signs and rituals

#1 Dads

I get hyper-obsessed with sounds, songs, vocal artists. I may very well think of them more than I think about flowers.

This is the truth, we need to meet this head-on.

It's also the selfish reason why this blog tab is lined with emotional riffs and subconscious word vom rather than my opines on Stargazer Lilies, (non-committal), or porn shots of Ranunculus, (I'll still hand that out). 

I like to wallow in soundscapes with strange voices and oboes. I like to read all the music periodical, wikipedia and album review articles. I like to watch ALL the music videos. I especially like to imagine myself IN these music videos. I like to dance wildly in the living room when Jacob's at soccer. I like to have a little too much wine and lie flat on the hardwood floor with a single on repeat. I like to send links, mp3s and album covers to my friends, crowing how they CANNOT NOT LISTEN to this band.

Music is dually a communal / individual experience. We trip subjectively into a different dimension of our senses. We experience something together apart. I had a long stretch of years loving a man that shared the same kind of vocalized, vibrational headiness. He hasn't returned 1:37am texts since 2014. So mostly, I travel alone - stacking playlists, creating icons and style-plotting my eventual album cover. There will be all the filters, my head will be tipped back, a windfan will blow.

Back to what I said earlier about the line between my work and my muse. The experience of sensory art, in whatever form, is what makes us Human. We don't need it to breathe, but we need it to realize an exceptional, inherent system of percussive synapses, cones and rods, gravitational pull towards something bigger. Put me in a room with flowers or music, I'll react the same. I'll want to study it, move around it, talk thru the composition, level of saturation, requirements of production. All within the same luxurious language!

And I get to speak it with you.