Moss grows from the speakers. It comes out like ten lies to reach my ears, grabbing at me and pulling me in closer. I can feel the warmth in the harmonic waves. Forest green, the type that is built out of emerald and garnet, grow. It ebbs and flows toward me at a rapid pace, constantly coming and receding like seaweed in the current. I have heard the resonance. As I move around the room rolling and flailing the sounds change, louder then softer the shape of my room is not meant for these acoustics. I play the music loud. The rhythms encroach and fill my mattress like custard. I have spent years perfecting the landscape of my room waiting for this moment. For the perfect spatial sounds. I cannot hear; the music cannot reach me. It is trying, and I allowed myself to be pulled in by it but something is wrong. Maybe I cannot hear. It is only later that I learn that the volume was well below my normal standards. The light carries the space it creates it, it is the medium for the music to exist. It can only move through the thick pink paste that envelopes me. I am alone here with the sounds that have followed me from the womb. This moment was determined decades ago in a bathroom not far from here. I came this far only to hear the dog bark at the right time. Decades ago before there was a bathroom to meet in, the dog felt the beat and let himself go, now, today, his deep voice echoes in my music to complete the composition.
Abbi Kenny