©
Prerecorded History
I can still remember running my fingers across leathery texture on the cover of my mother’s Deja Vu and how I felt like time was, in a strange way, repeating itself and that my mother was eighteen again. The first time I slid Chicago V out of it’s wood-patterned sleeve and let the needle’s groove guide me through the sounds was when my dad introduced me to thrust of jazz. I laid with my eyes closed, alone, and fell in love on my apartment floor. “It’s in your blood,” the music sang. I prefer you to a lover because you only tell me what I want to hear. You make me feel just the way I like, whether my tea is hot or cold.  When I learned that a digital sound wave is rigid and starch like a heart monitor or the Catholic church, I felt like I had been bastardizing one of the most pure forms of nature. You’ve been bouncing that needle closer to the center ever since before the thought of me was ever conceived. So when I found out that your sound waves flow like a body of water or rolling hills or leaves caught in the wind, you taught me how to make love. And that why she makes me get out of bed, just to flip the record over before i do the same to her. Maybe it’s the way you always have something to tell me the instant that I drop the needle down. Maybe it’s the way the needle effortlessly hugs the groove like my father does my mother, so tightly bound that it forms me still today. Maybe it’s the way her and I are at our finest when we’re moving with the frequency of the music in the other room. Maybe it’s the feeling of finding that dusty old crates in the cellar, filled with prerecorded history and realizing nothing is ever truly lost. Maybe it’s that sound of the whole album, musicians and all, spirals down into a some sort of sound portal when I hit the stop button mid-song. Maybe it’s the way a black man can make a saxophone wail or whine or whisper. Maybe it’s the way I feel my mother and I shed the same tear to Neil Young. Or maybe it’s the way you can make me feel sepia tone in the twenty first century. 

shreksforthememories:

food should be free. water should be free. housing should be free. power, fuel, electricity should be free. basic necessities should be free.

the idea of “people should have to work for a living” carries the implication that some people deserve to die

(via high-freedom)

lost-hippie:

x
The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.
by Alan Watts (via feellng)

(via chinchinchong)

catanakin:

Jefferson Airplane posters from 60’s

(via hooping-mermaid)

sunflower-mama:

Mantra