I cannot quite explain how warmed and safe the thought of being swept down into demolishment in unison with my violin, in such cosy, sheltered tragedy makes me feel.

"My body will scorch, my soul will screech, my flesh will shrivel, form inflamed swellings and lead the heat through to within my malformation."

I quote myself, is that a crime?

Perhaps it's just the atmosphere of the entry that attracts me so. It is not depression or relinquishment, nor is it despair or grief � it is pure passion.

No, no it merely claims to be. Should utter passion not be more than simply the downfall of a treasured instrument and its keeper? But it is not about such misery, it has not to do with tragedy or death; it is the intense meaning and power of the symbolic burning violin, and the worshipful affection its owner feels for it.

But is it a symbol?

"I'll enjoy the flickering of the flames as I listen to the crackling of the dry wood, the sparks and flares caused by the varnish and the twang of the strings as they snap one by one."

My consciousness has been separated from my body, slightly shifted in time they try to adhere in a reality like truth, but in vain. My realisation remains in slumber and my corpse has been obtained by a zombie. But I am fine.

Which is stronger, my mind or I?

---

I feel so