Music, the knife without a hilt.
May. 11th, 2003 09:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aceofkittensCall you up in the middle of the night
Like a firefly without a light
You were there like a blowtorch burning
I was a key that could use a little turning
So tired that I couldn’t even sleep
So many secrets I couldn’t keep
Promised myself I wouldn’t weep
One more promise I couldn’t keep...
--Soul Asylum, Runaway Train
For someone who doesn't actually listen to a lot of music most of the time, it seems that I rely a great deal on song lyrics to fill this journal. My therapist, I am sure, would find some significance in my letting "others" create my "voice." However, I've already assigned blame for this: Dorothy Dunnett, and by extension,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vaznetti, who was the one who corrupted me down that path. It's all about you and FC, baby!
I'm finding all kinds of music as I clear out a particular box of mystery stuff. Mix tapes made by myself and others, homegrown copies of other people's tapes, some store-bought music -- all jumbled up together. But the songs, for the most part, are not jumbled in my head, despite all this time. I hold on to these things and memories, like so much else, despite no longer having much practical use for them.
But what's the alternative?
When I went recycling the other day at the giant recycling center in Santa Monia, I found a vast quantity of unlabeled VHS tapes in the "plastics" bin. I was surprised, because I didn't know you could recycle tapes like that. I took two out of the dumpster, out of a morbid curiosity to see "what's on them," and because I am too lazy to sort through my boxes of video tapes every time I want to record something. I haven't looked at them, yet.
I wonder how it would feel to just jettison something. To look at another Pandora's box of mystery stuff (literal or metaphysical), and to say, "Nah, screw it! It's not worth it!" and just toss it away without looking.
It seems no one can help me now
I’m in too deep; there’s no way out
This time I have really led my self astray
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I’m neither here nor there...
Like a firefly without a light
You were there like a blowtorch burning
I was a key that could use a little turning
So tired that I couldn’t even sleep
So many secrets I couldn’t keep
Promised myself I wouldn’t weep
One more promise I couldn’t keep...
--Soul Asylum, Runaway Train
For someone who doesn't actually listen to a lot of music most of the time, it seems that I rely a great deal on song lyrics to fill this journal. My therapist, I am sure, would find some significance in my letting "others" create my "voice." However, I've already assigned blame for this: Dorothy Dunnett, and by extension,
vaznetti, who was the one who corrupted me down that path. It's all about you and FC, baby!I'm finding all kinds of music as I clear out a particular box of mystery stuff. Mix tapes made by myself and others, homegrown copies of other people's tapes, some store-bought music -- all jumbled up together. But the songs, for the most part, are not jumbled in my head, despite all this time. I hold on to these things and memories, like so much else, despite no longer having much practical use for them.
But what's the alternative?
When I went recycling the other day at the giant recycling center in Santa Monia, I found a vast quantity of unlabeled VHS tapes in the "plastics" bin. I was surprised, because I didn't know you could recycle tapes like that. I took two out of the dumpster, out of a morbid curiosity to see "what's on them," and because I am too lazy to sort through my boxes of video tapes every time I want to record something. I haven't looked at them, yet.
I wonder how it would feel to just jettison something. To look at another Pandora's box of mystery stuff (literal or metaphysical), and to say, "Nah, screw it! It's not worth it!" and just toss it away without looking.
It seems no one can help me now
I’m in too deep; there’s no way out
This time I have really led my self astray
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I’m neither here nor there...
