Make a MIX tape, give it a name and write on it with ink, give it to your girl and get a kiss. Hold a big round record with two hands delicately on the edges, put it on your turn table, watch the needle drag dreams out. Smell the quality eek into the air.
If you don’t like the album, frisbee the sucker cross the living room out the window and stop traffic.
Buy a turntable. Turn on to the vinyl spin, Sounds mixed down from tape.
Get an old school boom box, kill the ear buds that killed your taste buds.
Frequencies pushed out from large woofers and tweeters. Woof woof, tweet. Get some speakers, real speakers, big old speakers. Thumpers.
Connectivity issues are gone, analogue is received through airwaves and ear canals.
Pinch a dial, twist a rotary knob swirl. Watch equalizer led’s light up like escalating waves in a dark room, like stars jumping at night.
Buy a cheap paperback novel, treat it rough, write notes in the page borders, crease over the corners to find the naughty bits. Fold it over like a sandwich and stick it in your pocket, to eat later.
Read CATCHER IN THE RYE, read DOWN AND OUT IN PARIS AND LONDON, read TRILBY.
The new is killing the grace and beauty of our lives. The new is NEVER new and never truly old. It’s obsolete when it leaves the factory door, useless, never antique, just waiting for broken, it can’t match analogue quality. There’s not enough BITS to replicate NO bits.
Get a film camera, shoot portraits and touch the faces. Bring the faces out into the open, stuck on your fridge, caught in your wallet.
Pull out a memory. Pull your life from the jaws of the cloud.
Be next to someone and see the world, they are not a robot, they are not digital. They are human, you are human, we are human.
Be a human addict. Be addicted.