The record sits there, spinning endlessly. I was afraid what it might say, or maybe I wasn’t ready for what it had to say. Now is the time, no time like the future, operators are standing by to take your order, but wait…there’s more!
The needle goes into the groove, the speakers hum and the ears ring. Barbarian jazz seems to play. It starts to skip, skip like it’s trying to go down some yellow brick road wanting to find its savior or maybe a nice cup of tea. Number nine?
Out of the vibrating speakers seeps out profound wisdom. It melts the transistors inside my head and reprograms the mind’s eye. I finally understand the great abyss I see when I look into the mirror each morning. Turn the record over.
On and on it plays, auto repeat set and what every kid should already know I finally get. It’s so simple, why didn’t anyone say? The needle comes off and the arm is put to rest. Maybe it’ll be easier to play the next in the set. Outstretched my hand goes, to the next set in the collection of life.