By Gaby Pinewood and Cyrbrieme Hargrove
I’m not a hipster I’m an archeologist of sorts In short, I collect the fossils Of music in its truest form Vinyl
I know I know, seems pointless But to me they’re vital for survival They allow me to be me in this open sea
Because nowadays it’s all about the stream
That doesn’t give it’s fish anything
As the record turns, All I feel is bliss. Imaginary worlds Away from antagonizing grips; A quiet, loud, soothing sound for the soul.
That beautiful crackle in the sound, The pure form of a true sound. I feel a new strength in the breath of its soul.
Vinyl It’s not in the silent headphones, I’ve let its music pour out to the whole room.
A few of my favorites came in the form of a gift given
As the record keeps spinning I force my mind to see it different Awaken memories of former friends Stories that come to an end I guess that’s what’s so great about
Vinyl Reset the needle and begin again
The shroud of the unyielding figures
Makes the needle drag itself; A wound to the beautiful sound. In an instant, the vinyl disappears To create the quiet I’m confined to.
Imaginary worlds only when I’m alone,
I traipse to grasp this calm survival.
I hope to watch my collection grow
As I grow old myself I don’t collect in pursuit of wealth
Now I usually show them off To impress someone else An extension of me Another way for people to see
The thoughts that I conceive
Without hearing me speak Vinyl In this form all of my thoughts are complete
They’re all unique
Isolation factor, Common feat in secrecy, Joy regardless of the scold; Bring me to a world of forever daydreaming- Ethereal life through the sound Between what doesn’t matter at all.