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Tales from the Down Under: #13- Flying

Somebody used to have the illusion, or the obsession, of becoming a bird. Therefore he flapped his scraggy arms as violently as possible, in a vain hope of conquering the gravity and eventually gaining elevation. What he had been anticipating wasn’t the posture he had painstakingly practiced to fly like a bird, but the pain on his head he was told to get when rocketing out of the roof. From day to day he glared at the leak on the roof and spurred him on to tearing it even asunder.

It wasn’t until some balmy day, while taking a stroll with my mom in a nearby park she mentioned randomly of some pathological case of people who dream of becoming birds, did I realize the severity of the aforesaid incident. It won’t become a talking point if there weren’t at least a handful of similar instances. Thus it wasn’t merely my whimsical fabrication, people do dream of flying.

Levitation is what I came the closest of flying. Sorrow, exaltation and excitement prompt the inclination of levitating. Pressure spawns heaviness and heaviness gives weight to gravity. I would imagine my feet floating upon a lid which separates the air from the earth, and whatever too overwhelming happened I could just stand on the lid so my feet wouldn’t tackle the earthiness, which gave rise to the cruel reality. It was also an ineffably peculiar feeling, especially when it comes to sorrow, that once you were severely scarred by the sentiment, nothing could harm you no more, and the distinction between what you stood and what you couldn’t touch was categorically blurred.

It must be that time when I started listening to dream pop. For the reverberation and the overlaid echoes summed up my penchant for a sheer feather. However once my ears were filled with such pseudo-unearthly jingles, the music became quite pestering. The music is almost analogous to a hollow drum, with which its repetition is easily gratuitous for the listeners, and its solemnity it strives to create initially is pathetically giving way to an ultimate null. Attested to my vacillating taste I shunned dream pop not long after.

I’ve never thought of levitation for quite a while and have decided to hole such a thought in the past which doesn’t need to be raked up. However from time to time I’ve seen pictures of people dancing, I think of flying. I have never wanted to challenge the immutability of gravity though, nor would I grapple with the weightlessness when listening to such music. The feet of the dancers I would like to rub nonetheless, just like that person who used to rub his scraggy arms.

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