways.
It was pretty surreal. The sunset behind set a dramatic ambience against the dark clouds in front. The night guards gathered on the road and cars stopped on the hill. Some would take a glance, roll their eyes, and walk on. As if time has its cold grip on their throats. Others would smile, give a comment, and move off. Most, though, would stare in awe. It was only an illusion of light. There's nothing to it.
Then again, music is only mathematics in motion.
It's different nowadays. I've stopped writing anything for a very long time. My guitar is propped against the wall. My camera lays dead. It's sole purpose now is to fill up a bag that I carry around every time. A dead weight.
Maybe I'm uninspired.
Or maybe I've lost it. I've lost any inspiration to do anything. Right after I went back to being a 'professional'. It's the curse of money, I suppose. And it's been a burden on me forever.
I find that once I've been offered a paid job, every ounce of creativity or ideas I've ever had magically disintegrates. I fall back on rigid rules of 'creativity'. I fall back on elitist ideals of what is, and what isn't. The end product is rarely anything I've ever been proud of. Part of the reason why I rarely ever 'charge for (my) services'.
But what can I say?
I've only 3 dollars in my bank account. Soon enough, I'll have to bite the bullet and sit through a ton of discomfort... for survival's sake.
Maybe, along the way, I might just like it.
The rainbow grew. And it grew really large. Now that same end of the rainbow was over on the KJE expressway. It was a magnificent sight. I felt so small. So tiny. I looked at it, stared at it. And they looked like ribs that hold up the sky, never will it shatter onto Choa Chu Kang.
I rushed for the guardroom's camera. And I stood up there on that hill. I've been on this hill many times, looking out. And I snapped away - my rifle hanging across my chest. It seemed pretty useless because there's no way the pictures are ever going to leave camp. But something tells me to take it anyways.
It was pretty surreal. The sunset behind set a dramatic ambience against the dark clouds in front. The night guards gathered on the road and cars stopped on the hill. Some would take a glance, roll their eyes, and walk on. As if time has its cold grip on their throats. Others would smile, give a comment, and move off. Most, though, would stare in awe. It was only an illusion of light. There's nothing to it.Then again, music is only mathematics in motion.
It's different nowadays. I've stopped writing anything for a very long time. My guitar is propped against the wall. My camera lays dead. It's sole purpose now is to fill up a bag that I carry around every time. A dead weight.
Maybe I'm uninspired.
Or maybe I've lost it. I've lost any inspiration to do anything. Right after I went back to being a 'professional'. It's the curse of money, I suppose. And it's been a burden on me forever.
I find that once I've been offered a paid job, every ounce of creativity or ideas I've ever had magically disintegrates. I fall back on rigid rules of 'creativity'. I fall back on elitist ideals of what is, and what isn't. The end product is rarely anything I've ever been proud of. Part of the reason why I rarely ever 'charge for (my) services'.
But what can I say?
I've only 3 dollars in my bank account. Soon enough, I'll have to bite the bullet and sit through a ton of discomfort... for survival's sake.
Maybe, along the way, I might just like it.
Posted by
Audi
Labels:
Musings
,
Reflections
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