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One honey donut and your lips are stuck to the seat.... Blah blah blah blah. I blame a lot of my troubles on seemly external stimulus and the overly sentimental reaction they create in my bored/self conscious heart. (rather then.... oh, I don't know.... Alcohalism) I blame Shudder to Think for a good portion of this spring's emotional imbroglios. I realize I am frightfully behind the times, I remember my boyfriends and comrades espousing praise of Shudder years ago, yet I remained hopelessly apathetic. Sure, they were good, but I was too busy attending to my own thunderstorm to pay any attention. And such was my youth... So, about two months ago, gracious Leah Shaper insisted that I listen to "So Into You" off of "Pony Express" and all was lost. I am enraptured. From "10spot" to "50,000 BC", to "High Art" I have become an addicted to the irreverent yet capable passion which is Shudder to Think. There is something compulsively romantic and heart wrenching about listening to "No Rm. 9, Kentucky", while inhaling the wisteria in bloom, the eerie light through wrought iron fences and the hesitant silence that only a walk through West Philly at dusk can provide. West Philly rules. Somethimes I think I don't live in a city at all. Anyway, Shudder to Think has unbalanced me. Left me sort of excessively sensitive to my newly revived sense of potential and full moon anxiety. What's it all about? Can I really profess that the music I am listening to has awoken some sort of pathological but necessary longing? I'm ashamed. But not ashamed enough to stop myself. After all, I don't have anything else to do. A mute thanks. I had no idea. |