Sometimes when I’m listening to good music, a damn good rock tune from a fucking good band for example, I feel as if I’m finally living. It makes me want to drink up everything, ever little piece of life that surrounds me. I smoke up. I inhale a lungful. I relish every bit of danger that surges through my veins. My chest rises up. My arms and my legs tremble with excitement. I look at the stars. I look at the city with its pinpoint lights scattered across the black night winking at me. I look at the speeding cars. I look at everything and for once I feel as if everything is possible, as if life is finally within reach. No, not just some shitty uneventful life but good life, a life worth remembering. A life, as Frodo’s Sam once mused, worth turning into poems of epic proportions. And I feel as if everything is shooting up, about to explode, like a thousand orgasms simultaneously going off, fucking my brains out. But as I reach the zenith, as I get there, seconds before the big pay-off, the moment of course frizzles and precipitates.