Musics Way

I sit, legs crossed in old Indian style as if I'm in kindergarten once more. Back leaned against the cushion of the torn down couch, head laid back, eyes closed, the beginning of the sounds I plan to get lost in for the next hour start to play. The headphones planted deep in my ears throw the bass from side to side, fading here and there. The beat, the drums, that slight tiss of the high hat make my head slowly move back and forth, from front to back, with my chin slightly down. The sassy piano tuned with the sound of old deep south ring picks up and the horns start to sing, trembling down my neck into my shoulders, giving them a slight bounce. And she starts to sing, too, my Nikka. With words that raise my hands in the sign of hallelujah I shake my head back and forth telling her to go on, tell us about that boy and his wrongs. That bass never comes up to the front of the crying game that is the story that all things put together, layer upon layer, are trying to tell. And I'm there again, the dusty old windows barely letting light in. The broke down pine flooring rough beneath my feet, the back country bar where glory poured out of lips of passion. I'm back in time.

And then it's time to move on. Intense, high sounds of a violin start. Synthetic organ sounds start weaving their way around an electric guitar. Chimes move in the background and the pain of a thousand heartaches flow from her sultry lips. Sneaker Pimps play. I sway, head moving in a wavelike motion side to side. My skin tingles, arms bent at the elbow, hand on my head as if to hold it all in, not to let go of the sounds flowing between my ears and inside my thoughtless mind. The room goes dark as I get lost in the beats. The smokeless fog I'm standing in lays before me in the room of my being. That's where it takes me, leads me, deep inside somewhere only the music can go. A temptress, a seducer, a pimp. It buys and sells my soul and makes me pay with emotion to get it back. And it takes it again, with each new song. God how I love being lost in another time, another place. If only everyone's words could sound the way music does they'd have me at their feet, begging them to let me in their world. If only peoples hearts could be as beautiful as the compilation of sounds. I'll sit, surrounded by mixtures of beats and words and vibrations. The world can keep its people. I'm good where I sit for hours at a time, no need to break out. Yeah, this is where I'm going to stay, inside the beautiful sound.