Wednesday, October 12, 2005

My iTunes Dependency

What I read is the stove and the dial-turning fingers. Music is not my fire; it is the stew in which I simmer. Lately, I've been a masochistic assortment of how we are all fucked - damaged goods, dog-eared and smoke-stained pages. To some these little defects are stories we tell our mirror personalities while we stand drunk, holding onto the bathroom counter waiting for our body to expunge itself of our liquid depressions. The prom date crying in the bathroom 20 years later.

The books remind me of this universal human suffering. Mixed with alcohol and iTunes, I type night after night chasing my own demons further into a forrest I cannot say for sure ever ends. From a rock atop a mountain, forrests are wonders best left unexplored - I, unfortunately, happen to like wallowing in the noon-time shadows.

It's depression, the chemical imbalance most Americans "suffer" according to CBS Cares. But, for a third-generation depressant, it's a weakness only if I shy away from it like human interraction. If I turn the music off, I still hear it. So, I update my iTunes regularly and turn it up. When I need to hear a certain apartment building of songs, I expect them to be at the address of this digital filing cabinet. When they are not here, I revert to hard-copy and put a secretarial personality in charge of updating the system.

This constant maintenance and upgrade is how I balace the chemicals. They say playing music for plants helps them grow - I say playing music for a depression keeps it controlled...Shawshank Redemption style.


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