Another Sonic Revival
I lay in the backyard, a contorted mess of cotton and skin, staring up at the night sky. Headphones on, eyes affixed upwards staring into an abyss. But a few seconds passed until a streak of light shot between the flecks of white littering above. The plinking of a harp whispering through my headphones was complimenting the strings of debris in the sky beautifully. The more stars raced across the sky, the more my breath fell shallow. The more my breath fell shallow, the more my heart thrust and wriggled. My eyes, wide open, were dumbstruck, staring directly at Cassiopeia. My body, a frozen slab of meat, was still as my mind raced about looking for a place to settle. And as Joanna Newsom sung in my ears, to go where the trees go, I remembered to breathe. And as I remembered to inhale the cold air of that 12:15 morning, my eyes, my heart, my mind and my body were all alone. As I stared upwards on the dewey backyard sofa, my eyes, my mind and my body all became transfixed towards one overwhelming colossus of a meteorite. I became bewildered for all five seconds during that running streak of light going across what seemed like all of the sky above me — all of my thoughts were taken away with it. Breath, emotion and sight taken by a rock that caught me by surprise. I wasn’t sure what to think, but I knew what I wanted — and as Thurston Moore sung in my ears, reminding me to memorize my lines, reminding me about my disconnection notice and what to read or write or say, I lay there for the next half hour, still staring and still impressed. By the time I could recover, I picked up by head, rested my eyes and walked into my home.
