Addicted To That Rush
My name is Grace and I'm a Rockaholic.
I never did drugs. Most people don’t believe that when they see me and know my line of work but it’s the goddamn truth. I was just never curious enough to try and always had too good of a time with my bottle of Jack to “need” that chemical rush. Of course one could argue that alcohol is also a drug and as such I am a “user”, but I never drank to get drunk, only to socialize, and I would quite frankly be just as happy with a glass of water to sustain my party mood throughout the evening.
Music is my high. I am a crackwhore galore when it comes to cranking those tunes. Sometimes I think that music does to me what drugs do to others. There is that element of the initial rush, the lingering buzz, the coming down and the addicting desire to hear more, to do it again. The good part is that I can do it as many times as I want to and still walk away as sane, sound and sharp as I was when I started.
I put on Opeth’s “Damnation” and I find myself floating away on a cloud into a black and white photograph… Soft rain on my face (and I don’t even like rain on my face usually) and a gentle tugging at my heart to lead me through the dreamy quicksilver heavens. The melancholic vocals and sensual guitars beckon me to go deeper… higher… and the hypnotic basslines roll me along in slow motion spiral somersaults until I don’t know what is up or down. I feel utterly desolate and content at the same time, floating in my own bubble of perpetual falling. When the CD is over it’s like I have said my goodbyes to a dear friend I’ll never see again and there is a pang of loss and sadness in my heart.
I listen to The Haunted’s “Revolution” and feel my body explode as adrenaline rushes like wild fire to set my being ablaze. My blood is roaring like white noise and I just want to go with it. I feel like a bullet, just shot out of a gun, racing towards an inevitable target where I will be smashed to pieces… and it doesn’t matter. As long as I can burn to the thrashing riffs and raging vocals, as long as I can set my heart to match the pace of the drums and my breathing to follow the bass I am just fucking swell. A Dodge Charger racing down the interstate doing 180 mph with the engine redlining into impossible rpms, finally cutting out and sending me to crash and burn in an orgasm of fire, smoke, blood and metal. When the CD is over I’m panting and I feel drained of energy, as if I have run a goddamn marathon at break neck speed.
I put on Iron Maiden’s “Somewhere in time” and just lean back and chill… I feel immensely happy and at peace with the universe as the songs I have heard a million times before wrap me up in that security blanket where everything is just fucking dandy. I close my eyes and just feel my soul sway with the guitar harmonies and familiar lyrics that tell of things I picture in my mind as I hum along… It’s like that beautiful sleepy state you’re in after making love to your woman, having released all sexual energy only to fall into a deeper state of semi-consciousness, only all sounds are more acute, all smells stronger and all visions clearer. I could care less if the world came crashing down around my shoulders at that very moment as I’m perfectly content in the womb of my mind, relaxing my muscles and setting my thoughts free to go chase dreams of their own… When the music is over it’s like you just woke up from one of those educational movies in school. The teacher turns on the light and you stretch and yawn and realize you just had a phenomenal nap.
Cranking Shotgun Messiah I feel like it’s time to party. Dancing genes I don’t have try to convince me that I should get moving and get some action going. I feel as energized as that goddamn pink bunny on a crack binge, and my mind is bouncing with happiness. In my mind I ride a Harley along a sunny beach with friggin’ dolphins jumping in the water. It’s summer, but not hot – the cool wind makes me wanna go faster and still it doesn’t make my hair into a crow’s nest. Blood pumps into places designed for my wife to blow and I am happy as a pig in shit, craving more and more. As the CD ends I find myself rummaging for others like it, hoping to prolong the high and re-live the buzz a second time… Sadly I will spend the rest of the day chasing that first rush and the aftermath leaves a fake taste in my mouth.
I may be straight’n’narrow as far as drugs go, but I am straight to hell when it comes to what I listen to. I pick my music by the way it makes me feel. If it does nothing for me I can’t relate to it and it falls dead to my feet. I need to go into it, be one with it, taste it, smoke it, suck it, snort it or shoot it to connect with it… And once I do I am higher than a kite in a Florida hurricane… forever losing myself to powers greater than mine…
Music is my trip and I just fucking wish I could take you all on it…
