Spun on coffee, listening to music, and being in love

And this really isn't a story. We really need more types to choose from.

Back aroound (Canadian spelling eh?) '86 or '87 when "Marching Out" came out, I can remember the evenings I used to spend sitting in front of my room mates high end (at the time) CD player and tube receiver (definitely high end!) and listening to various of it's tracks over and fracken over again. One night in particular, clutching some truck driver serving of iced tea and dreaming.

Yeah, dreaming!

Music is supposed to do you the favor of taking you away from the daily bull5h1t isn't it? And back when you're in your teens / late teens, dreaming is huge thing isn't it? Or was that just me? And as you get older, shouldn't music remind you of how really free you can be should you decide it? Should you decide that what you want is what "YOU" want as opposed to what those around your say you should?

That night was inwardly epic in a way that only a true introvert can understand. It seemed as dark, cool, sweet, and mysterious as it should always be. The ambiance of glowing tubes and power lights in the darkness as I sat on the floor with my legs wrapped in blanket: status information scrolling past diligently and endlessly. My mind gone, seeming to wander out into space and borne aloft by a desire to just go. Into a sky that I don't know and into a future that I can't possibly begin to guess at. An introverted wandering powered by EL34's and stacked DiMarzio's singing out in anger as they harness the esoteric energy of sonic theory. Emotion breaking down and being reborn again over and over in vacuum, layered with delay, made huge and spacious with reverb, and finally punched outward into space through the vibration of paper.

Someone creating from that space was talking to me that night just as they are again speaking to me now. I listened and listened and listened and while never fully understanding the message, I've only now realized that point of this communication wasn't to understand it, but experience it. To just let it deliver me to times medieval or put me in places distant, fantastic, and other worldly. A quantum communication of the fantastic from one binding field to another. A delivery in a manner beyond the physical, but initiated by taylored sonic disturbance, colored by an individual in the grip of the same nature as I. Once received, mine to interpret as only I would. The greatest gift ever given to me, I played it over and over again, each time hearing and seeing more or different details of the communicated energy and interpreted setting.

The night time sky was alive and vibrant. Dots of light flickering above through the canopy or across a desert. The wind cool, full, and somehow torpid. The deepest green of an eventime forest enveloping in warmth. That JCM was the perfect emotion engine. Each pulse or subtle bleed of energy like a twinkling in the heavens. A momentary and emotive flash hinting at the brilliance of the design. The power tubes swelling and ebbing. Their magnetic fields doing the bidding of a ilk mate that was always there and will always be. Painting the soft and warm bladed floor green. Infusing the spring time air with honey. Instilling the wavering leaves with peace. My ilk mate, hammering out a space and moment in eternity for me and one that may someday be within arms reach. My exact opposite twin separated by a dis-heartening multiple of 365.