Following the Sounds…


There is something out there that I cannot yet explain by using just words alone. But I will try my best to elaborate the sensation that seems so dark yet lit in the nights mind. An ordinary thought perhaps? No that can’t be, but what does the word “can’t” mean to you? A refusal to acknowledge something or maybe a simple lack of visual stimulation to retain your attention on the subject matter at hand? If I say I can’t do something, Its usually because I am physically incapable. Like lifting heavy objects, yet outside of that it’s like lying to myself if I said I can’t do something that I actually can successfully accomplish. For most things I’d rather try first to prove I cannot do something. So when I hear these delicate wave lengths I have to question my personal capabilities as an artist. This is why I began writing in the first place. Who would ever believe me. No one ever has really, only until recently. I sometimes hear sounds that are low in frequency yet fundamentally spooky, like what the fuck did I just eat? Whats in this bottled water? What’s happening? I sense solemn vibrations that motivate me to follow. In a total chaotic way this motivation can distract me from getting things done. Which is why I sacrifice these sensations for the sake school/work life. I don’t like to frighten others either. It’s rarely scary until I put too much focus into it, but in the end these are just sounds. Various meta-rhythms in repetitive segments all coming from different sources it seems. Mostly vocal patterns in alliteration repeating in my brain.. I begin to hum a melody from the base of my esophagus. It reaches deep into my diaphragms vessel and tries to shake hands with my lungs. It’s almost like the universe plucking a string of the universal instrument of man. Maybe that instrument is man after all and music is our second nature. I mean who doesn’t love music? uhhIdunno

As I think of all this,  I hear drums underneath the shadows of this hum. I begin to finish the rhythms by adding an emphasis to the silent fills I notice that maybe I shouldn’t rap right now. Everybody is asleep. This old house is wide and hollow yet harnesses an abundance of memories. I respect that. I begin to rhyme in my mind with awes and oh sounds. This is always fun! The ideas that come out are usually playful yet get serious in the end. I somethings write what I can hear in the form of lyrics, but most of the time I just follow these motions by humming along. I feel a connection with others in this same fashion. Like restoring a calling from a long lost friend. I feel like an old spirit at work, tending to my natures garden getting used to the ants stinging between my toes. The network of cells beginning to face inflammation like riot for reproduction. Like mycelium in motion. Becoming one with the soil below us, where the green winds blow. The same winds that have birthed our species. The more I hear these sounds, the more anxious I become. Most of the time because I have nothing to write on. Even worst I can’t always find my pen when I’m running to school/work. I’m always on my feet, maybe I should rest. Maybe I should sleep. So, yea back to that sound. It was just a thought that I seem to follow a lot. I’ve been called crazy at times, but who isn’t. I’ve seen crazier, yet who am I to judge. After all, this is all about the mysterious sounds that attract and can keep our attention, especially mine. I hear swift hums and sometimes whispers. Its similar to a fast wind but without the breezy feeling you get when someone opens a window. A swooshing vibration, like a drum being felt from the floor, yet deeper. Like the bass of your favorite hip-hop song or EDM, Pop, etc (whatever pleases you as the listener) as vehicle passes by on the freeway. Like a big horsefly invading my privacy, or maybe I am the fly invading something else? It moves so fast sometimes and I try my best to keep up. These static low rhythms and pounds are felt on my chest. Not the sound of my heart beating, but that gut-feeling that I’m not alone. Or even more intriguing, that I never was.

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