Joni Mitchell always puts me in a certain mood.
It's a strange mood; one that reminds me of the summer of 2005, of Cambridge and the beach and mistakes and novelty. Her music brings with it a kind of ache that is hard and knocks the wind out of me.
I have to remind myself that there is more to music than one time. There is history, but there is also history to be made. I can love a musician or a song, but not necessarily have to relive previous times.
I associate both pleasant and unpleasant memories with music. The common thread of these music associated memories is always strength .
Sometimes they hit me like a cool wave. Like a wind that smells of a cold morning.
And sometimes they hit me with the force of a too-strong drink. With the weight of a slippery river rock.
Music used to hit me all the time. My emotions seemed almost at the mercy of songs. I don't miss being so affected all the time...I wonder if it's still possible. It feels like it's been a long time since a song has brought me to tears; a long time since I wanted to play it over and over, sing it at the top of my lungs, yell it, make it my anthem or credo. I miss that connection. I don't want to chalk it up to young adult angst.
I don't want to be unnmoved; and I mean this in terms of more than music. I want life to move me. I want to cry and laugh at movies and conversation and wake up breathless and roll in the grass and stare at the sun too long.
"and please remember me, my misery
and how it lost me all i wanted
those dogs that love the rain, and chasin' trains
the colored birds above there runnin'
in circles round the well, and where it spells
on the wall behind St. Peter
so bright on cinder gray in spray paint:
“who the hell can see forever?” "