Music is life to me. In my youth, I led a relatively sheltered life in regards to music. My first three tapes were gifts: MC Hammer, Paula Abdul, and Janet Jackson. I listened to MC Hammer once and threw it out. Paula Abdul lasted a few weeks beyond that before getting tossed.
But I listened to Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation so many times that I wore the tape out.
The part in Iron Eagle where the kid flying the F-15 has a hard time hitting targets until he puts on a headset and blasts a mix-tape and suddenly hits every damn target while rocking out? Loved that. The love scene in Lost Boys where the choir of children sang ‘Cry Little Sister’? Blew me away.
I’m preaching to the converted of course; most blogs today have a ‘What I am Listening To’ blurb somewhere. We understand the importance of music. It saves us. It condemns us. It understands us. The right song can rip you apart. The right song can be an oasis of sanity in a day of hell.
Tonight, I’m drinking to music.
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I want to be baptized by music.
I want music that will fuck my brain so hard I have to crawl out of my skin to feel the tension.
I want music that will make a slut out of my anger.
I want music that will make me cum.
I want music that will make me bleed.
I want music that has an aftertaste that will make me vomit it back up as poetry.
I want music for my tears to flow upon. I want music to dry those tears away. I want music to remove the reason the reason for crying.
Honestly, I just want music. Music can fill so many needs and voids, the possibilities are endless.
Somebody find me music that will make me cum!