I used to rave to this track. A smile blights itself upon my face at thought at just how connected some things are. Music for me connects my memories but over time some music becomes lost in the myriad of the new and the loss of hard drives and iPods. Typical digitalisation of life… and therefore loss. For me, finding or linking music is so … satisfying. It gratifies me because it either reminds of memories gone by, that I wouldn’t otherwise remember, or it feeds my musical ego and the knowledge of which sometimes I forget I hold. So this time, as I review music, it’s this track from Sepalcure, a really cool duo from New York who produce electronic music with a difference, with some soul and emotion. The type of stuff that depicts a novel of thoughts in the mind, because music is my story book. The track ‘Make You’ samples some lyrics so after typing them in to Google I found they’re from a Whitney Houston track. The lyrics from that song reminded me of partying back when I lived in another city, a large city in The Midlands, and I’d party away my youth, much like I’m doing now I guess. And it led me to this track, which just makes me smile. It’s the case of it being special to the self as apposed to it holding any depth or character of track.
Below is the Sepalcure track. It’s ace.
Waves. They crash. They produce sounds so mighty. They emit power, structure to their finesse. They do so singularly, alone. Within a family of others. They are never alone.
People surround me yet … I hold them at a country length. I feel the need to have somebody there because an existence by the self lacks worth. Unless something significant can be borne from it; a novel, a blog of truth. It’s hard to put oneself in this predicament. It’s tiring me out. I can see in the bags under my eyes, appearing too early, a life of excess nestled within confinement. It’s the meeting of opposite ends, with nothing in-between.
I miss the hustle of friends. I play witness to my fear of loss. A loss of which I completely urge. I take people on in circles, every so many years I’ll enjoy life with a certain set of individuals and then they pass. Only know it’s too difficult to let go, what with the beady eye of social media forever reminding the best times of my life.
The fun was never fake. But perhaps, to them, I was. I am. To the world, who knows me? Who do I allow to know me?
A sultry thought caresses over me, like silk sheets filled with a honey voice of reassurance. If I don’t love myself then who will? Sometimes I love myself, other times I think I’m developing some form of social disorder. That could possibly be my own mind though – you know, as they say, you are the result of your own thoughts.
Tiny tragedies play in my parents minds. They still love each other but it’s just too late. The tears that roll down her cheeks profess the first time, a revelation of truth.
Blinkered lights, dots flashing before my eyelids, and I pray. I pray that I’ve done the right thing. If a person does right by their family, then surely they’ve done right by the universe. The universe and it’s ever-expanding solitude offers no answers. We’re born in to a system of rules and a society of religion. What is truth? When do we ever find out? And if the answer is null then do we aim to just maintain a sense of temporary happiness, moments of bliss, conjoined essence of dazed euphoria?
There lies below a soft bed of pretty and bright flowers waiting to synthesise my being in to oneness. I want for my soul to be free but not before I experience love in this world.
Music be the music of frequencies we don’t have the ability to witness. Infra red and x-rays and paradigms of light we just don’t have the intelligence or power to see. We can’t see past the colour of our curtains, as we stare beyond the glass in to a world that posseses only abject solidity.
Our minds are shrunk, they are frightened to do anything other than what is expected and the ones who swam in the unexpected are only lauded once their souls are free. At the time, they’re ludicrous.
Does this searching continue past our bodily existence? Do we ever find what we’re looking for?
Mother nature, take me and cradle me in your glow of expanse. Release the demons that forlorn me to this misery. Misery created by boxes, within boxes, within labels.