All Sewn Up

For the first time in years I’m able to fully listen to that Longwave “The Strangest Things” album that pretty much was filed away like my eleven journals; categorized as content from that one time in my life.  It’s an amazing album if you still buy albums, but if you’re of the download ilk then you’re really missing out in the privilege of albums indexing mutual stories.  I’m not knocking one-off downloads at all.  Believe me, I like it a lot better than the cassette single.  During the repeats of the album, I could feel every vibration of the music within my soul and it sawed me to the bone.  Now, I don’t have a need to listen to it on repeat but I know I’ll find it again when I need to feel that I am more than a daily routine.  The second time around for music discovery might bring more clarity than the all-consuming power of the holy spirit of emotional sound; you’re in too thick the first time around.

I took an ex girlfriend on vacation to California, once, and some song came on the radio that made her excited spirit turn to this infinite sadness that left me helpless.  It’s a strange thing that moment-making happiness can be easier broken by moment-taking sadness in a simple fleeting thought–nostalgic melancholy and her impact.  Here I am feeling sorry for my former self, and she was right about one day I’d understand how it feels that an otherwise typical tune isn’t about someone else.

In reality, there are few things that cause you to feel what’s inside you but when it does it’s a cannonball to the heart.  This is probably why I really understand the visuals that the hippies used to zone out to during moments of music in dropping acid, but I suppose I was lucky that I’ve never needed a drug to feel the highs and lows within a waking hour.

I’m thinking that when you’re all sewed up, it’s better than the bite because you’re going to mend and it’s better than the scar because you can still feel it.

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