There's a strange kind of wind blowing today. The sun is out and the trees are still, but when you step out of your car it sweeps around your feet, circles you from underneath.
It's a chill that stays with you,
even after you've closed the door.
Yesterday it seemed like I was always just a step behind myself. Always just missing the things I should have been doing, the things I should have been saying. And whether I intended it or not, it created this sort of blowback effect, like spray coming off the back of a crashing wave that kept making me turn my head at times when it feels like I should have been looking.
I don't know.. maybe I'm not explaining this right.
There's this thing that happens sometimes with microphones when you plug them in. The polarities don't match up, or the system isn't properly grounded, and the electricity that is used to drive the magnets builds up instead of flowing throught the circuit.
...There's this thing that happens sometimes when you get close to a live mic to say something. You lean in to tell your story, you lean in to sing -- and electrons arc towards the enegry in your skin. A spark jumps towards the electricity in your nerves, the moisture in your lips.
It shocks you.
And it hurts. It hits you right where you don't expect, and it bites you like an animal that feels threatened. The pain doesn't stay, but it hurts in a way that your mind holds on to. It hurts in a way that makes you hesitate every time you think about getting close to that microphone again.
Sometimes it takes being zapped two or three times, but eventually you start to sing "at" the mic, instead of into it. Eventually you start to avoid that negative stimulus, start to utilize fight or flight in even the slightest of ways.
Pavlovian Rock n' Roll.
...I should say what I mean. I should lean into the microphone. Speak into it, not sing "at" it. I should just close my eyes, bear the electricity, and make the music that I was always meant to create.
...but there's a strange kind of wind blowing today.
It's a chill that stays with you,
even after you've closed the door.
Yesterday it seemed like I was always just a step behind myself. Always just missing the things I should have been doing, the things I should have been saying. And whether I intended it or not, it created this sort of blowback effect, like spray coming off the back of a crashing wave that kept making me turn my head at times when it feels like I should have been looking.
I don't know.. maybe I'm not explaining this right.
There's this thing that happens sometimes with microphones when you plug them in. The polarities don't match up, or the system isn't properly grounded, and the electricity that is used to drive the magnets builds up instead of flowing throught the circuit.
...There's this thing that happens sometimes when you get close to a live mic to say something. You lean in to tell your story, you lean in to sing -- and electrons arc towards the enegry in your skin. A spark jumps towards the electricity in your nerves, the moisture in your lips.
It shocks you.
And it hurts. It hits you right where you don't expect, and it bites you like an animal that feels threatened. The pain doesn't stay, but it hurts in a way that your mind holds on to. It hurts in a way that makes you hesitate every time you think about getting close to that microphone again.
Sometimes it takes being zapped two or three times, but eventually you start to sing "at" the mic, instead of into it. Eventually you start to avoid that negative stimulus, start to utilize fight or flight in even the slightest of ways.
Pavlovian Rock n' Roll.
...I should say what I mean. I should lean into the microphone. Speak into it, not sing "at" it. I should just close my eyes, bear the electricity, and make the music that I was always meant to create.
...but there's a strange kind of wind blowing today.