Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Dear Journal

I have my days of worshipped dreams; wishing, living in New York’s lights, Europe’s sacred grace. But today in Phoenix wasn’t so bad. Phantogram in concert was more than anything I have ever experienced before. It was trance-like. In a small urban venue, I closed my eyes and swayed back and forth to the local beats that grazed each ray of light—in sync with the crowd’s pulse. Tonight I felt okay, more than okay, I felt healed. It’s been a long time. I danced how I wanted to dance. I was alive, crazed, one with the music, one with the moment. Encore and all, however, it had to end. I gripped my leather jacket and braced for the new cold that has finally found the Arizonan desert and called its fall. My ears were numb from harmonized souls, but there I was, throbbing in a high of something utterly unforgettable, something I could finally call an experience worth something.