Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Dreaming of the Coast of Carolina, dreaming all the ways that you will smile.

So I've been listening to a lot of Ne-yo as of late.

I mean like. He lays down so many sweet tracks, and I'm impressed, jealous even, of just the charm this guy exudes. He is a sweet suit wearing muhfucka hitting on depressed chicks like oh snap, you know? "Because of You," "I know this much is true, baby you, have become my addiction." "Ain't Got to Tell You," "It ain't a secret baby girl-you-fine." "Crazy," "So You Can Say," "Closer," they just scream at you, "fiiiiiiiiiiiine." This guy personifies the word "debonair."

Recently, I've been putting "Single" on repeat when I'm listening to music. Devoted for independent chicks everywhere, it's about how Ne-Yo sweeps this girl off her feet after her boyfriend fails to meet up with her at a club: "Pretty mama if you're single, single (You don't gotta be alone tonight)/ So while the DJ play that single, single (Just pretend that I'm your man tonight)." Then I sing along, SEE YOU DON'T GOT TO BE ALONE, I'LL BE YOUR BOYFRIEND, SEE YOU DON'T GOT TO BE ALONE GIRL I'LL BE YOUR BOYFRIEND, SEE YOU DON'T GOT TO BE ALONE BABY I'LL BE YOUR BOYFRIEND, BE YOUR BOYFRIEND TILL THIS SONG GOES OFF.

This is why sappy songs appeal to me; they help me act out this self-indulgent habit I have, where I set myself as the protagonist in this romantic storyline, the Romeo to your Juliet (duh). To sweep in on some lonely girl, acting as the sensitive charmer, and act as her crutch, as her support. Or to rescue some girl from an overly abusive relationship, shining brighter than the moon that we elope under. She sleeps soundly on my shoulder, more comfortable there than in any bed she's ever been in. I daydream about these kinds of scenarios during lectures, church, random places usually. I wittle time away by thinking of the perfect phrase to stop those tears from flowing out of those diamond-like eyes.

The ostentatiousness of it all!

So I'm especially embarrassed to say I did that with you. I should become a music video director. Every single song I listened to could be about you, regardless of the subject matter. Biggie's "Juicy" would see us in roach infested apartments, me coming home from work with fatigue etched into my muscles after spending the entire day lifting heavy things for money. You would take my coat, feeling the pockets only to find a lease for a new home. Or, "Voyager" by Daft Punk would see us in some kind of robotic dance floor, edging closer together like clockwork. Genre didn't matter, and neither did language barriers. I would see you running towards me to the beat of Epik High, I would see rainbows in your eyes towards ART-SCHOOL. When the song was gear towards something moreso romantic made it that much more easier to see myself with you. It didn't matter what I was listening to, I saw you everywhere.

I wanted you to be like a scene from a romantic movie. But the whole point of fiction is to present an idealized reality, in which immediate gratification is granted; just because you broke up with that guy doesn't suddenly mean that you're going to run into my arms, and I'm not going to be talking to you on the phone only to open my window and see you soaked in the rain, cell phone to your ear, ready to say I love you in person without being encumbered by a telephone line. When I see you I hear violins and pianos and whole orchestras playing, and they swell up in sound only to climax to... nothing. I ought to stop imagining that it could happen, because I can't change the way you feel. And unlike the songs I listen to, I can't part mountains to get to you, and I certainly can't wait for you to come home. But realizing this doesn't bring a sense of sadness like I think it should, but rather relief. Life isn't one song, one scenario, a single situation set to a single melody. It's a number of things, sweltering horns and dazzling trumpets and riotous drums and cellos and basses and sweet, sweet cacophony, it's chaotic in the number of things that can happen, and it's lovely because of it. Just because you're not the person I set "Single' to doesn't mean that the song's suddenly over, and we have to turn it off; it's a setback, it's a slight pause.

In the meantime I'll try to listen to something else. It's getting tired anyway.

(But DAMN if Single isn't catchy)

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