The Music and Me
My parents think I might have a slight case of autism.
They say so because they see that my walkman phone is permanently attached to me... or more particularly, my ears. The father scolds me because of the damage it could do to my hearing, the mother disdains the fact that I seem to have to lost my communication skills ever since I got this handy-dandy gadget.
Can't say I blame 'em. After all, one must never impose herself on those who cannot understand her ways.
My friends are none the wiser.
Oh sure, they do appreciate the fact that among all of us, I am the most musically inclined - appreciation-wise (for even though I try my best to showcase some sort of musical talent, alas, I fail) . Sometimes they'd even go as far as trying to listen to what I'm listening to... and I do appreciate that - it's not everyday that you get to meet people who try to open themselves up to the things other people introduce to them.
But they'll never fully get why I love it so much. Just like I'll never totally understand why they love the things they do.
One thing, however, is clear as crystal eyes to me.
The music, just as food is to one person and crack is to another, is my blankie.
To me, the beat of the drum's steady bass and the harmony of a singer's voice offers a surprising effect - Calmness and serenity, things I know I'll never be able to get by tuning in to the reality of this concrete jungle.
Whatever genre is depictive of the mood I am in. But no matter how fast or slow the melody is, there is a certain amount of peace that I find myself in - the kind you know you'd never be able to find elsewhere. Which is why I turn postal if I see that my peace has been, in any way, violated - intentionally or otherwise.
About a week ago, I was watching the boob tube and I came across a local cable chow promoting local artists. I'd watched the show before, so it was no big deal... until this group came on. They started talking about themselves and the things they're about and once asked what their name was... BAM! Everything in my head started to spin.
They copied off of one of my most favorite groups.
My temper rose and my blood begain to boil. I wanted to light a fire head and lurch it towards the screen. It wasn't fair and It wasn't right... not to me. and It never will be in my eyes. Never have I ever felt so violated, so screwed... not even when that bitch who still has the gall to smile stole my mobile phone. How could they?! They should've known better, most especially since their supposed leader is a radio jockey. But nooo... they just had to. Fools.
Of course, the temper lowered and the blood began to simmer down. Now all that I have left is pity. I guess it's the greatest form of flattery. I guess. Today I only have prayers of peace and blessings for those second rate copycats. It's not in my nature to be utterly bitter.
After all, people who copy off of the genuine article are nothing but pitiful posers who haven't an inch of creative juice in their wannabe flesh.
They say so because they see that my walkman phone is permanently attached to me... or more particularly, my ears. The father scolds me because of the damage it could do to my hearing, the mother disdains the fact that I seem to have to lost my communication skills ever since I got this handy-dandy gadget.
Can't say I blame 'em. After all, one must never impose herself on those who cannot understand her ways.
My friends are none the wiser.
Oh sure, they do appreciate the fact that among all of us, I am the most musically inclined - appreciation-wise (for even though I try my best to showcase some sort of musical talent, alas, I fail) . Sometimes they'd even go as far as trying to listen to what I'm listening to... and I do appreciate that - it's not everyday that you get to meet people who try to open themselves up to the things other people introduce to them.
But they'll never fully get why I love it so much. Just like I'll never totally understand why they love the things they do.
One thing, however, is clear as crystal eyes to me.
The music, just as food is to one person and crack is to another, is my blankie.
To me, the beat of the drum's steady bass and the harmony of a singer's voice offers a surprising effect - Calmness and serenity, things I know I'll never be able to get by tuning in to the reality of this concrete jungle.
Whatever genre is depictive of the mood I am in. But no matter how fast or slow the melody is, there is a certain amount of peace that I find myself in - the kind you know you'd never be able to find elsewhere. Which is why I turn postal if I see that my peace has been, in any way, violated - intentionally or otherwise.
About a week ago, I was watching the boob tube and I came across a local cable chow promoting local artists. I'd watched the show before, so it was no big deal... until this group came on. They started talking about themselves and the things they're about and once asked what their name was... BAM! Everything in my head started to spin.
They copied off of one of my most favorite groups.
My temper rose and my blood begain to boil. I wanted to light a fire head and lurch it towards the screen. It wasn't fair and It wasn't right... not to me. and It never will be in my eyes. Never have I ever felt so violated, so screwed... not even when that bitch who still has the gall to smile stole my mobile phone. How could they?! They should've known better, most especially since their supposed leader is a radio jockey. But nooo... they just had to. Fools.
Of course, the temper lowered and the blood began to simmer down. Now all that I have left is pity. I guess it's the greatest form of flattery. I guess. Today I only have prayers of peace and blessings for those second rate copycats. It's not in my nature to be utterly bitter.
After all, people who copy off of the genuine article are nothing but pitiful posers who haven't an inch of creative juice in their wannabe flesh.
posted by k59i84m at
5:39 AM
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