And this is how I came to know Tool.
Ten years old.
That's when it happened. When you were ten years old and didn't know what to think. What to think about life, love, hate, and all the plethoras in between. You couldn't see yourself in the mirror because you didn't know that you even existed. You couldn't see because your eyes weren't open yet to the world; it was still an apocalypse waiting to burst out of the blue, a great hellish body fallen through an aeon of decadent ignorance and innocent imaginings of what it all means.
Then you heard it.
It came in the mail. A treat for your mind. For your soul. Energy for the body you wasted until that sunshiny day when you meandered your way home from school. There was an eye on it, shifting forms. Inside, there was what looked like a stripped, mutated chicken, but instead was a man bent in forward upon himself. Taking the disc in your hand, studying it with your ten-year-old mind, you caught a glimpse of California falling off the earth.
What, you asked yourself, were you holding in your hand?
You invaded your sibling's room, anxious to breathe, to feel, to know, and you threw the disc into the player. Second by second, when it began to play, the music filtered into your ears. Your heart skipped as it lilted on because it wasn't white noise. It wasn't slam, bang, smash, or obnoxious screaming.
It was perfection.
An anomally of voice.
Of languid shifting sound.
The disc played on and on, and when it wasn't, it kept going in the back of your mind.
Oh so slowly...
... your third eye opened.
And gave birth to an apocalypse within your soul.
Now, ten years later, you share your thanks and appreciation still to that sound.
It's lead you here...
... wherever this may be.
Outside of innocence.
Where everything is between you...
... and the lover inside your mind.