Love And Music

Snow falls gently outside over the old town on the steep hill. It is soothing and soft to a mind addled by bad news. From here I can't feel the cold and wetness of it, just see the constant drifting, always always falling like the best kind of sleep.
On my headphones I listen to an old friend singing of his inner ego life in a series of beautifully-crafted songs, celebrating his individuality and lamenting his inability to do more with it, constrained by the chains of civilised life. The songs are also a celebration of these chains which are also ties, connecting him with friends and unknowns purely by existing as lyrics, melody and harmony. Their existence make it possible for him to bear the reality of living what he sings about. We love the trite things that hold us together at the same time as despising them.
Getting over a break-up, I try to smoke pot - inexperienced all the content scatters out of the badly-rolled paper while I try to light it - and listen to the most unhappy jazz I can find on my records. Externalising the misery and making it someone else's already-documented problem makes it easier to take myself to a less subjective place, a commentator on rather than the hero of misery.
Sun shines brightly over the old town now. Soon it will be spring. We in the enlightened world are ready to make a another great leap forward, made up of music and love in no particular order.