Lossless Tragedy.

November 29, 2006 § Leave a comment

I’ve desired one thing and one thing only, for the past 1 month at least now. It is not the return of love or the reinstatement of my genius among my peers. No fame, maybe some money and little food for thought.

An MP3 Player. Oh Sony, bonnie lossless conversion technologically enabled, sound quality enhanced, sleekly finished and horrifically expensive player you! In my relentless pursuit to fill the yawning moments between phases of obsession, I have thrown too many nerve cells into my search for a portable media player. I fall short of either inspiration or the money to afford the muse. This then remains an un-indulged mourning over the latest tragedy in this bored existential state of disrepair.

To take flight on the exact tangent to Pod like references, what a lovely mention of loss on the most plastic-ky serials of all time. Watching One Tree Hill for the last two days may well figure in my long list of idle vagaries. But, very melodious vagaries I must add to my defense. Perfectly penciled eyebrows; shiny lips, hair and toes (not nose you will note), skin so unvarying it seems mass produced and that glossy magazine like image that stands in the way of their crying, laughing or who knows even breathing normally when on camera. This comment may seem to be at the cost of my forehead being marred with the stamp of feminism. I am yet to look past the exterior beauty so painstakingly arranged on any person’s face. Surprisingly, the background score on the show makes up (punned it!) for the lack of earth shattering artistry. And to think I would’ve missed this piece of philosophical art if I had followed “my heart” and switched to a book instead of watching a synchronized emotional drama.

Loss discussed by characters with glowing peroxide follicles, is still incredibly intellectual. This in spite of a fantastic simplification of the words, whose import Shaw may have well intended to be profound. His words…

There are two tragedies in life:

One is not to get your heart’s desire.
The other is to get it.

And then there is desire itself. Looming and beaming with possibility. Entrancing my infidel attention, mocking my incapacity to reach out and take exactly what I need. (Wants do have a manner of mutating into needs.) Well, I shall fall back on that second line to quell my doubts on relieving my bank account on the must-haves of my life.


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