sense overload

A room of one's own. The room in my mind. A room I would like to have, given the chance. Small, private, with everything of great value within an arm's reach - CDs, DVDs, books, whew! This is so-called life.

Behind this door is another universe, an encounter with the incalculable, a world where disenchantments are regulated and conditioned.

The present world, the world outside can be shut out. In a contrived environment, the world left behind can be recaptured by imitations and repetitive recollections, not born out of despair but of convenient necessity.

Nothing is worthless. Everything has value, even silence. Specially silence, sublime silence. Words and speech, they take a backseat. They have a different destiny.

And Emily Dickinson's ghost hovers. And it's my mother's birthday today. She would have been 64.