Reverb
Do you ever want to scream really loud?
Maybe what I’m talking about doesn’t count as a scream. It’s not what kids do when they’re having a tantrum; I don’t think kids are even capable of what’s on my mind because even if they have been through enough to birth one of these vocalisations, they simply don’t have the mass to produce one.
There’s probably an algorithm floating around in the ether-like I think there is for most things-that denotes, or defines the thresholds that need to be crossed for a human to become what is required, to accrue the power to scream loud enough to be heard throughout the universe. I don’t think that it’s important that it be discovered, just like I don’t think that it’s valuable to discuss whether the universe actually hears you or not. A lot of the time it’s important to be heard, other times it’s just important to be really fucking loud so that you can hear yourself.
A picture is worth 1000 words. I’m not sure that’s enough, but I know that most of the time it’s far too many. Do you have any pictures that don’t look like much, but they display an inexplicable moment that is lost to, or lost on, anyone else? Do you have any pictures that strike you mute, and your entire being bows in silent reverence? Do you have scars? How many words are those worth? Can you even articulate how you got them, and do you know that you also bear all of the scars that you have delivered? How do you feel about that? What are the words for those? Shame. Rage. Fear. Pride. Love. Compassion. Confusion. Just a few words, and every one a different story for everyone.
Billions of words have been written about these inexplicable things, but they’re as nothing compared to the last time you screamed into your pillow, the last time you let the facade drop and fully expressed a pure emotion, or all of them at once. It’s a lot of power to just hold.
The last time I screamed like that I was underwater. I had made a habit of hiking to locations with glacial runoff to swim in, and swimming in it. One scream wasn’t enough as the water was so cold that I could barely catch my breath, so I had to go under a few times to get it out, whatever IT was. That done, I did one more for the camera, then hiked back feeling much different, feeling primal.
It’s what happens when you get goosebumps, something has appealed to your first nature, and the excitement is automatic. Music does that a lot; that’s why you find yourself stepping in time to the beat you’re listening to, or feeling the emotions of complete strangers, their rage, their love, their grief. Sometimes you cry, sometimes you smile, sometimes it changes everything. That’s a lot of power. Where does it come from? How does someone break through the fourth wall with you, grab you by the soul, and shake it until your hair stands on end?
They don’t. They’re just doing what you need to be able to allow yourself to let your soul be shaken.
Volume helps. I used to love being on stage with my band, Wretch. I’m still not sure if I was more myself when I was up there, or not like my usual self at all. I guess both were true. I didn’t even feel human when I was up there. I felt like an entity, white hot, boiling over, and really, really loud. I got to scream then, and I screamed a lot, enough that I came to understand that it wasn’t rage, though that’s what my face was showing, it wasn’t grief, though my eyes were streaming, it wasn’t joy, though I was having the time of my life; it was just everything that I could manage at the time, everything I had to give. I think it was love. I think it was love for me, and every once in a while, if my eyes weren’t screwed shut in my extremity, I’d see someone, with their reverberant soul, join me.
