A Melodic Fetish
My write-ups have always been about how you should ask everybody to go fck themselves or something similar. I digress from such a propensity of mine to talk of such deep passions that very few understand or at least that’s how it seems to me.
We have all questioned the meaning of our existence at some point in our lives. And if this exercise was performed with a certain curtness to the system of logic, it is certain to depress you deeply. It is only when you escape to the more mundane matters of life that it quells that deep sadness and the yearning for the truth, and it must be done to preserve your own sanity. It is in such realms that I find music to exist in, as an ethereal mist shielding you from the Reaper inside.
I don’t personally believe in souls or God or any of those poetic theories created to quench a superficial thirst. But I do believe in beauty and structure, because they exist in my mind. Their reality is immaterial. The kind that makes a profound appeal to you, the kind that seems like a calling. Don’t get me wrong. I am not saying it actually means something more, just that our naive mind mistakes it so. But it is that naivete that also saves you from slow, chronic self destruction.
Music, the kind that almost perished in the late 80s and is barely thriving, was one of those things that you could cling to for a high when you desperately need something to hold on to, something to live for. The pleasure derived from such an indulgence should convince any mortal to go on, even if to an unknown end. A Psychologist would call it an incentive and I don’t disagree, but I would add that some are far more compelling than others. The tracks composed and written by Jefferson Airplane, Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin fall into that rare category that can excite you to plane of experience where the world and its endless chatter seems muted and numbed, inconsequential to your existence and a dream you could forever sleep in, a Matrix that you created.
All this might seem way out there, and I concede it is a teensy bit gay. In that case though, nothing I say will convince you of otherwise, for it is a world of dream and imagination that some choose to wrap themselves in when reality is just not enough and are in need of something more. Music consoles their chaos, an indescribable beauty that needs no explanation.