Lithigos

The following is a work of fiction.   The crashing of waves seems violent, but when I picture the body of water as a creature, it becomes the labored breathing of a giant.  It’s one of the few things that can drown out the noise in my head. There’s something so hypnotic about water that makes me lose myself. Sometimes I jump in and just float, feeling the relief of weightlessness. Isn’t that a pleasure anyone is allowed?  Even when the waves are violent, if I float, then I am one with the flow and cannot be shaken.  When I sleep, I hope for nothingness; sometimes I’m greeted by the sensation of being surrounded by cool, numbing water, sweet silence. But then there are occasions where the dream twists and I am surrounded by sharks, tuna, eels, or non-distinct life forms staring into me, sentencing me to some unspoken judgment, and perhaps waiting for me to give in so they may have their way.  It’s truly unsettling.  Still, there is something about the thunde...

When I was around thirteen, I discovered pop music for the first time. And yes, discovered as in never heard it before. My parents didn’t allow us to listen to the radio outside of Classical public radio, not even the Christian music station, which could have been understandable for an reason other than the one we were given: back beats are evil, and they make you do sinful things. In any case, I still discovered a magical world of music I’d never heard. Music made specifically to be catchy and fun and feel-good, with little deeper meaning behind the lyrics. I had various sneaky methods of enjoying myself as a tween and young teenager, like using my portable CD player that had a radio on it, but pretending to listen to an audio book, or looking up music videos or anime on the library computer or at home while pretending to do homework or educational games. I’d already learned by this point that if I wanted to enjoy something, I had to do it in secret. As an adult, my tastes in music ha...