Play a C next to a C# and it’ll probably sound horrible to you. You might even call it wrong or bad. The sound goes to war with itself. It clashes. But take the C up an octave, and it becomes a major seventh. One of the most beautiful chords. It’s almost too nice sounding. When we see something bad or awful, maybe we’re just looking at in the wrong octave. We just need to change our perspective a little. Countries all over the world build bombs with the goal of hurting people, instilling fear, and killing, to prove a point. To try and change your perspective about an idea. Governments everywhere even bless their bombs for this purpose. Maybe we need a different kind of bomb. Maybe a bomb that makes people love you. Maybe a cupid bomb. I believe we already have it, and it’s called music. Every country has their own version of it and it works. It changes your viewpoint by bringing each other together. And you don’t even have to know a thing about it to get it. And in the end maybe all you really did was change the octave. Music is a language, a lifestyle, and it could just save the world.
Victor Wooten (via sprouting-colours
I know I probably think too much, especially on those long bus rides home, sitting idle in the corner staring at the window, I will occasionally look in and see a face or two, imagine their lives and what might have put them here.. I see the old man rolling up his cigarettes, with shaking hands and burned fingers he continues rolling, he looks tired and alone, who am I to know if he hasn’t lost a loved one, or two. Maybe everyone he loved has died and he is now waiting for that day, so he keeps on smoking, inhaling every single toxin, inviting that day to come sooner..
Do others see me as I see them. Do they see my face? Full of pain, full of struggle, yet, all the laugh lines on my face? do they imagine me smiling because I don’t seem to smile on the bus, do they imagine me happy like I should be, because I want to see myself in the light that others do, I want to see the potential that everyone seems to say I have, but I still think too much, so I stare out the window again, and sit in silence
Bus Rides (J.A.)