he set the drums on fire which is what started it all.
the catalyst for a sound that shook the earth, so much so that the the redwoods broke the silence in a forest full of minds lost lost among the falling leaves that catch fire. drifting toward the coast to meet the footprints soon to be washed away by the force of reflection. and the fires rage up toward the clouds which shade the surface from the sun. day is night and night is day in a world that fears live music. and i dream about the drums so much that i hide out in the dark room full of pictures that reveal moments sensitive to the real world.
the red lights nearly blinded me once- as chemicals filled the atmosphere and i escaped just in time to watch it burn peripherally. i walked away and never looked back. to return was to risk my sanity.
and i let the cds burn. i locked the letters in a shoebox and buried the box beneath the surface of my time here. i used to read them too often never to be read again, only recognized by my own subconscious. at a time where music reminds me, still, of an instant.
see, i am dependent on sound and color of the drums that distract me from surrounding, so that i don't surrender to the fires that consume so many souls in which see only red. to be in this world full of vibrancy and passion, expressed through the essence of art. it is a shame to feel it burn.
i saw the drummer live years ago and i learned how to play myself.
i'll tour on Mars instead. i read about it yesterday, and it appears to be red from a distance.