i am (stubbornly, constantly) a record-listener.
it is perhaps not the most practical thing in the world. (why don't you try finding a decent record store in singapore.) it is, however, a true thing. a good thing, the kind you can feel seeping through you, knocking on open doors. i believe music (if nothing else) deserves to be felt. the (heart)beat of it deserves to be heard, thrumming, humming. music is an entity of atoms unable to sit still, shivering, shimmying. i think it deserves to be held.
i started paying attention to the (many) ways in which i change.
i am a teenager, and so it is perhaps not such an illogical thing that a great many aspects of myself are achingly transient. this is (they tell me) a part of life: you are familiar for a moment, and the next (too soon, always too soon) you are a stranger.
but here: have this music. (this music that begs to be felt.)
(perhaps) this is the loveliest thing of all. i am holding the records and there is a song of knowing: there are some things that are too deft to be caught by the jaws of change. (and music is one of them.) and i am an ocean, and these are the tides, and the music is the anchor. hold it. feel its lightyears of lightning. of this certain relief in the act of staying the same.
and it is like this: there are the records. and there are the headphones. and then there is the music. (the music. the music. the music. always the music.) and the music is real, dancing, endless, spinning on the record player, spinning through the heart-place. and the rest of the shitty stuff is (for the most part) tucked away.
it will be here later. (it will not disappear forever. there is nothing that truly disappears forever. for better or for worse.)
but here: have a music that is endless and a disappearance that is (too) ephemeral. tie them together. (perhaps they will not go easily. that is okay too, i am learning. chaos is the way of the universe.) and you have this magic: the singing ringing thrumming humming shivering shimmying song.
hold it in your hands. sit still.
the act of changing (and of disappearing, and of coming back, welcome or otherwise). and the act of staying the same (and of the realness, the solidness, the anchoring). and (impossibly, inevitably) both all at once.
it is all here, in the records, in the music. listen for it. it is beckoning, calling your name.