The Food Of Love.

Music has always been a staple in my household. Never a dinner without an argument about who would shift through the endless CD’s to find the perfect accompaniment to our home cooked meal. It sounds wholesome but I’m pretty sure I bled once. I craved music as a child, every time a new band was introduced it was as if a whole new set of emotions that I’d felt but had never been able to express were cultivated and somehow beautiful. I remember first hearing ‘Vienna’ by Billy Joel and seeing my entire 8 years of life stretched out across piano keys. I can’t quite put into words what haunts me so much about Billy Joel’s work but, his words capture and move me in a very unique way. Most of the advice my father gives me are Bob Dylan lyrics. Music was cornerstone of my upbringing a safe haven in the eye of the storm I can shake off my juvenile concerns and allow myself to sink into lyrics, rhythm and occasionally a pretty remarkable sax solo. I’ve adapted and changed but throughout the years I always find myself returning to the classics that shaped my ideals and understanding of human emotion so much for safety reassurance and sometimes a pretty good dance. Whenever I share music it’s because I’m desperately trying to impart the same knowledge I’ve taken from it to another. People rarely understand my fixation with sitting in complete silence just listening to someone else sing. You’ll never see me without my earphones in, usually with a fixated stare into the distance focused yet constantly moving, observing. Music is the only thing that seems to always make sense to me. I run to it always, in joy, sadness, reflection, even anger. It’s a sanctuary and I wouldn’t trade my sanctuary of someone else’s words for anything. The safety I find within the memories they hold folded gently within each note is home to me. I have found a home within someone else’s words where there is always tea in the pot and a different story to be unraveled.