by Ami Heller
Peter Gabriel • Blood Of Eden
In the middle of the night gusting winds and rain outside and a dream about falling do not let me sleep. Not being able to collapse back into a soothing coma I prop open a window and inhale nicotine mixed with cool air from a violent breeze hovering over the uncanny streets of Toronto.
Then, lying on the hardwood floor staring blankly at the ceiling. Yearning for a sound to slice the petrifying silence and bring life to my idle body. The chosen soundtrack is full of rich orchestral strings and heavenly creatures serenading. It’s wondrous how my ruminations have been pondered and written and sang before. A calm slowly trickles through each muscle and limb. I scrape myself off the ground and ascend into a desolate haze in which I write this and then plummet again.