We were on a high dose of AMT, Crank Boy and I, well into the peak, plastered to the floor of Crank Boy’s apartment. Our sitter, Crank Boy’s cousin Laurel, was heading out to the back porch for a smoke.
“Hey Laurel, would you put in a new CD while you’re up?” Crank Boy asked. “There’s a stack by the CD player… any of those would be good.”
“Sure thing, you lazy bastard,” Laurel replied. Moments later, Laurel was gone, and Crank Boy and I were bathing in the pleasing sounds of some obscure techno album. We were silent for a long moment.
“This is a really great song,” I said at last. “What is this?”
“Oh, just some used CD I picked up recently. I don’t remember what it’s called.”
“Well, this track is hot.”
“Yeah, I really like it.”
“This is real ‘sink into the floor’ music.”
“Yeah, it sure is. One of the things I love about AMT is how you get into this languid, luxurious place, where sounds and sensation all seem stretched across time, and you can really feel the infinity between each moment. It’s an expansion of not simply consciousness, but of the actual medium of everything around us, you know what I mean?”
I paused.
“No,” I was forced to admit.
“Well, take the arc of the song we’re listening to, for example. It had that really busy opening, if you can remember that far back – almost too busy for me, actually, with a whirlwind of notes and textures competing for prominence. But now, now it’s settled into this really comfortable groove – kind of like us down here on the floor. Every note, every moment is clear and distinct, and we have all the time we need to reflect on just how perfect this musical sequence, this passage of time, actually is.”
We were silent for awhile again.
“You know, it’s starting to sound a little repetitive,” I said finally.
“This is clearly the lull before it evolves into something more dynamic – kind of like us down here on the floor.”
“You’re planning on evolving into something dynamic? Because I’m just planning on lying here—”
“Well, as the trip progresses, eventually ‘normal’ consciousness will begin to return, except that it will be informed by all of the emotions and sensations of the fourteen hours we spent lying here. It will necessarily reflect this long passage of time and experience. Similarly, this techno song we’re listening to will soon progress into a new movement, adding layers of depth and intensity. It will reflect the busy opening from whence it came, but it will also encompass the long arduous journey of this repetitive middle passage.”
We fell silent yet again.
“Actually,” I said finally, “this song is really repetitive. Like, I think the CD is skipping.”
“No, I’ve listened to this CD before, and this is just how I remember it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, listen to how perfectly constructed this loop is. That’s clearly intentional. It’s a sign from whomever created this music that we have embarked upon an exploration of themes of hardship and patience.”
“It’s clearly a sign that you bought a used CD, that’s what it is. Get up and change it, will you?”
“You get up and change it if you don’t believe me. You’ll just be disappointed when you realize you missed the triumphant final movement.”
“I can’t get up and change it. I can’t get up off the floor.”
“There, you see? The perfect confluence of events has conspired to immerse you in the long-form majesty of this composition!”
“Oh, please.”
“I’m telling you, Scotto, the ending is going to kick in any minute now and you’ll understand. You’ll be thinking about this moment for the rest of your life.”
“I’m sure I will.”
We remained silent after that for a very long while, until Laurel returned from the back porch.
“Sorry I’ve been gone for so long,” she said. “Your neighbor just bought a new Xbox and I got sucked into playing the new Halo for the last hour and a half. Say… you guys know the CD is skipping, right?”
I didn’t have the heart to say anything.
“Oh,” said Crank Boy.
“Is this some kind of drug thing or do you want me to change it?”
“Both,” said Crank Boy.

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