How can my deepest song attempt to express my deepest thoughts, only to fail at offering even the slightest glimpse of meaning?
It feels like a mediocre diagnosis: offering to numb the symptoms, yet helplessly incapable of curing the disease.
What does our muted perception bring? Nothing but another voice, buried beneath the shallow standards that measure our lives. But what truly feeds my confusion is this: as honest as my voice may be, so few seem capable of hearing it. Is there an unspoken agreement that binds us to sorrow and settling for whatever outcome life happens to offer?
I am confused: in our awareness, we seem utterly unable to escape the expected path, doomed to remain within the quiet discomfort of comfortable conformity. It makes life easier, but far from whole. I know the difference between what is comfortable and what is truly fulfilling. I have seen the void where we surrender every chance to live deeply, hoping that our silence might simply let us see another sunrise.
When does living begin and when does survival end?
What happened to the music?
What happened to my song?
Why speak at all?
Luciano Solís Campos