When I was younger, I used to dream about becoming a journalist. I wanted to be one of the Rolling Stone writers, because other than writing and literature, the only thing I wanted to concern myself with was music. It took my mom four “groundings” before she realized that I didn’t care if I couldn’t watch T.V., movies, or even go out with friends (okay, that’s not entirely true, I did care if I couldn’t go out, but if it was dictum, then I didn’t push it), but if she took away my CDs, disc man, stereo, and cut me off from any way of getting these things, that she had power over me. To this day, my most precious collection is my music. My digital songs, my hard discs, and my vinyl. Second is books. I love my books. But, unfortunately, they cannot hold a candle to my music. Anyways, back to the point. I wanted to be a music journalist. I wanted to work for a magazine and express my opinions on all music. I didn’t want to contain myself to one genre; I didn’t want to become too much of a snob. Which I don’t think I am. I own N’Sync albums and used to listen to Backstreet Boys. I still dance around to Britney Spears in the mornings. But I also believe I have matured in my tastes. I have come to appreciate a certain sound. And I have come to appreciate more unique sounds, like Dirty Projectors, Discovery, Phantogram, and all the rest of these digital pioneers. It’s like listening to someone building a house. (As in you can hear all the pieces coming together to create a sound.) I love “finished project” music, but I am starting to appreciate the strange beauty of this block by block sound.
The reason I started writing about music today is that I went and read the last ten or so entries and realized that I have made reference to music or suggested music in a majority of them. I realized that it is central to my life. I think it is a thing that helps mold me. My musical compatibility entry asked a series of questions at the end, “What is it about music that draws people together, or separates them? Or is it just the preference of the person? How much does music play a role in how people see themselves? How they present themselves? It’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” I think music plays a pretty important role in how I see myself. I think it helps mold me (as stated above) but I don’t think it is my entire being. I don’t think I am music and music alone. I have various sides to me, but if music were a color, I would definitely be a shade of it. I listen to it daily, I get emotional thinking about it; there are songs that have stuck with me, and I feel as if they have struck such a strong chord in me that it literally takes the breath from me. I asked in another post if you could see music. I see it.
On a different note, I have decided to get another tattoo. The count will be up to three then. And I plan on getting at least two additional after this one. Jonathan loves my tats, and he loves that I get tattoos, but he just doesn’t want me to be inked too much. His one request was, “No sleeves.” Hahaha. I don’t think I could ever get sleeves. On some individuals they look good. But a. I don’t think they look good on a girl, and b. I COULD NEVER GET SLEEVES. It just irks me. The tattoo I want is poetry, from my own hand, but I don’t have something, as of yet, that I wanted inked forever. Since I have started writing again, though, there is more to choose from. Also, I have been thinking that it doesn’t necessarily have to be poetry, but it can be just something I wrote. A random thought. A particular part of my personal essays that really speaks to me; something that was just so right it has to be with me forever. The key to picking something you want inked is that you have to realize you will have these forever. Unless you want to spend the money for the lazer removal. Which then brings into question the reason you got inked in the first place. My sister wanted to get inked for her 22 birthday. She thought it was the end of her carefree life, which is partially true, what with the job hunt and all, but she took it as some kind of death sentence. She knew at the age of 19 I got a tattoo – my broken heart – and wanted advice. Should she do something absolutely crazy. Should she get inked. I told her I couldn’t say yes or no, only she had the right to come to that conclusion. Tattoos, for me at least, are deeply personal. They mark who you are. If something is that important to you that you had the urge and desire to keep it with you for all time, then it is something that is in you. It is a part of you. And has thus become a part of you. Of your beauty. (Sorry for the crappy photography, but for some reason, I couldn’t capture them that well. That and I need a new camera. Bad.)
Will post some recommendations later.