you have left us for another world
twenty four days ago not by choice, but as a result of this world's darkness and as a result of your departure, i have seen the darkest days but in my dream last night i saw you i give praise to the dream realm so mysterious, yet full of life you visited me from your world and i visited you from mine as dreams allow us to meet in the middle perhaps that is the only way we can reconnect for now until the day i join your world i prefer dreams over reality i always have felt that way you told me not to be afraid for you are still here somehow it's hard to imagine a lifetime without you these twenty four days have felt empty but i know that in my dreams, you can tell me once more, "do not be afraid for i am still here somehow" tonight when i awaken my subconscious mind i hope you will meet me there because your photo on my bedside table just isn't enough for me and i reach for my phone to call you but in my dreams i can see you smile again, i can hear you and for that, i give praise to the dream realm for you are still here somehow
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My dad and I have not always seen eye to eye on everything. However, music is one thing that has always connected us. My dad is a huge fan of all things vintage -- our garage is adorned with antiques and nearly each room in our house contains a record player. He has just about every vinyl record one could imagine. One night in August of 2017, he asked me if I had ever heard Pink Floyd's The Wall all the way through. I had not. Of course, I had heard a few of their hit singles such as "Wish You Were Here" and "Comfortably Numb," but I had not delved much further.
Thus, that night, he launched me into the world of Pink Floyd, and it made more of an impact on me than I could have ever imagined. We sat down in the "'70s Room--" yes, our guest room is themed with all things psychedelia -- and he set down the needle on Side A of The Wall. The '70s Room has the best-quality record player in the house, and he wanted to make sure I got the full experience. And there we sat, staring at the ceiling, accompanied only by the buzzing of an old blacklight and the encompassing, ethereal sounds of the record. The philosophical lyrics spoke to me in a clarity that I don't think I had ever prior experienced. As the record played through, my dad would periodically explain the meanings behind the lyrics. However, I already understood. This was not just a record -- this was a story, an experience. I entered another world as a line from the sixteenth track pierced me in the chest: I've got wild staring eyes / And I've got a strong urge to fly / But I've got nowhere to fly to (fly to...fly to...fly to...). With each reverb-drowned lyric, glittery guitar solo, and hallucination-inducing synth chord, I felt as if I was listening to an orchestra of my own inner thoughts. The Wall is not just a record, it is a philosophy that I now hold close to me. All in all, it's just another brick in the wall is to say that every trial that Pink, the main character, faced was just an addition to the metaphorical wall he built that closed him off from the outside world. However, toward the end of the opera, it all comes full circle as he tears down his wall, inhabiting all the traits he had once resented. The brick of his father's death, his schoolteacher's tyranny, his mother's overprotection, his wife's adultery, all became part of his new fascist leader identity. This record influenced me in so many ways. I became more passionate about music as a whole, as both a music fan and musician. It allowed me to connect with my father and share our passion for music. And most of all, it taught me to embrace every "brick in my wall," rather than allowing them to harden my heart. |
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