Right now, I fucking hate music. It grates on me like, umm, – you ever see that episode of the Three Stooges, where Moe uses a cheese-grater on Curly’s face?
It’s kinda like that.
I have one good memory associated with music. I was leaving a rave. The sun was up, the morning people were out, and I was coming down off of a bunch of drugs. I can’t even remember what drugs but some of them were probably used to tranquilize animals. I felt moody and scuzzy. The bright day with with the bright people just made it worse.
But then, Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve, started to play. It just made everything seem okay, like everything was going to be all right. It was a magic little moment.
I rarely listen to that song anymore. I’ve often thought I should but I’ve always felt that doing so would diminish that morning. The song would become routine. It would just be another bloody racket that I don’t want to hear again. But, every once in a while, it’s worth it.
