He writes one line on the J-card in orange peel juice: “The opposite of drowning isn’t breathing. It’s remembering you were air before you had lungs.” The lava lamp burbles. The room gets a little darker. Somewhere, a child lets go of a balloon just to see if God catches it.
Mac’s voice, layered and frayed: “I was five years old, I tied a balloon to my wrist So I wouldn’t float away to the place where the lost socks live. Now I’m 26, I tie a rubber band around my arm Same reason. Different pharmacy.” The piano comes in — drunk, beautiful, missing every third note on purpose. A saxophone moans like it just lost a friend. Behind it all: a child’s music box, warped, playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” backwards. mac miller balloonerism ddl
Pop.