Overwhelming heat Stuck to the linoleum floor Listening to vinyl Keeping one eye on the door Not knowing what will happen next It was clear to me That you were not like all the rest Moving in slowly As to not scare you away Subtle stares Magic sent through pages Writing each other notes To ensure this isn’t just another hoax Pouring out our souls Discussing the future and our goals We begin to coast Vibing endlessly We lose track of time And before I know it I begin to rhyme Singing of you in every line
It is because of you that I am fully attentive Soundwaves that wash over me from start to end Music, my only friend
Now, we ride the waves of wifi to get what we need But our gaze upon an artist is lost Once our playlists consist of only a few of their songs Handpicked amongst others, so our entertainment isn't lost
I understand the desire of variety But I value the intimacy of a record I can hold Knowing that for a while, it's just me and this music alone
Human existence Is a story Accident or miracle? An accident, for sure, But could it not be both? We Are alive And so am I Something from nothing, Is that not miraculous? People talk a lot About Human nature As if We are The Stone When We are The Mountain Of The Earth and Our Image in The Lake Reveals The Truth of Gods Our Dominion is the Consciousness We give away To get back when We Know So for sure It does not Work Not at all like that I will explain it All for my child Under the light of day Make no mistake We have Made this place Where Currency determines Which of Us will ascend And it has been For me all my life That's when I look at you And see you for the first time A piece of The Soul Welcomed to an entrance Among Our every new Where Our Elders sit In circles of no clarity Selling songs, selling food, Selling news, selling views, Selling Us modes of Life Pandered to preselected groups Test and Market approved And Selling it as soon as through Our parents who Would Paper Our deepest wombs
the sound between the music is comforting to me, it's almost like a void - but a happy one. it gives you a slight moment of euphoria, time to think about, time. time advancing. time. it lasts long enough for you to think. the static is the anticipation of, "whats next?" a soft presence. it appears for only a moment, time sails on. -j.p.
idk what this is but it was in my notes with the prompt of "Write about a record player"
Manipulated the masses through media. Clear the air for an explosion of silence before the first acoustics pierce through the ears to the spongy minds of the adolescence. Close your eyes and imagine the edited sounds of the juxtaposition, clashing the rhythms and melodies mixed with the reprised chorus of repugnant magnitude, meaningless crybaby lyrics and off-key utterance with agonizing commercialism. Corporate record companies hide behind thick black velvet curtains and produce highly profitable garbage, so bad that it sounds like a dead baby being slapped against an untuned violin. Pulling the strings on radio stations like marionettes to spread these undesirable golden oldies like wildfire. Using and abusing music television to overplay videos repeatedly until it nauseates your innards. These puppet masters reel the uneducated into the blackest tar pits and capture their gray matter for eternity to what they believe to be is acceptable music. Unknowledgeable and unaware of anything else in existence. In a world that makes haste, we don't take the time anymore to appreciate what we listen to that actually fulfills and pleases our soul, body and mind. Generation after generation declining into the sludge and slop of objectifying and degrading compositions.
Record stores hold sanctuary.
Providing hidden gems and treasures for explorations. Rummaging through the LPs and EPs and scrutiny of 45s and 7 inches to find the pearl in the oyster concealed under piles of flotsam and jetsam, thrift store throwaways. Music lovers are like archaeologists and scuba divers rediscovering obscure rarities in old crates of the deepest, darkest depths of mildew basement cellars. One moment before the next, in the highest fidelity as the needle drops on the licorice pizza and off the twang comes the lovely wax statics of the most ******* reverberations. All the little hairs stand upright and tingle the back of your neck and arms as the notes flow off your fingertips and you fall into a complete state of euphoria, like a Buddhist that's reached Nirvana. Gritty Maestros of the underworld construct celestial symphonies, so soothing they can tame the wildest beasts and orchestrate the most diabolical spazz noid cacophonies as the high frequencies skirmish through cracked speakers. Music can summon the demons inside you while reaching therapeutic climaxes simultaneously.