And the music?
Man . . .
The music has always meant everything to me.
Or if not everything, the music has always meant something to me.
understand?
I swear there is nothing quite like the gift of sound.
And, so, should I ever lose my ability to hear,
then at least I will have my memory to sing me to sleep when I need it the most.
I cannot say that I have an ear like Beethoven’s.
No, he is the one who lost his hearing and somehow,
Beethoven was able to create symphonies from his memory.
He converted sound to memory and although Beethoven lost his hearing,
nothing could stop him from hearing the music.
Nothing.
I love that. And I love the romance behind the fact
that as rare as this may seem; someone in this world
had so much love for their art and so much talent
that not even the loss of his hearing
could steal what he heard.
I was never one who could play an instrument.
I do not have what anyone would call a good singing voice,
unless, of course, I am in the shower or singing alone to loud music.
I seem to sing pretty well at these times.
I do this when I cook.
You know?
I love this part of my routine.
I put the music on . . .
I sing out loud.
I cook.
I prepare my meals for the week and I enjoy the smell
which comes from the kitchen while making my sauce
and taking care of my pasta.
And meanwhile, the music in the background
is loud enough to drown my singing, which is probably off-key.
But hey, if no one’s around then no one’s around to be a critic
this means no one can come around to bother me
or ruin my enjoyment of singing along with the music
which is a stream of songs that have accompanied me
throughout my life.
Music has always been kind enough to lend a hand
and send me into the next wave of existence.
I swear . . .
My background and my history is not all so bad
and nor does my past come
without the benefit of an amazing soundtrack.
Music
Music is good. Wait. No
Music is perfect.
Especially the right kind.
Music is what gives our memories depth
and to me, this is the depth that enhances
our recollections with tastes of nostalgia, flavors of rebellion,
and more than anything else;
the songs we grew up with gives us the feeling of a sight
or a sound that we can no longer see or touch.
I have songs in my head and in my heart
which mean more to me now that I am older
and far more distant from my past.
I have songs that date back with me
and they go al the way back to the earlier days of my craziness.
And this . . .
This is the gift of sound that I hold close to my heart.
Music and the songs from my past have the ability
to make me feel the same as I felt when I was young.
This allows me a chance to enjoy the rage
and this allows me a time to dance
and be crazy enough to bleed from a much different perspective.
There are songs that come on the radio out of nowhere
and they come on at the perfect times.
I appreciate their randomness and how out of nowhere,
a song from my past comes on to trigger the exact emotion
which took place at the time,
as if to let me know and remind me that I was young once too.
I see this connection to my songs as something cosmic
or like a sign from the Universe as if to say, “it’s okay, kid.”
You are not alone.
Different music and different moods and different genres
can make me feel the surge of so many things.
Some are sweet.
Some are sad and the solace of the lyrics adds a color
to the mournful loss which can otherwise turn dark or gray.
I do appreciate the softer and quieter sounds
and the relaxing tunes which bring
on the gentleness of sweet relaxation.
I do enjoy the trance-like music or the old,
psychedelic sounds
which served more than one purpose in my life.
Then again, I am now and I will always be
that one who enjoys the screams from electric guitars.
I will always appreciate the rush and the feeling
of excess that comes with loud, fast music.
Angry and crazy as ever.
I love how this starts my engine
which revs hard and burns in me
until the energy surges through my body.
Some of my old favorite songs are very aggressive
and like sharks in their feeding frenzies;
I go blind in the best way possible’
I recall being in large pits of crazy people,
swinging themselves around
and thrashing their bodies in violent ways.
I love this. I loved the pits of rage where I,
along with countless others, long-haired and insane,
and crazy as a victim on way too much speed . .
I remember this.
Only the slavery in this case is different.
No, this is not like a slave to a narcotic and no,
this kind of euphoria
does not come in a pill or as a powder in a bag.
This kind of speed comes from
the fast rush of thrashing music and screaming lunatics.
I was one of them too.
Perhaps I am far too old for this sort of thing.
But no.
I’m not.
My spirit and the fan of heavy metal music remains
and I still appreciate the outrage of aggression.
And therefore, I will never forget the anthems of my rebellion.
The music and the rush was the kind that made me numb
and painless. I was turned on and charged like a circuit
and alive in the sense that my skin could endure the slamming
of bodies in pits of people who slammed against each other.
My blood could bleed until I burst at the seams and I would be fine.
I have other sounds and songs that are less outrageous
and hardly intrusive.
I have songs that remind me of soft times.
There are songs from my youth
which point me towards love and the ideas
that intimacy and sex are a far smaller part
of a much larger and more elaborate scene
There are lyrics like,
“you are as smooth as Tennessee whiskey,”
and “you are as sweet as strawberry wine.”
I think I know how that feels.
I think I have my own connection
to this song for many different reasons.
And while I am alone at the moment, I am not so alone
that I do not understand or find my appreciation for that
“one beautiful” woman who moves me.
I know what love is
and I know that I will never compromise this
or substitute love again.
I know that regardless of whether we are together
or never to be intended for a life together –
these are all things that are beyond me. . .
I do know what it means when Van Morrison sang,
“Hey, it’s me. I’m dynamite and I don’t know why.”
I know why I get teary-eyed
when I hear Paul Anka sing “Good morning, yesterday.”
because Anka was right.
You do wake up
And time does slip away
The good times and the bad we see
And all the memories in-between . . .
This is all about the times of our life.
If you ask me –
We all waste too much time
And to be honest, we could all use a good dance.
One day, I swear to this
I will dance with you
I promise because I plan to follow the song
and do what I can to improve and when it all comes down.
I will remember
The times of my life
PS: The Paul Anka Song is for you, Mom
You always tried to teach me not to sweat the small stuff.
But I was too caught.
I lost too much this time, Mom.
And maybe nobody will ever want me as I am
and maybe I might go at this alone,
from now until the hour of my death
(amen.)
But I get it now
Sleep well, Mom
And send a signal or a sign when you can
I’d love to know that you still watch over me
and that despite all that’s gone on,
you are still proud to call me,
“your son.”
The Written Addiction 