The first time you hear that track, the one you can’t live without, love at first vibration, it pumps inside you, you pump up the volume, awake as if for the first time.
Or, hearing a song you’ve worn t-shirts around before, a good ol’, a comfortable, an easy n good, but this time–
For whatever strange reasons the universe has clicked into place after mazes of time to create a moment: the sound pours through your ear canals hitting the drum and dispersing into the wide eternal inside space and it wakes you, with a gasp, and you shudder with the familiar and the dazzling dancing together in new significance.
Or– shutting your eyes, naked, just before dusk, you lay on a bed down an alley in an old city, Ravaged from lack of sleep, but vibrating with energy, it’s all you can do to lie through the transition from day to night, nested 5 floors above the moving sidewalks, with your eyes shut and an old mixtape playing. So tired you can only feel your body, your thinking mind leaves to rest and without sleeping you enter a dream: a dream of music. The music takes you away, punctuated by the sounds of motorbikes and shops squeaking closed as shopkeepers pull their gates down, the city outside the open window blends with the music because there are no boundaries and it lifts you. Take me away, you say. Take me away. But you’re already gone.
When the mix plays through twice, you open your eyes and see. Dark has descended, though it is not complete. Body still buzzing from days without sleep, your mind is more awake: calm and slow, but not blurry like before you gave yourself over to altering.
You get up, clicking the black Tiger & Heart lighter, and a flame, a stick of palo santo, you let the scented wood really take the fire before blowing it out, and allowing the smoke to pour over your skin, the scent deep and rich, it matches this french colonial city: the pearl of the far east.
You let your hair down, because it is night now. It is a moonless night. City lights don’t let on, but the dark moon is here.
The energy propells you. The energy of a city is like good cocaine: both numbing– the tingle feels good– and intensely alive, unable to sleep, with that fuzzy wired. So you pour a glass of wine and sit down to write.