empathy, currency, mogwai
Friday, Sept. 29, 2006 @ 12:19 a.m.

i heard eminem on the edge the other day, and aside from once again questioning the motivation of a radio station that preaches new rock and plays gwen stefani's solo album, i remembered the emptiness i felt when edward stopped listening to mogwai and started blaring 'lose yourself' through the vents every morning. and then, because kirsty lived in that house as well, i started thinking about her favourite band, garbage -- which i used to like, and now never listen to. it might be because i can't bear to think about my failed relationships anymore, and am constantly at work to fend off those memories...or it could be because i didn't really enjoy the music for what it was, and only liked that it was something nice that i could share with similarly interested people.

or it could be neither. after all, it doesn't have to be one or the other anymore. which is to say that although i did then, i no longer feel compelled to hear things before anyone else or be the first to say i did or didn't like something. i didn't have anything important to say at that point.

some things never change. i first heard this song on a cold november morning six months after moving out of kingsmount and into what i then imagined was a greener pasture. what is slightly ironic is that i heard it on another radio station i can't say i understand -- and somehow, even more ironically, the song mentions bleeding hearts! -- cbc. i was listening to cbc because it reminded me of coming downstairs for breakfast when i lived with my parents: a kind memory. but i was reminded by this song that i had no one to share it with, of my reclusion and that, possibly worse than the first two, it was my own doing. i took everyone's favourite non-friend pam to the concert five months later, which was both funny and sad. but whether in direct opposition to my former tastes, or because i thought i could really embrace my discomfort by relabelling it nomadicism, i have since added a pile of lyrically based meloncholy music to my daily playlists. while i have retained my earlier collections, i seldom look at (and yet cannot bring myself to part with) them.

during my too-short stint as a friend to both of the housemates i mentioned, music had become my currency. afterward, it remained as a constant reminder of what i liked and they liked and we liked: and so, a reminder that that money isn't any good where i am now. not unlike the euros a german man tried to use as payment yesterday...or like the 1982 penny i keep around because i think it's going to bring me luck. at the end of every day, i rediscover how very friendless, homeless and penniless i am.

i don't know whether it is because of the song itself or if it was just in the right place at the right time, but the more i listen to it, the more i think the way i feel when i listen to this song is the way i've felt every day since i heard it.

the car that dropped me off, did it turn around?
and watch me walk the long way down
past the glow of town like a setting sun
horizon's alive with electric light and hum

the wind from the river will swirl like a scream and wrap itself 'round you
there may be a friend somewhere down the road
but from here you have to walk it out alone