Tap … tap … taap
The little ball hits the wall again and again and bounces back into his awaiting hand
His body is in auto drive, his mind is elsewhere, the ball just seems to fall into place and just as suddenly is cast away towards the wall idly. The only thing he is conscious of is the effort its taking him not to scream. He is like the street beggar on the corner with her arm out-stretched crying out for a coin, he passes her every day. He has blocked her voice out with the earphones plugged into his ears but still it echoes throughout his system as he strides past her. It’s like that hunger to have something … anything is eating away at him too.
He can feel the sound of the taxi tout calling out for passengers; the persistence in his voice is like a deep knife wound in his back being twisted again and again, it sends waves and waves of will power jolting him into more desperate pleading. Mixed with this is the loud voice of the street preacher calling out so passionately to the people trying even harder to ignore him. A few wave and smile at him and the huge smile of gratitude on his face for being acknowledged is almost too hard to bear. His eyes shine with a fire that finds expression in the vigorous wave of his worn out scorched Bible. His voice is hoarse from the strenuous shouting and still he passes by just seeing the movement of the preacher’s mouth and only hearing the music of his soul. There is a hunger to be accepted, to be acknowledged … to pass on to.
There a hunger in the whirlwind of buttons being punched on this computer trying to capture it as fast as it’s flowing. Something so untouched in the music flowing from his soul at the images flashing through his head; there’s a strength in every fly pull he catches underneath the waves of the pool plunging forward, to most it’s a blur but to him he can feel every little bit of the strength its taking him to go on, in every first step he takes to get his weary body out of bed to the life that just won’t quit, the life that keeps calling even when he’s had it, in every teary drop he catches on his shoulders from those in a moment of weakness and self pity, there is a passion to make it but it just is not happening, in the struggle to feel like life is finally giving you a lucky break, in the strength to go through another day without that person who makes his heart come alive; the will to hold on just a little longer, to never give up, even in the deepest disappointment, that moment when someone you trust with all your life lets you down in the smallest way but it feels like the worst way ever.
It might be joy or sorrow, pain or pleasure, pride or disappointment, loud or calm, a storm or a fire, whatever it is it just takes you over and there you stand paralyzed in its fiend grip, whether you wish it to let you go or hold on just a little longer, it’s never up to you it’s just something you didn’t see coming and you are powerless in its grip
Even the best of us fall under the paralyzing power of passion. Run or hide, it will find you and when it does, pray it leaves you still alive … you won’t be the same.
This endless loop of sounds, feelings, scents, pictures and tastes reflected in the continuous tapping of the ball against the wall. tap tap tap .. and then, not even consciously when he just uses that little bit more strength or his arm was too heavy to lift up fast enough for a moment the ball doesn't return to the hand ... the little shock makes him shake his head quickly and clear his vision as he turns around to look for it …