In this example, I will refer to Björk who, as a unique talent, makes the point clear…
…I found myself thinking,
I do not want the word ‘love’ to have found it’s way in here [my thoughts/brain/feelings/etc.] and then have a confrontation with someone who asserts a level of commitment I must have forthcoming from me for harbouring love…
… I do not want to be an unloving person
Since then, following the research that yielded the artist by correct spelling, I have collected some Björk discography – just modestly and while I uphold my opinion from those first blissful moments;
If it is to be loved – those charges that have touched you on the inside and woken you to the whereabouts & purpose of their mistress as you administer this vocal attention – then it is all your spellbound substance being moved to accede this love;
It is here though that I fall short, wanting either non-stop tones to blend and busy myself with – or in need of a reality check that says how much of a thing I’m contemplating is not too much of a distraction or ultimately detrimental to well-being.
So, I simply love those moments where I may revel in what only Björk has ever always been able to do to me with her voice.
And this brings back a haunting moment in the news, when love may yet have been chemically ensconced, but tricked, then misguided, misdirected and wrongfully imposed upon Björk as she fell victim to a stalker. Here then, the point is becoming clear – for I feel I modestly indulged her songs given my penchant for her singing, but the connectivity with all the stuff of Creation is to me no better expressed or experienced than through the medium of intellect & exchange – like, I may have raved about the album ‘Debut’ and not enough about ‘Post’ – or I may not have properly unleashed just how electrifying it feels in my account – take e.g. the song, ‘My Spine’, as like a fraying fibrous thread bursting with spikes of stray ends & flecks of spun metal strands glistening coolly & being pulled through you like you’re the eye of a needle – the resistance and transmission of the tugging feeling scaled up to cd audio being ‘threaded’ into you – most delightfully though & with a rewarding glint of Björk’s trademark ease about her ability.
As it is, I feel like I could have done something about loving Björk’s music that would have unfounded and prevented any attempt on her safety, and that the thing would probably have been no less crude than getting a switch to completely power down even the slightest appreciation, whether purely indulging the moment or clinically understanding the harmonic latch my brain makes, given it’s electrifying effect on me.
In some way I believe then I would have controlled or managed a recklessness that could shift from person to person as a momentary glimpse of an experience gleaned through eye-contact, or body language, as one person beholds and the other begins to form the realisation of it….
….so to be resolute and succeed in not instigating a decline in mental health and a lapse in social duty towards the person who in their own way must check their health based on the frequency of their occurence[s] in the lives of others as they pursue their [celebrity] career in the public eye – I would have to switch it all off, pick it to pieces with apath disregard and squawk something tunelessly along with everyone else – although ensuring I do not have some vestige of those sounds left over inside me so I do not ‘irradiate’ people or bring about a confrontation for having my finger on the play button like I’m some sort of sonic relief addict who – switching – breaks off from it creating a tendency towards schism, i.e. ~ could equate to an unhealthier introspection & reservation about what my senses are designed to do…