Your pupils dilate: 22 de junio de 2013
To be alone is when music slices into your visceral perception. Your pupils dilate, your pupils are massive black suns burning my neurons and sucking my memories away, like lint pulled off clothes from the dryer, or stray hairs from a past lover who left clothes on your floor and never came back.
How you could probably love a million different people, but that number has been reduced by the limited amount of people you will meet in your lifetime.
Vibes of nonchalance. The feeling that if 10 more people were in the room doing exactly what we were doing, then it would be an amazing fucking party where everyone is experiencing the same vibe. Groovy like Gorillaz but much, much darker, with a certain musky aroma all over it. We’re underground and it’s hot and they’re singing, they’re rapping.
An oblique allusion, hint, insinuation. A veiled or equivocal reflection on character or reputation.
I want to be a happy high person. I want people to look at me with curiosity and bemusement. A deep chocolaty soil, the leaves brighten and nod at you, you tip your hat. Maybe I’m a writer, maybe a “high hippie,” maybe they think I am foolish and jibber-jabby and “ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY.”
Everything darkens. The shadows bulge and sweat, the corridors expand and shift, all the furniture is on the ceiling. When you get home you look up and think, “I did not put this here, I don’t know why it’s here…but I figure since we can still adjust we might as well.”
A non-stop assault of subtlety, and then comes the always subsequent self-analysis.
Alone, alone, alone, alone, it feels so slippery and at home. I pretend so well, pretend as a verb. I can feel any vibe, expand it, turn it into some fantasy video game, another level. You’ve got to be good enough to play, it’ll be a challenge. Deeper, “the other place.” During the transition you’re swept along a dark tunnel by water and hot air, there are no footprints to guide you.
Colours of the night, dawn, twilight; the sound of sprinklers in the darkness, of wine under cloud cover, of soft shades and natural light.