Prednisone has my mind racing. It makes me feel like a drug addict/artist–creativity pulsing, inspired like a jackhammer, with no reason save for the steroids racing through my blood stream. ‘ROID RAGE. Once I wished that I could take prednisone forever because it made me feel like I was on drugs to amplify already good things. Prednisone makes the act of reading and writing feel like I’m dancing like the girl in Flashdance. It makes words sing off the page and paintings speak directly at me in a way that feels as straight forward as a bass drum. In other words, dreams come true.
A friend of a good friend of mine, a person I’ve never met, has been emailing me music for the past few days. I’ve complied this playlist from him that I’ve been listening to non-stop for the past 48 hours. I’m playing it right now, actually. It’s all kind of ethereal, weighty, swirling drum&bass melodies that have turned into the soundtrack of my life for the past few, rather poignant days. It also kind of places him in my life in a weird way because I’ve never met him, but I’m kind of drooling over this music. It has lifted me; kind of a unique circumstance where someone I’ve never met has supported me (unknowingly) in an important way. Anyone wanna dance??? I’m dancing in my chair.
The mutual friend I share with this guy, a really good friend of mine, gave me the book Tiny Beautiful Things yesterday. (I see you Caido, I’m talkin’ boutcha.) Anyway, it’s incredible. What a difference honest words and swirly beats make.
Also reading Leaving the Atocha Station and The Flamethrowers.
I didn’t set up this photo op. I actually took the first shot from far away because I didn’t want to unplug my iPhone from the stereo, and then I realized how beautiful it looked. Not my apartment, unfortunately. Last day of housesitting, back to the man cave tomorrow. Think I’ll take a bath.
"hi i'm here" 