91.5 technical hours. Left.
It’s been the most lucid, surreal, peacefilled day, even with work and coursework.
Paco is making lavender clouds in one corner of the space, Berlioz is using losing his shit in love with whores in another, and Vivaldi, Brahms & Mozart wait as I sprawl out happy, buzzed by watching God handle things I placed on his altar gig-wise months ago in ways that dizzy the mind. The exertion of carrying the record player up into my space pales in comparison to the afterglow of a decent glass of local red wine, my first since new years.
It really IS different, vinyl.
I forget that. Until it’s classical.
Making peace with the shit that was in your story is so important. That’s what breaks it down to mulch.
…I hope your evening plays out peaceably.