„Hello darkness, my old friend...“
The first line of an old song. Those are the words I say almost every time I turn off the light in my room. If I don’t say them, I visualize them in my mind.
Darkness fascinates me. It always has. Being in a dark room affects me each time, influences my emotions. It always calms me down. The most common emotion I feel and sense is anger. Rage. Hate. Those emotions are always trying to destroy almost everything I see, smash everything I touch, burn everything surrounding me. In darkness, when I don’t see anything, those stormy emotions seem to fade. But they are just reaching out, searching for something to ruin. Only when they find nothing, do they begin gradually to fade, until they are no more.
Blackness. I see it. I feel it. I can smell it. I can taste it. It’s around me. It’s inside me. It is me. I am it. Blackness. Hello, old friend.
Turning off all the lights. Closing the windows. Extinguishing fires that light my way. The only fire I need is in me. It’s always here, and no blackness can put it out. It doesn’t need to. It doesn’t want to. That fire is burning with a shadowy glow, and no light ever comes from it. Only cosy warmth, which only a few people are allowed to share.
People call it weird. People call it strange. People are scared of it. I hate people. I can’t stand them. And yet, I am one of them. In the darkness, bind us… In the darkness, burn us. Spill our ashes over the dirt. Spill them in the dark, without any light, so no one could see. Let no one know.
The night is the prime time of my wakening. Even if I have to sleep. The night is dark. The night is black. The night is my friend. Walking through an empty, dark street; wearing nothing but myself, even if I’m fully dressed. Looking for an even darker alley. Searching for blackness. Finding blackness. Sometimes, in places one would never expect.
Not shadows. Shadows exist because of all the lights. Cut the lights. Extinguish them. Burn them. Let them explode. Darkness come. Blackness be. Night is.
Standing on the verge of the light. Not wanting to enter that shiny circle. Despising it. Going back to darkness, where home is. Home is where heart is. Heart isn’t. Black is.
Black. Absence of colours. The sum of all colours. No colours. Only blackness. Invoking my own, personal demons. They don’t have form. They need no form. Because they don’t exist. They are my demons. I don’t have them. I own them, just as much as they own me. We are part of something darker, something scarier. But not me. I’m only human. Demons aren’t real. Blackness is.
Pitch black. Can’t see nothing. Don’t want to. Won’t see nothing. Don’t need to. Total, complete darkness. No light, no colour. No sight, no vision. No nothing.
- Title: Darkness
- Artist: Freya Wytte
- Description: my vision of dakness
- Date: 01/31/2009
- Tags: darkness