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late-hour babble.
I once wrote something dealing with a loss of something intangible and
difficult to explain. a friend read and then made a photocopy of the
writing. I asked why he liked it, and he had no answer beyond, "I don't
know, I just do" and a smile.
I then asked if he knew what it's about. all he guessed was it was of a
loss. this frustrated me a bit (tho' I felt it shouldn't). he quickly
humbled me - "it reminds me of my brother [who died several years ago]
and it makes me smile. it doesn't really matter if I know what it's
about."
this is the same way I fear that I'll feel when I think of the masses
having access to otr - frustrated. frustrated if I walk into an office
and see some woman bobbing her head as she typed away while not truly
paying attention to some song that I hold very dear to me. "how can
this be merely 'background music' to you?" but if it brings her joy in
some sort of way, how can I say that she likes it the "wrong" way? or
in a way that's just not "good enough" for her to have the "privelege"
of hearing it.
I've books on my bookshelf that are aged and worn. their pages are
beige, and dog-eared. they smell old and look loved. and most of their
stories are a mystery to me. I've never read a page of the majority of
them.
some would stare wide-eyed, jaw agape and feel that I am somehow
unworthy of owning them perhaps. try to make me feel lesser because
I've not perused their pages. but they bring me joy by simply being a
"background music" of sorts. the mere sight of them brings me some sort
of comfort. they're beautiful to me without my understanding them as
others may. without my adoring them for years and deeply delving into
the words to find the greater, hidden meanings.
all this to say that while some part of me wishes to "preserve" - for
lack of a better word - some sort of... (hell, I don't even know),
there's a greater part of me that feels that no matter how insignificant
I may deem another's fleeting,
oo-this-song's-got-a-good-beat-and-you-can-dance-to-it fondness of otr's
music, I can't say that their fondness is inferior to mine. and if they
can make one more person out there gasp in awe or just bob their head
while typing then it sounds like a good idea to me. it's not like
they're selling their eternal souls into musical slavery or some such.
oh dear. it's late. miles between here and ohio suddenly lengthened in
one day, and I'm frustrated. grr.
not meaning to sound as if I'm wagging a finger at anyone.
ah hell, maybe I am.
nah.
sheesh.
yawn and g'night.
Great art can communicate before it is understood. - T.S. Eliot
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