Sometimes, Music Says What Words Can’t.

@postaday 369; #postaday2011.

I like all kinds of music, and I cycle through this and that. For a while there I was injecting Linkin Park into my ears like a bad addiction. In fact, I don’t really know what it is about Linkin Park that scratches my itch, but for some reason, I can write to it, and I really like working out to it. I also like to work out to Madonna, but it’s been a while. I expect she’ll cycle back in again. Another recent addition has been Matisyahu, pretty much a chameleon, which I happen to think is OK when it comes to entertainers.

Feel like dancing?

Some of my favorite music is dance hall stuff. Long, techno-infused, throbbing melodies that I can loop forever. Click here to hear: Mavado. That’s what I’m talking about, sometimes. Other times: Bingo Players, Punk Soul, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.

And then I have to go back to my old favorites: John Mayer, Imogen Heap, Garland Jeffreys, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, and, am I dating myself? John Fogerty.

I know compared to some, my iTunes library is quite small, but it spans generations, flavors, cultures, beats, techniques, rhythms, chords, notes high and low, as wide and as varied as there are souls here and gone, grains of sand on the beach, and stars that twinkle in the sky.

Sometimes, that’s how I’d have to explain these feelings that bubble inside me. All of that. All of it. Sometimes, it’s hard to put it into words. Sometimes I wish I could sing or play a tune because harnessing my feelings with something as clunky as words is so very hard for me to do. A year of blogging daily and I still feel as though I’m trying to cage fog and explain it.