CHAOS IS BEAUTIFUL
Author's Note / TW: This text explores how music became anchored in my trauma, with direct mentions of drug use, overdose, and a medical emergency (epilepsy).
There are a thousand ways to seek a state of trance. Some find it in the adrenaline burn of sports; others release their dopamine through manual or visual arts. For me, it is music that transcends.
Growing up through shifting social circles and encounters, I forged a dense musical identity, absorbing every era and every scene. I walked in time with the melancholy of Damso, the brilliance of Kanye West, and the wanderings of Kid Cudi. And I will always hold a place for Luv Resval—a true master whose evolution I followed alongside my own, and whose lyrical style still influences my own writing today.
But within this constellation, one entity dwarfs everything else. Radiohead. Putting into words what they represent to me is almost impossible, because it goes far beyond the realm of music. They have followed me for five or six years, but for the past two, they have taken possession of a unique space in my mind, my soul, and even my flesh.
They were the soundtrack to my poly-drug use, my loves, my collapses, and my most lethal nostalgia. During the absolute void that followed my drug overdose at the end of 2024, I spent entire days locked away with them. Under the influence, their music became a machine for bending space-time. Chemistry and melody went hand in hand, revealing rhythms and frequencies that a sober ear could never catch.
This is where my greatest personal tragedy was born: I associated pure beauty with my most destructive moments. It is a madness to listen to that divine melancholy, floating on your sofa, and imagine that the whole world is crashing down on you. Chaos is beautiful.
Today, their songs still rotate through my playlists, but there are certain tracks I am forced to skip. They remind me of moments that are too hard. From the very first notes, the tunnel of my thoughts sucks me in, and my body remembers the physical pain with terrifying precision.
The track High and Dry was playing in the background during my very first seizure. In the moment, focused on survival and the battle being fought within my own body, I didn't notice it. But in the days that followed, the slightest note of that song caused an instant fracture in me, leaving me collapsing in tears for hours, caught in a loop I could no longer control.
I find it infinitely sad to have sealed such a beautiful band to moments of such violence. But deep down, I think it was premeditated. Only they had the darkness, or the light, necessary to keep me company when destruction brushed so closely against me.