Music is a private thing now. An ingested, injected thing. Once shared among the masses (and amassed to be shared), it’s become the private secret of a million men and women churning out the miles on their elliptical orbits in clubs and gyms. It drives the gyroscopic nods of walkers on the street and snippet hums of the co-worker entombed in the cubicle next to yours. Every coda is replay and every measure the quiet ticking away of draining batteries.
And all the while music has ceded it status as the universal language to the cell phone call. Thank you for sharing against my will and need to know. I privy now as to why you’re sick, hungry for love, the first to attend the accidents of other people’s lives and your penchant for extra cheese. You’ve shared with me and those gathered around me your secrets, hopes, and standardized views of your not-so-private cosmos.
I miss your music, and the sly smile that obscured the private content of your life. But too late, you’ve jacked in again and flipped open your life line to an already sated audience.
Stop. Don’t pick up. And share the dance with me.

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by Paul H. (nessus19) - ,

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Eva L. (wearetrees) - 2/19/2009 2:40 PM ET

This piece is mesmerizing, leaves a feeling of slow distress in the gut - like the digital pulse of which you write, and the erosion of the organic harmonies of the world around us, and in us.

Marta J. (booksnob) - 2/19/2009 5:55 PM ET

As always, love it!

Joyce M. (j3m) - 2/20/2009 2:06 PM ET

wow, this is powerful; and so true; music used to bring people together; it's less and less a shared thing.

Carol D. - 3/1/2009 3:32 PM ET

Yow. beautiful.

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