Reused
I usually plan a mix CD (or mix tape, pre-2000) for a girl I like. Sometimes I give it to her, other times I just keep a playlist in my head. I have many rules when it comes to creating these compilations, but there's one important rule I've never broken.
I do not reuse a song. If I put it in a compilation intended for one girl, I do not reuse it in a future compilation, no matter how appropriate it may be.
This is probably why my taste in music keeps shifting. For me, these songs provide the soundtrack to my history. If, say, I play the Isley Brothers' "Livin' for the Love of You" I'm taken back to the time where I was listening to it after going to Nina's exhibit. If I play the Sinead O' Connor cover of "Nothing Compares 2 U", I'm taken back to the time I was in Canada trying to get over my unrequited feelings for Papic. I know that in the future, if I play the Elvis Costello version of "The Very Thought of You", I'll remember Scout. It's as if the music stores snippets of my memories, or these snippets of memories are forever linked to these songs. I cannot unbind them, and every time I tried to do so, I always failed.
I do not reuse songs. I cannot reprogram them to remind me of someone else. I guess the same rule would apply if I associated feelings or women with paragraphs of prose or the scents of specific flowers. I do not give a girl a CD and tell her "I made this with you in mind, this is yours" and later give another girl a copy of that CD and tell her the same thing. I do not express love in templates.
But I guess that's what most things are, anyway. Templates. A re-doing. Circular. There are some things you do in a previous relationship that you repeat in all future ones. You converse, you hold hands, you kiss, you make love. The first time ever is always special. The first time with a specific person is always special. I love you. I love you - now. Tomorrow, "I love you" will belong to someone else. Then, someone else. Then, another. Some events, feelings, words, are repeated across relationships. Reused.
But I will not reuse a song. Not a paragraph of prose. Not the scent of a flower.
If I did, imagine what would happen if one of the girls realized it. And cared.
. . . .
I do not reuse a song. If I put it in a compilation intended for one girl, I do not reuse it in a future compilation, no matter how appropriate it may be.
This is probably why my taste in music keeps shifting. For me, these songs provide the soundtrack to my history. If, say, I play the Isley Brothers' "Livin' for the Love of You" I'm taken back to the time where I was listening to it after going to Nina's exhibit. If I play the Sinead O' Connor cover of "Nothing Compares 2 U", I'm taken back to the time I was in Canada trying to get over my unrequited feelings for Papic. I know that in the future, if I play the Elvis Costello version of "The Very Thought of You", I'll remember Scout. It's as if the music stores snippets of my memories, or these snippets of memories are forever linked to these songs. I cannot unbind them, and every time I tried to do so, I always failed.
I do not reuse songs. I cannot reprogram them to remind me of someone else. I guess the same rule would apply if I associated feelings or women with paragraphs of prose or the scents of specific flowers. I do not give a girl a CD and tell her "I made this with you in mind, this is yours" and later give another girl a copy of that CD and tell her the same thing. I do not express love in templates.
But I guess that's what most things are, anyway. Templates. A re-doing. Circular. There are some things you do in a previous relationship that you repeat in all future ones. You converse, you hold hands, you kiss, you make love. The first time ever is always special. The first time with a specific person is always special. I love you. I love you - now. Tomorrow, "I love you" will belong to someone else. Then, someone else. Then, another. Some events, feelings, words, are repeated across relationships. Reused.
But I will not reuse a song. Not a paragraph of prose. Not the scent of a flower.
If I did, imagine what would happen if one of the girls realized it. And cared.
. . . .