Sometimes it's nice to hear the pops, hisses, and clicks of vinyl records. Plus it's Wilson Pickett, and it doesn't get much better than that.
I often think about penultimates, such as the number 99, and the borders between things. Penultimates hover just before consummation, never quite seeing completion. Borders represent the meeting between two or more things, and often have a strange, otherworldly quality to them; 99 is almost 100, but 100 has a definite mystique all its own. A penultimate, then, could be seen as a type of border, or at least something that lingers on a border between the old and the new, between a journey and its end.
One of the things I love about stormy weather is what I call the "thunderstorm moment." It's the moments before a storm truly explodes, when you can feel the electricity in the air, smell the water in the atmosphere, and when you can sense the impending violence. It's the border between the calm and the tempest, the penultimate moment of the building energy. There is a timeless feel to the thunderstorm moment, timeless yet ephemeral. It's a magical, frightening, thrilling slice of time.
Lately I've been feeling this thunderstorm moment in a spiritual sense, feeling something growing and building, an energy about to break loose. What it is and how it will manifest is beyond my ken, but I'm enjoying the moment while it lasts. Eventually, once it does break, I'll be posting a true post 100...or, if it doesn't, I'll harken back to grade school days and do post 99 3/4...