sat back, put my feet up and tilted my head back. things started washing over me in waves... in certain settings, cymbals can sound like surf rolling...

it's just like a movie... in a montage, the camera pans past blinded windows outside the second story of a brown colonial style house, muffled music resounds softly but insistently out, escaping. it's the surplus that doesn't hit his ears. the music enfolds him, buzzing around the room. it was all meant for him. every note has its place, the artform of making a mix makiing him smile. smiling so hard tears come to his eyes.

he wants to answer the questions in some songs, wants to respond to the insistence of others. his senses strain for intake of every nuance of suggestion or emotion each phase of the tape offers. the whole world seems to be revolving around this room this minute this day.

his eyes roll.

his heart aches.

in this movie the camera tracks into the room and settles high above him, looking down. his eyes are fixed on the swirls on the ceiling, as if he's only now noticing their dizzying pattern, like waves flying over him.

there's a time lapse flash in the montage...

...he's laughing...

...flash again...

...he's smiling and staring into the spinning spools of magnetic tape...

...intently...

things are hitting him.

like waves.

he picks up a paper and pen and it fades to black...

...time lapses...

..fade in...

and he's back down, feet up, scribbling. he stops and listens to words that could very well be his own. he can hear her words to him like surf rolling over him, whispering secrets... invigorating his straining senses... tickling his ears.

a gossamer leaf of paper floats lightly in his palm... he squints at it periodically, seemingly unsure if it's actually there, or as if it's some secret recipe he can't quite follow. the camera pans down and zooms in to show delicate black handwriting on this gauzy red paper with white discolorations like paint flicks. he gazes, entranced by the handwriting. he's reminded of another movie.

(red paper, black writing, mysterious music)

his mind churns and rolls in the surf of her secret messages.

it all leaves him spent and blinking, as if he had just survived drowning.