vinyl

i've always said the albums i like best are not the catchy ones. no, no, no. not the immediate ones. you know the ones i mean, the ones that get stuck in your head for days, months even. the ones stuck on repeat because they're easily lovable. those are fun, but not my strange kind.

i prefer the difficult ones. those that take a few listens to grow on you. the ones maybe were even turned off in the middle because it was too much right then to process. but then later you catch yourself humming as you go about your day, or even dream a few lovely bars, waking up thinking you composed it, then realize you didn't. "i've heard this one before." it may take a minute to place it. you get it. and then before you know it, you've tumbled face first into adoration for its concept, its rhythms. you listen completely open and learn all of its words, stunned by its brilliance more at each listen than the time before. everything else gets blown out of your mind. the other music you've listened to prior seems silly and ill-composed and vapid. maybe you try out a few other records but the needle doesn't fit right. they don't warble in the same places or have the same static pop and hiss, or that last note before silence that leaves you wanting to listen all over again from the intro. the records you listened to when you were younger are still dear to you but you've outgrown them. you're haunted. try as you might you'll never be the same. there's no pretending you didn't hear it, being that you are forever changed.

sometimes i must admit, i starve myself of music for days, weeks. imagining it with my eyes closed, the fullness of this note, the hardness of that. i follow the falls and lifts by memory, punctuated by the odd skip, the scars and flaws i also prefer, those are savored as much in the dark as the perfections. i deny myself the pleasure so much that my teeth ache from longing to hear the real thing. ache to bite into a favorite song as if it had skin, as if it could pretend to resist before flooding me ten times sharper.

when the needle fits the groove, oh. to scratch that itch. to fill inner with outer, to bring it inside, and keep it there pulsing, to seize it, pick it apart, devour it, put it back together again. to feel it radiate through your entirety, and just when it can't possibly get any better it does. with each beat light washes out my head and i'm filled to the brim, humming along, throat clenched and forgetting to breathe, although somehow keeping perfect time. i run my fingertips over invisible lyrics like braille, pretending. i have to force my toes to uncurl so i can walk again. yeah, yeah, yeah.