Archive for February 2010
We never change our ways. Living in a water world of fake promise and faded future. Trapped here. And the people who can’t handle it are swimming in it. Searching for dry spots, but this pool has no steps or fancy rails. No shallow end. And no drain. So it fills up. And eventually seeps over the sides. Floods are constant. Damage is inevitable.
But the people are reaching out this time. They don’t want this. Stray water is uncomfortable.
I just get lost in it. With it. Above and below it. I sink and then I float. All the memories get tangled in filters. Spiderwebs of youth form inside them. Only a few remain. And I’m the outsider looking in. I grab for a piece dangling to my left. All I come back with is sticky. Drowning, but not from fear – curiosity is a tricky fellow.
I’m so tired of it now though.
I head for the ladder, right over left. Repeat. Right over left. Repeat. But these rungs are too slippery. And I am far too heavy.
Confused, my feet leave me at the ankles. I fall backwards, plunging below the surface yet again. Cold, wet, numb. I know this water all too well. But why is it so hard to get up? There’s got to be a reason for it all. But why can’t I find it?
Frustration sets in. Tears on fire. Slicing their way across sharp cheekbones, erasing hope as they greet the chin. A plastic surgeon with a butter knife. The flame is always cold once it reaches the lips. I’m left to taste the embers. Darkness falls, the people are crying out. And I’m right there with them.
Buy the biggest plastic Mountain Dew bottle you can find. (It doesn’t hafta be Mountain Dew, anything light in color will do just fine.)
Peel the label off gently, making sure not to rip or bend any part of it.
Scan the label with the printer and open it with Photoshop or any program that allows you to add text to yer image.
Smudge out the ingredients section and replace them with yer notes.
Print off yer ‘new and improved’ label and re-stick it in the same spot it was before. (I always used a small piece of double-sided scotch tape. It looked the best cuz it fit perfectly and I wouldn’t have any excess tape hanging off the sides.)
I think my favorite part of electronic music has got to be the fascination that comes with adding one instrument at a time. One measure, yu’ll get the synthesizer. The one after that, the bass’ll kick in. Third step’s the speed variation. And then you got like a minute left in the song, and all the noise comes together, gets combined together into this huge blizzard of awesomeness and yer left to wonder why they don’t play this shit on the radio. But they’ll never play this shit on the radio. For one reason.
It’s too overwhelming.
It’d be like if the DEA made ‘magic’ mushrooms ‘legal’ mushrooms. People wouldn’t know how to react because it’s different every single time. Yer a slave to emotion on shrooms. The same with electronic music. If you feel good, lit, alive, then you wanna share it with the whole world. Everybody needs to know what you know. And you know fucking EVERYTHING. And then you find yerself asking those anti-yes and no questions out loud in a crowded room. Not really to a certain someone, maybe to the shy kids on the corner couch, maybe to the rich ones.
Why does this have so much control over me?
Why can’t I feel like this all day, everyday?
Why haven’t I discovered this before?
Is this like, trippy or what, man?
Hey at least we got the clubs. Ahhh, the clubs. Stuck in the middle of a mosh pit in front of a main speaker, with recycled energy soaking yer lower back, so powerless to involuntary movement, so submissive to numb thoughts. Just dancing the night away to yer favorite beats
Clubbing would be non-existent if it weren’t for electronic music. Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t see anybody shakin’ ass to a Nickelback song. It’d be like attempting the Macarena minus a Mexican and paralyzed from the waist up. FAIL.