Rebirth of Soul

This is NOT a blog about music. This is a blog about the way in which a life, my life, finds rhythm-- whether it’s in writing, colors, sounds, or silence.
Back to blogging after a hiatus that involved a marriage to a process that’s been paused until I get a decision letter. I’ve probably been doing other shit, too, but that’s too boring to write about. For those of you who only know today’s me.
Past:
(Playback) I was conceived by the rhythm of hips, in a vehicle, on some God’s church ground. Radio on or off? Still there was rhythm. Grew up listening to vinyl voices, horns, and skips. My dad never let me touch them, not even the covers. If music was playing on Sunday morning, then everything was okay. Until the next thing happened. Made Sony rich on walk/disc-mans. Recorded music off the tv (I can remember my little brother’s 3 year old self ruining a perfect recording, by coming into our room/studio and asking for something, juice, probably). Bought my first tape, Ghetto Boys. Got in trouble for scratching my grandmother’s gospel record (trying to be a DJ—they made it look so easy) on her new record player, lied about it for 10 years and finally came clean before she died. MP3 age hit—Napster. CD-Burners. Became a playlist fiend—even had one titled, “Walking.” Age 27, found my dad’s records, unguarded and took the ones I wanted, because they make me think of the time when I knew him best. I don’t even own a record player.
FFWD
Presentish:
Ate. Issued heartaches, but one mended. Slept. Gained and lost friends. Fell in love/got a bed/moved in with her/got a joint banking account—found one kind of rhythm. Cut off my locs/got a mohawk. Was a victim of bike theft. Applied to med school. Got a new iPod. Read, A LOT.
Music is still a constant in my life, which is a good thing, but could be a better thing. I realized that about 75% of my music collection is the same as it’s been for the last four years. This basically means that my iPod has been on repeat even while shuffling. In the past couple of months, I’ve felt the thirst growing for new sounds and voices that have not coursed through my headphones wires before. While I resided in libraries all over the city, music was being born, dying, and resurrecting itself (even if only to become the same thing all over again). Without the MCAT to serve as an excuse, what remains to prevent me from becoming a part of the dialogue of rhythm? Nothing. Hence, the blog.
Future:
Birth of a podcast. New soundtracks to live by. I repeat: This is NOT a blog about music. This is a blog about the way in which a life, my life, finds rhythm-- whether it’s in writing, colors, sounds, or silence.