Musings. Ex Libris

(J.M.W Turner, Eruption of Vesuvius ) I set my sight on what was before me and thought I owned the scenery. There was an eruption happening, true, but the burning red of flame was made beautiful when it soared amid the oppressing dark of sky. I had an impulsion of holding what I saw into my hands, like a ravishing possession, although it might be like coals, tossing and turning about. I could answer anyone who questioned, that I did covet the scenery, so exceedingly that the ongoing flame trailed through my head, casting an indelible badge in commemoration of my frenzied passion. No, not did I once awake and eradicate the covetous image from my memory. Nor did I rack my brain feverishly for a more accurate delineation of the scenery. I simply needed to draw up the curtains of my bedroom and there provided before me the same image I had always dreamed of dreaming. But as I wound up the curtains in a fury, with my searching eyes I discovered a picture which, although doubtlessly bearing

(Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Street, Berlin ) We dance through our lives. Ever been to a waltz where partner changes from every turn of the back, every swirl of the body? I was once in a waltz, where happened to be my most eventful, I found myself pursuing in coincidence by two women in their prime. Despite my visible discomfort away I danced with the more striking one of the two, leaving the other grimly jilted. Her palpable sadness I can still recall- two eyes stared straightly to the front while the shadows of dancers skidding before her higgledy-piggledy. What belied those eyes was fire of jealousy that simmered, whose tongue lashed over across my back. Flicker of fire that itched me. Not only in love but we also dance through all aspects of life. That was how I once waltzed pass a fair, where a troupe of children with hobby horses on their heads frolicked about. How I was seized with a sudden panic when those hobby horses surrounded me so, as if I was the sole target of their