The pink of college

I have taken my medications for the day and I turned off my lights. I’m back home on leave and It is 7 pm in the evening. An idea. An old one. I picked up my phone and I went to PlayMusic app and typed Pink Floyd. I selected all songs of the artists and started playing them randomly. Commencing Floyd meditation. Holy Fuck. Just like old days. Back in those days in college, I would come home either drunk or a little less drunk or sometimes a little less stoned and get into my room at 7 pm in the evenings and shut off the lights and play any stuff by the Floyd at random. It was a process of relaxation of nerves and meditation of soul. Sometime many thoughts. Sometimes none at all. Just void and Floyd. A sudden whiff of nostalgia hit the back of my head like when you spot a moth on the wall and think of flying dragons and you know they don’t exist. But they did back in college days. My actions were dragons. My thoughts were them. Now it was all moth and mosquitoes. What happened then was something real, the time when I listened to music like some ritual. Now when I tried the tradition, it felt incomplete but satisfactory. Just a moth and not a dragon. That just happens at that moment. This was replication of it.

It was like dusting off the dust from the table that was untouched for years. It sure did dust off but the shine was gone. College was good. You could do anything and be anything. I tried enjoying echoes of the times. I didn’t require Floyd to incite malancholy that comforted me like I did then, life was enough for that once you were out of college. It’s wonderful how a small thing that you used to do years ago and you repeat that years after, brings back all the other unwanted memories like images spilling in the soils of a mediocre brain, the ideas of midnight escapes for a drag of cigarette, a trip to an unknown place, a fun-done done-fun date in cafeteria, and the image of a alcohol-weary-home-returning college boy free from the humdrum of social norms, now who is being stripped strongly with both hands being hauled by the corporate until the entire body is ripped apart.

The thoughts weren’t but I was a dragon, back then. Now I’m just a moth on the wall. And an ugly one.


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