Music

Music is the opiate of my mind. I can be breathing, thinking, talking, observing all day long, building to some great conclusion in the moments before I fall into my well-earned rest, as if the day were a Shakespearean play with its vicissitudinal crescendo, and if I innocently put on a song recorded in some yesteryear, my mind becomes a blank receptor for the notes, incapable of marshalling itself to any type of inspiring action. Alas, the sad notes of America play, and my being is stranded in a far-off desert, removed from the sounds and smells of today.