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I sit sometimes and realize the music I'm listening to is moving me, really moving me, and I listen. If it's loud enough and I'm paying enough attention, it changes me and my mood and my mind. (No, I'm not on drugs, and I never have been. I might try someday, who knows.) I was listening to Radiohead's "Videotape," and I felt a pang of that strange sensation only some things give me, a moment in a movie or a few select sounds. It is this sick, low, nostalgic ecstacy, where I feel I might stop breathing, I feel I could die and it wouldn't matter. As if I just discovered the last peice and there's a horrible twist, a horrible beautiful irony I've finally found. Like torn butterfly wings, like a wasted life, like someone utterly alone. So beautiful. And I know I am alone, because this feeling is just for me. As much as I'd like to share it, let others feel this orgasmic flush of emotion (or is it a lack thereof, I can't tell) no one ever can. I am the only one who can experience this, because it is unique to my own perceptions. Some other being may feel a rush of another perfect sensation, but I can never feel it; it is their own. I live for these things. Day to day I feel relatively normal, I could be anyone, and then... then I step out of myself, become bigger than myself, and I feel so small. I'll be dead. It wil be gone. Every memory, every pleasure, every pain, everything that has made me laugh and everything that has made me shake with soundless weeping, gone someday. Not too far off, either. So all I have in the entire world are these sensations in the here and now. Soft pillow to feel, sweet cake to taste, Hokusai's wave to gaze upon, and Thom Yorke's hollow moan to hear forever and ever and ever.
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Posted by keatonjazz on 2007-12-29 23:27:45 | Rating: | Views: 70
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