Photo credit, Peter De Potter.

So you didn’t die. Chemo didn’t kill you. Cancer didn’t carve off your head and place it on its mantle. Hooray. Beaucoup jazz hands clouding your vision. A marching band is about to parade into your bedroom and give you an orgy. You’re going to run across that finish line carrying the torch and everyone in the crowd will squee and strip off all their clothes. Naked fucking dance party. You reached remission. I mean, that’s what’s expected, right? It’s all a battle. A goddamn war. Until it’s not. And then, it’s a D-Day celebration. With all the sailors and the chlamydia that entails.

Yeah, no. I’ve always found the #PostCatastrophe moments darkest. Like taking a nap in the wreckage. The wake of a bombing campaign stroking your fingertips as you whimper in your sleep. No one checks up on you. Once out of the danger of dying, nothing can kill you. Rewrap. Rewrite. Once out of the danger of dying (from the disease), nothing can kill you. Except you.

A #PostCatastrophe moment, is this. You and two other dudes celebrating an intimate moment in bed. Little Dragon’s Nabumba Rubberband comes shooting like shell casings out a Sony laptop. Suddenly, you’re in the bathroom. Suffocating. Staring back at shards of yourself. In a mirror, that’s already seeing you fleeing. Grab your boxers from the sheets. Kiss a silent goodbye. Get out into the street as trauma trips you on the sidewalk. Can’t. Fucking. Breathe. Fall down in the street and sob for thirty minutes. Wheredafuq did that came from?

The #PostCatastrophe era is the flashback. As Elephante vis a vis Calvin Harris puts it ‘all the things you can fit inside a memory’. You don’t want to deny yourself the memory. You almost had no memories. But as Digitalism says ‘you can only think about the hurt’. You can’t express yourself. You keep inside it of you. And no one’s listening anyways. But you were silent the whole time. When the adrenaline kept you alive. When the fear of death everyday punched you in the fucking face.

But in the #PostCatastrophe moment, a breath carries you into all the chaos you never let yourself feel. And every breath, no matter how small the huff, is a fucking Category 5 hurricance.

GRAB A FREE DOWNLOAD HERE AT MY SOUNDCLOUD.
FULL PLAYLIST BELOW (AT BOTTOM OF PAGE).
BEFORE THAT, CHECK OUT THE TOP 5 SONGS FROM THE LIST THAT YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE HEARD.
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#5 AYER// DIGITAL FANTASY

I am not above
Begging for your hands on me
I go to bed alone,
When I am sleeping with my enemies
I need something to feel

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#4 GOMINA// STUPID (FULGEANCE REMIX)

There’s no return from where I’ve been
Trying to pretend
That I’m around
Every something leads back to you
But you’ll never know

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#3 NOSAJ THING (FT. CHANCE THE RAPPER AND THE O’MYS)// COLD STARES

On an empty ass bed, can’t remember how to spoon
Can’t forget how the spoon
Was the bowl for the soup for his arm
When his arm had a cold
Now the cold got his feet
Tied up in the sheets, sweat drips from his cheeks
He’s gonna die in hospital clothes

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#2 MS MR// HURRICANE (ADVENTURE CLUB)

Welcome to the inner workings of my mind
So dark and foul I can’t disguise
Can’t disguise
Nights like this
I become afraid
Of the darkness in my heart
Hurricane

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#1 TAME IMPALA// LET IT HAPPEN

It’s always around me, all this noise
But not really as loud as the voice saying
Let it happen, let it happen (It’s gonna feel so good)
Just let it happen, let it happen

All this running around
Trying to cover my shadow
An ocean growing inside
All the others seem shallow
All this running around
Bearing down on my shoulders
I can hear an alarm
Must be morning

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FULL PLAYLIST HERE:

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