Music

Injury Reserve’s By the Time I Get to Phoenix

Presenting a new series of experimental, abstract and descriptive writings that reflect and visualise my mood and feelings when listening to new music. Hope you enjoy.


Staring blankly outside the window. Dark grey clouds cover the hot and damp morning sunrise. My friend just died. Staring blankly outside the window of my 15 story apartment. The world is burning. Buildings destroyed by fires, lack of care or attention, losing their identity. Trees shivering. Thick fog starts to build in the surrounding areas. Streets deserted. Alone. A cockroach appears from the wall next to the dark and unwelcoming window. I look at it attentively. Not quite alone after all. Painful shivers down my spine. Having a difficulty breathing. How will I mourn? The cockroach, with it’s large antennae, looking it me, as if it wants to tell me something. I look around the room. Last night’s takeaway on the sofa, stains from the Chinese food I had in the middle of it. Old, dirty socks thrown on the rectangular wooden table. Whiskey bottles on the floor. My memory is a blur. Alone. The ashtray in on the edge of the table next to me is inviting. I roll a joint. I hate how I feel. I light the joint up, take a few hits, then walk up towards the in the room to the left. Cockroaches having their own party on the floor by the fridge. Not quite alone after all. My slippers drag across the floor as I open the fridge to get a smoothie. Well over it’s expiry date, I spit that shit out and get a glass of water to wash the taste. I take a few more hits. Turn around, and go back to the living room. I fall onto my food-stained sofa, legs up. I turn the TV on. The world is burning. I turn it off. I glance at my phone, pick my headphones from the floor next to a dying plant buried behind the sofa. Light never reached that part of my world. I connect my headphones, then play Injury Reserve’s By the Time I Get to Phoenix.

The synths wailing, screeching through the air. Ritchie With a T’s words stick. I am not alone. I stand up, walk towards the window behind the sofa, and finish my joint. Light headed. Claustrophobic. Intense. My friend just died. Fuck. Synths and drums intensify. Tears falling down my face. He’s never coming back to earth. Light headed. I don’t know where I belong. The clouds start to clear, waking the sun up again. The peachy sky is glaring down onto me. I turn back from the window. Everything around me is dead. I fall back onto the sofa and pass out. I wake up shivering. I look outside. The sky is bright red. The sun bled its color out. The trees are hibernating. Nobody in sight. Alone. I look into the distance behind an old, brick building. A shadow emerges. Unrecognizable. Drums keep intensifying. The shadow keeps approaching. I shut the window, close the curtains. An orange light penetrates through to the living room. The shadow enters. Faceless. “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” his low, booming voice exclaims. He fades out into the abyss. I feel claustrophobic. The sounds intensify. I curl up on my couch again, cover myself with a blanket, and zone out. A cockroach climbs on the blanket. I stare blankly at it. Not quite alone after all.

RIP Groggs.

Hey everyone, thanks for stopping by. I run In Search Of Media with the aim of giving a platform to independent beatmakers, rappers and talented musicians. I also hope to make this a home for music discovery, interesting film analysis, exhibition reviews and other interesting content for all of you guys to dive in to. I hope to start a podcast and documentary-style project soon. If you're looking to be a part of this creative project, please go to the contact page and drop me an email, or connect via Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. I also write for 'Music Is My Sanctuary.' Thanks 🙏

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