Ryan Adams makes me feel like I'm home again.
Or, at least, he makes me feel like I should be home, but I'm not.
It's funny how much music has changed throughout the years, but there are still some of those artists that really hit home. I feel like going to a radio station and camping out in a tent, throwing potatoes at the building in demand that they play something decent. But you know, I'm lazy, and my arm might hurt.
I have a bizarre obsession for music that makes me feel like a out-of-control maniac. Not the emo depressive maniacs...I mean the nice ones, that offer you chloroform and take you out for brunch, and do nothing but stare at you with a deathly hollowness into your eyes, and ask you interesting questions in their slow, broken voices, such as, "Are you a REAL spy?"
As a side-note, they usually come in different forms and colors, but I like the singing ones with black hair. Just a preference.
Yes, in case any one of you were wondering, I am an agent of the Thought Police, and I probe each and every one of your minds, because it brings me indescribable pleasure. I deceive you into believing I've fallen deathly in love with you, and then I find out your filthy thought-crimes and arrest you. I am the Delilah of your mind.
Anyway, just think about what you're about to listen to before you listen to it. Bottom line is, there's some music that will transport you to another world, and some that might make you want to leave this one. Many opt for the latter, and they're now in the mental hospitals that I'll be having to work for sometime in the future. Doctors say that the amount of patients could double, or even triple by 2012, the way the music industry is going.
You can't say I didn't warn you.
Right now my computer is making really high pitches squealing noises. It's a good thing I don't have a jackhammer on hand, or I might not be able to see the screen out of my acts of fury and frustration.
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