The music moved me.  First to my feet, then to my fleet.  A sort of freedom was this remarkable generation of energy.  I fell in love with the confirmation of my own present sovereignty.  Bob Marley, Lenny Kravitz, Jimi Hendrix, all spoke to me at once.  Guitar Heroes; legends of the eternal premise of a promissory notation linked to my heart.  Keys to the rhythmic blues like hues that intensely infuse that purple haze, perhaps, beyond the surreal infatuation of some remarkable bliss that heightens the sensitive reaction to this monumental sound called rocket, it was the propeller that drove my machine to the realization that, this is it.