Live From a Shark Cage

Papa M’s Live From a Shark Cage is playing at the other end of the house.
I’m lying in bed listening to the beeping of a blood pressure monitor, waiting for the spearing pain to start so I can note it on a chart for the doctor.
Earlier today the X-ray beams of The CT scanner punched through my head, the whiring medical machine dissecting a brain in pain.

I’ve been listening to old music lately. Not for sentimentality and not because there is nothing that inspires in 2008. Simply because it’s worth returning, worth re-comprehending why certain songs make me feel. Much music nowadays makes me feel nothing. When I’m in the gym the confected rage of my youth doesn’t boil over during 104 point whatever’s ad free 50, anyhow I have a soft spot for Coldplay. When my girlfriend surfs through the four commercial radio stations here it pisses me off because I can’t hear a full song, not because all the songs I hear are shit.

So when a song does prick the emotional conscience it does it in a tremendous way. Pajo’s Crowd of One did it to me after coming home this morning. It’s buzzing angst was most likely nailed as pre-millennial tension originally, for me it worked just as well in feeding my “there’s no need to worry anxiousnees”. Confused, telephoned voices blip in and out while Pajo mumbles with his guitar.

Then there's the first voice: "we're calling to give you the day for the test, can you give us a call at 75-803-90 and we'll let you know the day".