Yesterday, my iPod died. On a boat, somewhere in the East Indian Archipelago between Bali & the Gili islands, the guys at SkyBox stopped talking mid-sentence.
So I delt with it. With this gorgeous scenery and the sound of waves behind the roar of 6 motors, I could survive without some philosopher in my ear.
I’ll deal with it.
Then, weed. Glorious weed. And with it, a surpassingly interesting and asthetic girl to trade stories with.
“I love the beat of this music. With the waves.”
And I heard it. The slow, head bopping boom-pa boomp boomp boom-pa boomp of the music drifting from the beach bar. The ever-relaxing hiss and crash of the waves on the beach.
Joe Rogan’s got some competition. And he would approve.
Today, my iPod is still dead. The Drunken Taoist is silent, Joe Rogan is on haitus, and all the entrepreneurs are sharing their philosophy in other’s ears.
For me, the sound of wind in the leaves, laughter with friends, the meeting of ocean and earth, the chatter of the morning islanders, and clip clap of the horse-drawn-carts. Even the sporatic drum of the of the electricity generator across the street.
This is music. A form of music I’d nearly forgotten to love.