A puff of Pink Floyd, a shot of Sean Kingston, a line of Lupe Fiasco.

After a long night of working on lab write ups for physics, monday morning seemed to lag endlessly after only an hour. the worst of it was the exhaustion after less than hour of class. as I sat in seacobeck, I began to assess my resources and see what I could find to help keep me awake. Somehow, the same mountain dew that fueled the insomnia the previous night wasn’t going to myself. As I realised that I possessed no particular substances of mind altering natures, I looked to the only things I had on my persons, a wallet, a key, some gum, a cell phone, and an Ipod.
Money, as pleasurable as it may be at times, is not really exciting enough to keep me awake. Some may find dead men when with outrageous facial hair and wigs invigorating; I, however, am not of said persuasion. The key was pretty useless. In fact, I think I wasted more energy thinking about the key than the key key gave in return. The gum helped: chewing gave me some minor physical labor to get the blood flowing. But still I was not yet awake enough to make it through the day. The cell phone was tempting; the thought of annoying someone at this hour was a happy one. Unfortuantely, an altruistic urge surged through me, ruling out this option. All that was left was the Ipod…
As I placed the earbuds in my ears, and selected a song with the wheel (the piece of choice was “The hand that feeds” by Nine Inch Nails) I had a first hand experience of the direct effects of music. I had noticed it before, but perhaps because I was in such a dejected and downtrodden mood the effect was more noticeable. It was as though my energy had been supplemented by that of the electric guitar. Music is truly a unique art form in that in “speaks without words”. All other art has to be heavily interpreted. The mind must analyze and draw reasonable conlusions in order to read poetry or fully respect a piece of visual artwork. but music is instantaneous and in an almost drug-like sense (from research and heresay-not experience). It almost makes sense when one considers the amount of musicians who fall prey to the pitfalls of addiction. True artists have such a passion for what they do that whenever they are not doing it there is an emptiness that overcomes them. Take a look at your favorite artist when they are live the next time you have a chance. Look at the expressions upon the face of utter ecstasy. Where else can one experience this feeling? It is apparent as to the impulse that leads these musicians to make the choices they do(whether they are justified is a different question).
Just thought I’d share my thoughts and an anecdote.

One Response to “A puff of Pink Floyd, a shot of Sean Kingston, a line of Lupe Fiasco.”

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