Sound as Medicine

11/27/2015     8:45pm

I’m sitting at Dizzy’s with C-. I had forgotten the power of sound as medicine. I need to come back here. This is my home. Notes fill the air, float directly into my ears. Vibrations cut through my body leaving memories. I close my eyes and the healing is all around me. A broad bright smile comes over my face and I’m warm. I feel love.

I’ve missed it here. I used to come several days a week. I knew everyone. It was my getaway, what fed me, kept me going. But one day I just disappeared and 6 months passed before I realized there was something missing.  I’ve been hesitant, afraid to come back but it’s time. The music and its family are calling me. This place is full of healing and life, joy. Pain turns to sound & understanding. It’s okay just to be. It’s welcomed. Truth is okay. Truth is me. Welcome back to Dizzy’s.

When I came in I gave C- the biggest hug, then another. He sat down with me and got me a hot cocoa. I wish I had a dad. C- would be a great dad. Dr. H pointed out how much I really miss having a dad. I do.

A- just got here and Dr. C is schmoozing on a girl next to us. Weird. I’m thankful for Dizzy’s. Open-source healing, low copay, no limits. Amen.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2015

Tacos in Space

12/30/11     11pm

J- was really high tonight. I noticed immediately. It was annoying. It seems hypocritical of me to judge him for being stupid. But everyone knows I hate stupid people.

I got the best compliment from Barbara, whom I met for the first time tonight. I heard someone shout my name (her) then, “I want to be you!” Lol. THAT is awesome.

I’m really hungry. Got the jazz munchies. Need tacos. It’s always tacos. Mmmm. Tacos.

I’m on the trolley. I feel like I’m floating. I’d write on the lines but it’s hard to write at all. My hand wants to dance. Or float. It wants to float. I keep it grounded with the pen. Hmm. I need tacos. (3) I like tacos. :)

I hear strange piano music as I ride through the mist. They should sell this as “an experience.” That it is. Tacos in space. Tacos in space, man. Tacos in space.

You know, when I take my pearls off and ride the trolley with a bag of recyclables, people think I’m a hooker.

The music won’t stop in my head. It just keeps playing, faster and faster. It’s tiring me. Please. I just need tacos. I don’t want to interfere with the tune passing through me. But I’m dizzy and so cold and it’s hard to breathe. Music passing through me.

G, the strange experiences happen a lot around you, when you play. Why? What is it you’re not telling me? You are a portal. I am a seed.

(switch to “I Hope I Get It” from A Chorusline)

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Mainlining Jazz

12/30/11     9:45pm

Some people do drugs. I don’t do drugs. I do music. And not just any music. Jaazzz music.

Funky shit tonight. I feel dizzy & confused. I shouldn’t listen to the flute. Between my eyes hurts. The dose of poison lies in their minds.

Tonight I am waiting on the dawn of a pirate ship. I’m sitting on the floor behind Chuck’s podium. The fog is thick and everything is lit up. The night is quiet and a cool breeze jostles just the leaves. Something is coming. The ship is coming.

I sit here inside Dizzy’s and watch it happen, all without sound – just jazz – through the windows. The energy is here and the ship is coming. I feel paranoid. Oh the energy. Breathe. Invading my mind.

It may be possible the alien ships use the fog to pass in the night undetected by the human eye. No one really knows what lies beyond. I feel dizzy. I think I’m overdosing. Too much jazz. TOO MUCH JAZZ.

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I feel frantic. Breathe…

The world is turning now. There is no one here.
They’re coming. The ships are coming.

I need to call Dr. N.

(trumpet stops, bass starts)

My face is hot, whole body tingles. Feel euphoric. Try to breathe.
The sound bends time. Keep light in mind. And I’m the sober one.

Mainlining jazz. I feel dizzy. —

More often than not this happens when Gilbert plays. Spirit energy.

___

Cold. Now it’s cold. Why is it cold?! More flute. GO AWAY FLUTE!

Hard to breathe. In… Out…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011