I like to think that I'm unique, maybe a little fucked-off kinda special. But I know that much of my generation probably feels the same way....hell....I'm sure every generation does. This is probably more of a commentary on humanity than anything else.
But.
Today held one of those moments that really focuses on ones own little quirks. For me, music is so much more than background noise for my life. I can't deal with total silence. If I'm doing anything, I need this stuff to sustain my focus. Or break it. Either way.
A number of times in my life, a certain song or album has come along at the perfect time. Any other day, I would've thought "yeah that's pretty good." But at these times, I obsess to a degree that borders on ridiculous. Then, for the rest of what will probably be forever, that stuff is linked to where I was at that time. Mr. Crowley = Michael. Freshmen = Kirsten, Carey, Krissy. Everclear = shithole apartment in the ghetto. Vault = it's good to be young and stupid. Has Anyone Seen my Baby = how could I have ever been so fucking stupid. Meat Loaf = you know you need to get out, now. Etc, etc, etc.
When things affect me to a large degree, meaning when I go through extremes of emotion, I revert into the kid with the headphones in the corner. My music saves me. From others, from myself, from reality, probably from you. Sometimes it's healing. Sometimes it's a sharp little knife that breaks open the scars to see if they still bleed. They do.
Thus, today I find myself sifting through vinyl at Half Price Books for an hour. Looking for what, I don't know. Probably something to make me feel better. Generally, I find an answer. Or some kind of band aid. Not today. Today I find memories by the pound in the form of 12x12 cardboard covers.
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