Horns Up, Frankenstein

When the steady flow of missed connections hits critical mass, I am a heat-seeking missile for humanity in all its horror. I need to be overwhelmed, and I will find something to push me over the edge no matter how much dignity it strips away from my neurons and nerves. Usually I fall into music, because it strikes the gossamer chord of ordered chaos.

Tonight I stand stock-still in front of the speakers, feeling life pulse around the stage and praying it will beat itself into me, willing the bass line to defibrillate my heart to life, to shock my brain into sanity. All night I cling to the band’s fingers and lungs as if it matters. How could it not, when it induces a focus that tempers the incessant lunacy which too often threatens the integrity of my mind?

When the melody saturates my brain, when it spills over from the back of my head and warps the social contract I often drag myself through, that’s when I freeze up or cut out or both. The stakes– imaginary and otherwise– are just too high. So I abscond to my basement, where there is nothing to ruin but myself and my own.

On nights like this I could scare off the best of you.


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