there is music on speakers & there are birds chirping in trees & somewhere within these songs, amidst their inherent celebration, their borderline euphoria, is everything else.
somewhere in these songs is the laughter on the school bus you were on the wrong side of
somewhere in these songs are the funerals you’ve been to & the funerals you’ll go to
somewhere in these songs are the picked-last-in-gym-class days; the failed math test days
somewhere in these songs is the karma you wrought from finding that envelope full of cash a few summers ago
somewhere in these songs is the shoulder you picked yourself up on last fall; that drew you a circle to spend a new year inside & then erased it by january when you couldn’t appreciate the sketch-work
somewhere in these songs is that awful semester you spent swimming at the bottom of the top of the world at its end
somewhere in these songs are the nervous tics you’ve nearly conquered, the shaky hands that will catch up with you one day, the grooves of the record in your phonographic memory that you’re still trying to spin in the other direction
to know the noises that bring you down exist within the sounds that uplift you—
that the bad is inherently buried within the good—
is to be granted the peace of mind
that the bad won’t take the good from you
that your songs cannot be drowned out by your feedback
they coexist; much like yourselves
hence this one-sided conversation
which is to say
know
you are always in conversation with yourself