seventh and fifth harmonics

mattress isn't going to pull the typical move and whine about how sappy all the couples are being today. it's the 15th and that shit is behind us, even if the echoes are still bouncing around.

you know that feeling you get when that first band-specific sound cascades down from a stage; when, at that very moment, the concert just began? then usually there is a tantalizingly slow build up, or sound check, until the speakers just unloose those candy-striped transmissions which were the reasons, one by one and sequentially, for coming. that absolutely-recognizable first song....a promise of what's just about to come. the adrenaline starts flooding, even collectively, in this giant throng of people sharing at least that commonality. it is a moment of supreme abandon, quite distinct in its methods.

how much more fluidly life would progress if this was the feeling that wrapped itself around oneself in the morning; eyes creaking open, mind dissolving in the sensuality of the lights, the sounds, the sensations? if we were more giving with our mental resources, more committed to entering fully into a state of receptivity....things would be much different than they are. our attention is such a valuable resource to us; we siphon and measure it out into our individual array of pots and pans, and simmer/juggle it like the most overburdened chefs with critics to impress. we accomplish much, but in the wayside we leave our sanity and, too many times, our personality. our ability to live joyfully and untroubled, like children. it's an all-too-human trait that whatever we are shuffling around in other areas of our lives tends to spill over its boundaries, toeing the lines of containment that we thought we had set up. it shades your thought, which is your lens to the world. reaping what we sow, perhaps you could say.

"cause you can choose to say 'good morning, God' or 'good God, morning'
with black clouds storming
i walk without umbrellas into these woods
don't need 'em 'cause the mighty trees above will shelter me good
i'm eating berries from the bushes of the heavenly good
from the stakes the power came to us whenever we stood
reverberatin' out, we're reachin' each and every hood"
~ blackalicious - first in flight

matches knows for a fact that when he wakes up, the world tends to crash down on him...typically in a negative way. and this isn't laziness, though he has experienced his fair share of that over the years. it stems from a distancing of his priorities, because for whatever reason he has chosen a set of them that currently do not yield much monetary value in today's world. he has a basket of things he would like to accomplish or try his hand at, in any given day. but he needs to tuck some money in his mattress (proper) so that he can continue to live in the style that he is accustomed to (not exactly lavish, but he did spring for a really nice apartment for once in his life. you probably know how much a contract monthly bill can tangle your priorities).

but he misses that concert feeling, once it is gone. the dynamic rush, the abandonment, the absolute justification; the conviction that you are currently experiencing something worth your while. it's a potent feeling. matches knows that life can contain this feeling, that a mind can. it's just a matter of accessing it, and society seems to be a tough nut to crack (remember the cartoon with the squirrel and the coconut? allegorical). is life 'musical'? is that natural force too much to expect from reality (occasionally, italicization denotes when he would like to remember a point for later deconstruction)? there is this experience that he knows/hopes everyone has, where he walks at night with his headphones unspooling some thievery corporation or such to him. and that itself isn't so notable, but there is a concatenation, hidden from all other ears/eyes/steps, going on there. it all fits so brilliantly; he is convinced that there is an innate correlation between music and the gyroscopic functionings of either the physical world, the mind, or both. or perhaps music is the sparked product of some friction between the two. either way, he is convinced that this is no falsity.

the question is, how do we capture that momentum; how do we swing on a star?