Colossus

Lyrics and Song Reference - Avatar "Colossus" (4:01)

Like sirens followed by an electronic metal sound the song begins. I’m standing in the kitchen. Headset over the ears, knife in hand, and I move along with the rhythm of the song. I’m wearing no apron because I feel daring today. The curry cubes are ready. So is the meat, the onion and the potatoes. Everything prepared. Neatly arranged in bowls and plates in my messy kitchen. There is something driving me to start cutting, but I want to enjoy the music, so I wait. My head bobs in the rhythm and the cymbals are joining sirens.

The last carrot lies innocently on the cutting board while the sound of the cymbals pick up speed. It’s still the intro of the song, but I’m waiting for the drums. I love the start of the drums. With the drums I feel like I’m not in this kitchen anymore. I am the driving force of a movement. The master of the kitchen. The ruler over the eating schedule. I listen carefully. I hold my breath.

There they come. The drums.

I put my knife away and instead take the peeler. There is no real need to peel a carrot, but I think they taste better when peeled. Juicier. Fresher. Not as if anyone would notice in the curry. But it’s about the principle of doing things properly. Being the master comes with responsibility.

Now the tom is being hit steadily, joining the previous sounds. I wait for my cue. We’re almost there. I love this part. When I set the peeler on the carrot, I hear Colossus! The carrot loses its first layer of skin. Turning and peeling, the carrot is halfway naked. The speed of the toms and cymbals is picking up. My hands move faster in anticipation.

Arise! Followed by two hits of the bass drum and my hands move in a flurry to help the carrot shed the rest of its skin. Now the guitars set in as well and my hands move synchronously to the speeding up melody.

With In the image of man I throw away the peels. We breed our demons helps me to chop off the head of the carrot. On the wide wings of science I stand in front of my own Frankenstein’s monster, ready to dismember instead of sewing together.

The singer continues to rasp the last line before starting the refrain in a higher pitched voice. I sing along, setting up the knife lengthwise, cutting the carrot in half. While Is it coming to an end?, I arrange both halves next to each other so I can continue my work. Cutting the carrot into even pieces. As even as I can. Simultaneously joining the chorus Colossus! Colossus, arise!

During the musical interlude I allow myself to step away from the cutting board. The knife is still in hand, my body sways with the rhythm. Am I the colossus? Am I the master? Maybe both? My body can’t seem to stop moving. Ignoring my own warning. The rules of my domain. Don’t lose focus in the kitchen. I am the colossus. Moved by the music no free will at all.

But I wield the knife. The carrot my latest victim. Ready to join its brethren which already lie sliced up on their plates. I am the master. Deliverer of delicious dishes. Dicing, slicing, chopping. Everything will bend to my will.

The last four beats of the floor drum make me step back to the cutting board. The singer starts again. I ready myself and the knife. Raspy voice telling me about old bones in the soil while I finish up the last bits of the carrot. Concentrating too much on the lyrics. Being absorbed too much by the alluring darkness of the music. The knife glides off the carrot. As if it was all of a sudden made out of steel. As if it was the real colossus. The blade easily finds its way into my own finger instead. As if mistaking it for the carrot.

The shock doesn’t make me feel anything, but the blood is running with the onset of the refrain, and I can’t stop myself mouthing Colossus! Colossus, arise! while desperately trying to find a kitchen towel.

The e-guitar solo starts and so does the pain after the shock wears off. The cut is pulsating in the rhythm of the song. At first. Then faster. As if it wants to take the spotlight. E-Guitar versus pulsating pain. Music can’t make you do what pain can. The real puppeteer is blood, is pain or the fear of it. I put pressure on the wound, soaking the kitchen towel red within a few beats of the drums, which are almost blocked out by the performance of the guitars. The high sounds and tremors vibrate in me. Or is it the pain which makes me shake? Wrapped in the red towel, slightly misshapen my finger looks like the carrot. Ready to be chopped up. Ready to be cut in slices.

Finally, I manage to open the drawer with the plasters. For a second I stare at the plasters, realizing I will need both hands to open the package. Will I need scissors?

Make your way up to the top. I let the finger go and the kitchen towel falls to the floor. I grab the box with the Peppa Pig plasters. I don’t care. The music drives me to action. The pain. Still there. The blood. Still dripping. I crush the thin cardboard box. Blood smears all over it. Plasters spill out onto the floor. Not where I want them to go. I feel like Popeye turning the can of spinach the wrong way round. I pick one plaster up. More blood on the floor. Pulling the plastic apart is difficult. The sticky part wants to be attached to everything but my cut finger. I don’t understand it.

The floor a bloody mess. As well as the cutting board. And my carrot. But the finger is taped up.

Arise.