Some Kenny G and Yani please
I just got to thinking how sad it is that it is so hard for me to get around to listening anything new.
I remember the days when the cd player was essential. Today, while I was cleaning out my room in search of items to sell at the Dededo flea market, I took out my stereo. I told my mother I was going to sell it for 10 bucks because I never use it.
There I was dusting off a layer of neglect. Every second of my adult life spent neglecting music riddled the surface of the stereo, a telltale speck of dust multiplying like an incurable virus in a science fiction movie. Life is fiction indeed.
In the end, I decided not to sell it--more like I couldn't sell it. This is what people who still own 8-tracks that are collecting dust must feel like. I feel confused as to why the albums I own have such and effect on me that new ones have yet to come close to. I fear I'm going to be one of those people who are so out of touch with music that I'll have to order my music from commercials because no store would be caught dead selling the kind of music that we old farts like, or worse, I'm afraid of getting embarrassed by a Cheapo version of Jack Black's character in High Fidelity.
Archaic. Thousand-year-old sound drowned by drones typing on their keyboards. Well, my dinner break is over.
back to work.
I remember the days when the cd player was essential. Today, while I was cleaning out my room in search of items to sell at the Dededo flea market, I took out my stereo. I told my mother I was going to sell it for 10 bucks because I never use it.
There I was dusting off a layer of neglect. Every second of my adult life spent neglecting music riddled the surface of the stereo, a telltale speck of dust multiplying like an incurable virus in a science fiction movie. Life is fiction indeed.
In the end, I decided not to sell it--more like I couldn't sell it. This is what people who still own 8-tracks that are collecting dust must feel like. I feel confused as to why the albums I own have such and effect on me that new ones have yet to come close to. I fear I'm going to be one of those people who are so out of touch with music that I'll have to order my music from commercials because no store would be caught dead selling the kind of music that we old farts like, or worse, I'm afraid of getting embarrassed by a Cheapo version of Jack Black's character in High Fidelity.
Archaic. Thousand-year-old sound drowned by drones typing on their keyboards. Well, my dinner break is over.
back to work.