Saturday, December 11, 2010

constantly throughout the ride

I grasped onto peculiar trains of thought I wish i could reproduce onto this web form. I told myself, think of how you could write this out, this would be great to write about, this is beautiful. BRAIN, I AM TELLING YOU, WHEN I FINALLY GET SOME REST, MEDITATE ON THAT TRIP. PRODUCE SOMETHING FOR ME. I KNOW I'M NOT GIVING YOU ALL THE REST YOU'D LIKE BUT I FEEL LIKE HANGING OUT WITH SOME FRIENDS FOR A BIT WILL GROUND ME MORE. I WOKE UP AGITATED, SICKLY, WEAK. I'M DOING EVERYTHING I CAN. THE GIRL MISSES ME BUT I CAN'T BARE TO FACE HER YET. I CAN'T BARE TO FACE MY NOTEBOOK. PLEASE HELP ME.

the acid and the music

The young vocalist's face shone in the red and blue lights behind the drums, the shadow from the microphone made his mouth appear to be suckling it almost, but his pleasant harmonious voice radiated through the speakesr I was only a few feet away from.

I sat in the car and watched the scenery and was overcome with an odd euphoria throughout my body, and I felt myself pulled into a perpetual daydream, my eyes half closed like a streetsquatter in a nod. I relived painful moments of being 14 again. The guys Vince and Raptor and Manny teased me, pulled me around with them, called me an awful nickname I wish not to repeat, but it was somewhat therapeutic to realize I'd come this far. I sat at a starbucks table trying to stare through it and pour my vision onto my shoelaces but it wouldn't work. Raptor called out to manny, a tall, long-haired pot dealer with glasses who looked lik he could hold an office job. "Hey Manny, isn't it true? Once a bitch, always a bitch?" His eyes reminded me of a sociopath as he glared at me, asking his friend for approval. I don't remember what Manny said, he wasn't that bad a guy to me, but the others were rough.

then all of a sudden i was pulled out of the daydream, the music in the car went silent. there was a pause. i wanted to look around but felt stuck. Then I heard a lounge-singing woman's voice call out to the radio with a pleasant viola harmony behind it, and I was thinking, OK, I can do this, I can put up with this. But I felt little teeth surround my body and bite me repeatedly when the dancehall electronic beats and circus-like musical delirium envelop me. It tore at me, I tried to fight it, but I was helpless. I've never heard such revolting music in my life. It lied to me, the lounge-singing, cocktail-dressed studio recorded woman's voice was a temporary reverie for the assault my body, my mind, my soul was about to experience.
BOOSH DA DA BA DA BOOSH DA DA BA DA BOOSH DA DA BA DA BOOSH DA DA BA DA
Oh how I wanted to jump out of my head! I was a prisoner. I kept listening, on and on, without a choice, hoping the aching would end but the music kept playing. Eventually the song would end, and I was momentarily relieved, but all of the songs held the same structure - a computer-generated composition combining two types of music that were never meant to interlope. Eventually I was able to ignore it, still helpless, the only choice. When they begin to introduce a rape scene on American television the final cut, as the idea of "misery' is suggested, depicts a woman staring onto a point into the distance with the light in her eyes. her mind does everything possible to put her out of her body, and become something else. I did the best i could, and eventually, with 22 miles remaining, the song ended, and I stood up straight, I said, very carefully, "could we listen to another album after this?"