The rave’s behind you, distant & on other streets, while you are inside with me, safe. A glass of water, the light of the Playstation 2, & the air out there moist; I can tell just looking at it—just looking at you. I turn off the lights and hear only the darkness, raw and fuzzy. I grab the controller. I unmute the TV, raise the volume. & this is what I hear:
Pads as if mimicking the ambience of fountains, or the beauty of the snow caps of the Alps, or the buzz of tropical flora. Pads that slow down our heart-beat, make us supple and wholesome, offer an escape, like when you’re finally alone inside of your room with the door closed & the blinds drawn & no one can get in—just you, your things, your life before your eyes.
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