another case
i feel so bad for not writing any fanfiction in way too long, but i'll keep telling you i'm working on them till my face is blue, or they're on this page, whichever comes first
to suffice, i have an essay i had to write for my english class, well, it needs no preface, i hope you like it,
Witness
At least once every year I, along with several others, make an irregular journey to a very tall echo chamber to watch a group or a singular being, somehow higher revered than the rest of the crowd, stand on a stage and recite things I already know. Somehow the appeal is not accurately based on how I’ve set up the circumstance. It’s more than a man or woman on a stage preaching at me, but a prophet, a philosopher, an alternate author telling me their story, their findings, their life. And even though I may be surrounded by thousands of others, it still always feels as if that being on the stage is speaking directly to me.
A few months back, the jostle in that pit of the stomach I never remember about until its walls are mercilessly beat with butterfly wings was growing with every tense buzz around me. Seated in a row with a car-full of friends, my legs bounced to express the jumble I felt inside, the nervous alertness I assume at times like this. Sharing wide smiles with those next to me in between uncontrollable girlish noises squeaking from glossed lips, pressed together, pinning in everything for just a few more moments.
There’s a certain bliss that carouses through my nerves when the lights shut off. At first a fleeting dread of power loss, of blackout and of failure, but it’s quickly replaced by a different squirm inside, a euphoric feel of falling. That same pit of my stomach bursting inside, spreading through me and everyone screamed at once. It’s a power surge to supplement the blackness; the center of our arrangement became the only apparent entity. For the next two hours, the stage was our world. Outside there was nothing, beyond me there was everything.
Albeit all preparation and chanted mantras of relaxation, chaos unfolded as the ever familiar string of notes blasted at every last eardrum. I forgot the countdown, the timeline to when the show would start and suddenly I was there. I was a participant to prophesy; I forgot all physical rules as to how a body should behave, jumping, slapping at the ones I knew beside me. The first scream that slipped from my throat was hoarse and desperate, but somehow it meshed with everyone else’s guttural noises. In a magnificent explosion of orange and red lights those mediums made their appearance on the stage, and in the front of my mind.
Completely absorbed in the awesomeness of it all, the only reactions I could produce were arbitrary shouts between ambiguous mouth motions, reciting words I’d been waiting to hear manifested. The world we’ve become devoted to slowly fades, hours beat on against energetic bodies and soon the luster was wearing away in the philosopher’s eyes. The passion they put out for us was drawn back in-but not without a final kiss off. They announced their intentions and began to play, slowly, practiced and familiar. Words I knew, not from them, but from an older cultured group that loosened years ago.
Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around the two I love, chaining myself to them, a silent promise and worthwhile grin. It became so much more than two hours of darkness and loud noise. But a community, united under a singular force-visible now in the shining spotlights. I was able to take those I care deeply for and connect with so many more at once. We all let those familiar words escape our lips and together we sang.
I’ve heard of healings, of lyrics pulling souls through wretched bodies and of loyal respect providing comfort to lagging mentalities. I’ve heard of movements, encouragements and revolutions wrought on by chord changes and patterns in a chaotic radio frequency. I can contain the satisfaction of a plastic-wrapped case, feeling the rigid vinyl under my fingers, but there is no urn to contain this living entity. Music is but so intangible that it makes all things conceivable in an abstract, two hour universe.
There’s the echo effect, the ringing of ears and the quivering legs at the first bodily rest. All signs and reminders of the great apocalypse witnessed, only the feel reborn again as both the lights and the participants return.
to suffice, i have an essay i had to write for my english class, well, it needs no preface, i hope you like it,
Witness
At least once every year I, along with several others, make an irregular journey to a very tall echo chamber to watch a group or a singular being, somehow higher revered than the rest of the crowd, stand on a stage and recite things I already know. Somehow the appeal is not accurately based on how I’ve set up the circumstance. It’s more than a man or woman on a stage preaching at me, but a prophet, a philosopher, an alternate author telling me their story, their findings, their life. And even though I may be surrounded by thousands of others, it still always feels as if that being on the stage is speaking directly to me.
A few months back, the jostle in that pit of the stomach I never remember about until its walls are mercilessly beat with butterfly wings was growing with every tense buzz around me. Seated in a row with a car-full of friends, my legs bounced to express the jumble I felt inside, the nervous alertness I assume at times like this. Sharing wide smiles with those next to me in between uncontrollable girlish noises squeaking from glossed lips, pressed together, pinning in everything for just a few more moments.
There’s a certain bliss that carouses through my nerves when the lights shut off. At first a fleeting dread of power loss, of blackout and of failure, but it’s quickly replaced by a different squirm inside, a euphoric feel of falling. That same pit of my stomach bursting inside, spreading through me and everyone screamed at once. It’s a power surge to supplement the blackness; the center of our arrangement became the only apparent entity. For the next two hours, the stage was our world. Outside there was nothing, beyond me there was everything.
Albeit all preparation and chanted mantras of relaxation, chaos unfolded as the ever familiar string of notes blasted at every last eardrum. I forgot the countdown, the timeline to when the show would start and suddenly I was there. I was a participant to prophesy; I forgot all physical rules as to how a body should behave, jumping, slapping at the ones I knew beside me. The first scream that slipped from my throat was hoarse and desperate, but somehow it meshed with everyone else’s guttural noises. In a magnificent explosion of orange and red lights those mediums made their appearance on the stage, and in the front of my mind.
Completely absorbed in the awesomeness of it all, the only reactions I could produce were arbitrary shouts between ambiguous mouth motions, reciting words I’d been waiting to hear manifested. The world we’ve become devoted to slowly fades, hours beat on against energetic bodies and soon the luster was wearing away in the philosopher’s eyes. The passion they put out for us was drawn back in-but not without a final kiss off. They announced their intentions and began to play, slowly, practiced and familiar. Words I knew, not from them, but from an older cultured group that loosened years ago.
Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around the two I love, chaining myself to them, a silent promise and worthwhile grin. It became so much more than two hours of darkness and loud noise. But a community, united under a singular force-visible now in the shining spotlights. I was able to take those I care deeply for and connect with so many more at once. We all let those familiar words escape our lips and together we sang.
I’ve heard of healings, of lyrics pulling souls through wretched bodies and of loyal respect providing comfort to lagging mentalities. I’ve heard of movements, encouragements and revolutions wrought on by chord changes and patterns in a chaotic radio frequency. I can contain the satisfaction of a plastic-wrapped case, feeling the rigid vinyl under my fingers, but there is no urn to contain this living entity. Music is but so intangible that it makes all things conceivable in an abstract, two hour universe.
There’s the echo effect, the ringing of ears and the quivering legs at the first bodily rest. All signs and reminders of the great apocalypse witnessed, only the feel reborn again as both the lights and the participants return.