Swipe Left On Perfection

As the Week of GrIzTronics is almost among us, I was awake at 4:00 in the am, scrolling IG as one does. Excitement. Packing for EDC. BTS CONCERT. GrIzTronics. Back to back to back.

I had seen a comment he had made on a post saying he was always interested in hearing what music is like for a first time listener of EDM and my brain of course LIT THE FUCK UP!

Special interest music activated. GO Go Autism super power. It created this storm of an answer to anyone curious what the mind of AuDHD thinks, feels, buckle in because the emotions run deep for us neurodivergent.

This is how I see the world, surrounded by music. It’s not just “liking” music; it’s a total physiological takeover. It’s a language my nervous system speaks fluently when my brain gets too loud. If I were to map out how I process my life through these frequencies, it looks—and feels—exactly like this:

The Somatic Map: My Sense of Touch

For me, sound isn’t just auditory; it’s a tactile architect. It’s a physical weight that reorganizes my body. When I’m floor-level at a show, the vibration in my feet is a constant tether—it reminds me that I’m grounded, I’m safe, and I actually exist in this space.
But the music itself? It is literally a soundtrack consistent in my brain always on. Never stopping. That hits everywhere else. Hard, gritty tracks make my legs feel heavy and “stompy,” like I’m anchored to the earth. DnB turns me into a little kid—just a spinning tornado where my mind finally goes quiet and my body takes over. And Dubstep? That’s the heavy hitter. It lands in my chest and my heart, sometimes even lower, and the physical shock of it literally pulls a gasp out of me or forces my face into a massive grin. It’s a full-body conversation.

The Geometry of the Drop: My Sense of Sight

My brain is wired for pattern recognition. When I’m listening to a set, I’m not just hearing it; I’m seeing the structure. I can usually see the drop coming a mile away, even when a DJ is trying to be sneaky with the transition. My brain maps the geometry of the build-up automatically.
But on those rare occasions where I actually get fooled? It’s the best feeling in the world. I get this wide-eyed, childlike shock, and I’ve honestly almost pissed myself laughing because the surprise is such a massive, delicious sensory jolt. Even in the quiet moments, like when I’m crafting Kandi, it’s all about the visual peace: the orderly, tactile meditation of beads and colors that recharges me so I can handle the explosive visual chaos of the festival later.

Neurological Scaffolding: My Sense of Sound

I use BPM as a tool for regulation. It’s like picking the right software for my brain to run on. If I need to clean the house or get through some heavy typing, DnB is the only thing that provides the rhythmic scaffolding I need to stay focused. If I’m training or hitting the gym, it’s Dubstep or heavy-hitting EDM-influenced K-Pop (Stray Kids’ production is elite for this).
The sound is my dopamine source, but I’ve learned to respect the “hangover.” After I’ve soaked in that frequency for a whole weekend, I have to go “sound-deaf.” I need a day or two of total silence with no music, no noise, just to let my nervous system reset so I don’t hit total fatigue.

The Flavor of Integrity: My Sense of Taste

This might sound strange to some, but the “flavor” of the music is tied directly to the integrity of the person making it. Because I value radical accountability, cognitive dissonance actually makes me physically ill. I can’t “stomach” an artist if their actions don’t align with their energy.
It doesn’t matter how much I loved the first 32 versions of Trapped in the Closet: if the artist is toxic, the music becomes sour. I choose to support the DJs and creators who align with my tribe because my body literally won’t let me digest anything else. Energy matters.

The Reset: My Sense of Proprioception

This is my sense of where I am in the world. Music tells me where I start and where the world ends. Whether I’m doing an “active rest” walk in total silence to find my center again, or I’m in the middle of a crowd releasing every bit of excessive energy I’ve been carrying, music is the compass. It’s how I navigate my healing, how I protect my peace, and how I find my way back to myself every single time.