Broken Earbud Madness

Photo without a Photographer
Photo Cred: Woodheavy Brown 2015

Broken Earbud

There’s a madness visiting my head, a bright familiarity. It always leads to this:

The decline of one weaves itself into the rough, uncomfortable tonality of all. Our loss of such close or distant companions causes the crags and blotches we can’t hide. Slowly, but faster every day, these abrasions weaken our communal unity.

The broken wire—piercing the lard that sits and swings our heart strings, too tense between—it carries the indivisible motion of sounds, sights, and cinnamon sticks—meaning sensations—because it can, because it does as developed. Not without thought, it’s forever mutable. But without a plan, it’s the thoughtlessness making the wire wired. It’s the sound making the wire dance. And at the same time, the wire is the sound—indivisible waves made of music. It always leads to this:

Folding the blue tarp
Push-broom-ing the dusty asphalt
Hard-wheel skating the rough transitions
Thomas loosens the polkadot necktie
Bonney swirls her bittersweet mocha
Eliot runs a lime-green comb through his hair
Tom Tom sleeps in Salvador’s fulsome arms
Deconstructing the tent poles
Folding the blue tarp
Breathing in the blossoming car perfume

I met a man, and we transacted bicycles. We connected through common communication, words and body language, a familiarity with bike culture. We exchanged ideas, knowledge, steel and aluminum alloy, handshakes and fist bumps, personal details and then—least importantly—money.

I’m a hat without a hatter, or I’m the airplane flight turbulence without the airplane passengers. Lifted. Neutral. Just up here dreaming, dancing, being.

I am only the words. It will fall to someone with bone in legs to walk the actions.

There’s a madness visiting my head.

K. Shawn Edgar | Hatless Madder | All City Drop Out | Bike Redistribution

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