I used to think of the Fully Celebrated Orchestra’s music as ‘Colorful’, gaudy mufti-music to oversensitize the stems and traps of the self. I’ve begun to see it in a new way. Clear. Transparent.

Think of the wind at war with itself, and you’re the Psychic CNN. Telekinetic waves of power, changing the air and light in the room, getting in your throat a minute. It feels like holding the column of memory upright, like balancing a baseball bat in your hand until its weight disappears. Laugh!

So I see invisible things now, this groove-flow pouring off the bandstand like spooky smoke, Ol’ Hobbs, standing there talking in waves of force, flashing, bouncing off the ceiling. Fireworks, electricity somehow solid. It gets in you and tests your circuits. Your insides may boil in the nicest way. Let it.

Be a cooking pot for every invisible thing, see your feelings draw themselves to the surface, and convect back down into darkness as the next message comes up, like alphabet soup on the stovetop. Every molecule activated (even the heavy stuff).

Brad Lingam