Listening, quietly listening. The radio is sexy. Maybe you hear it from your clock-radio at the bedside, maybe from your phone or fancy song-playing device. Any way you do it, it’s in your ear. The vibrations enter on both sides of your head, meet in the middle of your brain, get stuck there, wiggle around, and bounce along the concave of your skull.

There is a spark in your mid-brain that is the big bang of all radio. Boom! Sound waves explode into ideas. Can you keep from thinking on sound? Can you keep from tapping your foot to music? Or, like other humans, does it sink into your subconscious, dripping down from your brain along your spine and into your heart? Sound has meaning, and you feel it in your pumping organ. That blood is what taps your foot as you hum along. Hum, hum, radio.

“Oh, radio. You’re so sexy,” you say.

Maybe you’re listening with someone; maybe that someone is sexy. Maybe it’s just the radio that’s sexy.

“I know,” coos the radio, softly.

Maybe radio said that in a sing-song or a weather report.

“Oh, radio. I wish we could be together all the time!” you exclaim.

“We can be, human. We can be. We can be human. I’m with you everywhere / at all times / undercover. I know I am sexy.”

“But radio, what if I cannot turn you on? As in – I’m far away from your dial.”

“Listen, listen. Listen. Listen and you shall hear. Radio is here. Radio is hear. Radio is sexy. Trent Radio, 92.7 FM, CFFF – gosh – your campus community radio station.”

There the sound waves personify, and then rises from your radio the goddess of the airwaves, a groovy radio gal whose hair strands stretch out on electric currents through everything but the thickest concrete and some major geological formations. As a disembodied head, a brain of ideas all captured from stray music and rogue talk shows, she speaks her sexy voice:

“Listening, quietly listening. The radio does not check you out. The radio does not judge how very messy your bedroom is. The radio does not care how much time you spend checking your email; how much time you waste deciding what to make for lunch. The radio is here when your homework is late, when you haven’t been exercising; when everyone else has stopped talking. Radio talks. Listening, quietly listening. The radio is sexy.”

Overcome by such audio inspiration, you may clutch at your ears. Yet little vibrations are always beamed through you. Try to keep from listening, you can’t. Radio is here, a direct current to your brain. Your ears cannot turn off. Plug them up, stuff them with socks – still there is subtlety that creeps in, the music (like a revolution) the talk (like a whisper) cannot be stopped (like a whisper revolution). Radio. Radio. Still they penetrate your body.

Exhausted, you shut the sexy radio off; turn its dial until you hear a final click. Maybe it was a button click on your song-playing-something, maybe a vibration from your phone screen, maybe a click on your clock-radio, bedside.

Silence follows… but if you listen, you listen really hard – quietly listening, you can hear those sexy sounds. You don’t need a radio. This community connects you. You are the radio. A superhuman radio wave receiver, and you are sexy.

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Sometime in the 1980s young James Kerr placed a peanut butter sandwich in his parent’s VCR and was transported to a magical world where he was taught by long-dead ghost druids the secrets of community and radio waves. Returning to this world he became an arcade champ, dungeon master, and perhaps most relevantly the Programme Director of Trent Radio 92.7 fm. His parents had to clean the peanut butter out of the VCR.