My dear friend Heidi took pity on me and offered to rip a new copy of Bill Harris’s Holosync CDs and FTP the files to me. I feel like an angel just showed up at my front door with a bucket full of heroin and a shiny new needle.
Our conversation as the files are coming in across the internets:
Me: Oh, great, I got the first one. Thank you! Now can you send me the one where he’s talking?
Heidi: The one where he’s talking? Sash, that’s not the one that’s supposed to help expand your mind. You’re supposed to listen to all the other ones. The one where he’s talking just explains how the other ones work to put you in a deep meditative state. You’ve totally missed the point.
Me: You don’t understand. The sound of his voice is my drug. I just love listening to him talk. It’s the most reliably comforting sound in the world to me.
Heidi: You are so weird.
Me: Just send the file, Heidi. Send the file now.
Heidi: But the CDs aren’t supposed to be about the talking parts, they’re about the …
Me: Are you sending the file or what?
So I’m currently waiting for the one where he’s talking to come across the YouSendIt.com server. Heidi’s uploading it right now, somewhere in the too-distant lands of Los Angeles, and I’m refreshing my email every twenty seconds like a fucking fiend waiting to be notified that I can download the file. I feel like I just paged my dealer and I’m waiting for him to show and I keep parting the shades and peering through the window hoping to catch a glimpse of his headlights coming up the street, convinced that if I linger too long the neighbors will call the cops.
Need. My. Drug.
