Darkness makes me feel at home inside a desert that only music understands. The drums on these tracks, military band in movement, guides the passengers of my talking thoughts through these sometimes dry lands. Dusty dreams.
Stoners revel in the way things sway. In the wind of conversations with the reverb on. Shame on the others who lie to themselves. Don't try for themselves. Just hide from themselves. We've still a long way to go. Someone is always saying this in films. "We have a long way to go." How do they know. Usually when you have gone a short distance, you are always somewhere new. So what is this long way?
The dream was weird. The television was on in the living room. There were children in the foyer playing. I was on the couch at my sister's apartment. The commercial was a double exposure of a caribbean travel destination, mixed with different point of view shots of women performing fellatio. Everywhere in the commercial, heads bobbing up and down. I stood up and began screaming at everyone. "Look! Look! Do you guys see that on the screen?!" But everyone acted normal. I told them to rewind using the dvr and play it again. Same thing. Bobbing heads and no one else sees it. I was like. No one sees the thing Im seeing?
The thought crossed my mind,"Is this how they keep everyone in the root chakra? Subliminally thinking about sex?" Hmm.
Sometimes I don't know where to go next. Scratching my head. This isn't necessarily the best way to begin any story. But, we all know that getting lost is always the best way to get things going. Things move in circles at least when they are lost. Something to do with Fibanocci and the Golden Ratio. Speaking of which, why do we scratch our heads when we are thinking? Does the scratching itself add electricity and static to the situation on the fontanel that causes a thing to connect and bloom into something bigger? Well, here i am still at it. Scratching my head. Looking around the room.
He sat on the one the two beds provided by the school. Bare essentials, with the customary mini fridge, which is normally reserved for those out the way motels, hotels and hemp joints that can only hold so many tiny bottles of joy. At this point, it was empty. But, this was the usual with him and his roommate. His mate in the room. Where they mate with other femmates and build bridges that bring kids, kings, and kool aid to the rescue.
That first note is always like tripping in the forest. You are running through trees, fretboard with your fingers, and then bam. You trip, and this first note appears, and then as if breathing was a thing, you have the first riff. That first phrase. It's like trying to start a conversation, but without words, only sound. Why does and how does music exist? But more importantly why is it necessary for us to play music? To sing? To play music with others? Why is it so important?
Most of my memories are attached to music. Songs always provided the soundtrack. But more importantly they lent themselves to the way i was feeling at the moment. whether it be first love, first kiss, adventure, a drive, walking into a room and seeing someone for the first time, winning, losing, failing. How is it possible that somehow music is always in the background? I'm not talking about having headphones on all the time. I'm talking about how music was always playing, and people are playing this tune and that tune. All together they intermingle to help create that intangible fabric of seemingly seamless strings of sound, pianos, guitars, vocals, trumpets, drums, birds, beats, cars, homes ,busses, and motorcycles.