Steve Is LOST In Music

its all music
my face looks the same
during every song
doesn't matter what letter it starts with
where culture and color disappear
like hatred tied to tree on fire
like watching all your dreams
go up in flames
over someone's
unease.
catagory, this story
that story, her drug story
its all history
rock and roll
rhythm and soul
you want catagories?
blues
zydeco
southern boogie
techno
house music
speed metal
death metal
eurodisco
singer-songwriter
alt-rock
alt-folk
punk rock
ska punk
post punk
alternative post-punk
punk
folk
psychedelic
new wave
New Romantics
big band
disco
jazz
handbag
chill out
cool jazz
ambient
be bop
free jazz
fusion
acid jazz
progressive rock(prog rock)
avant garde
experimental
rai
minimalist
dirge
noise
pop
funk
reggae
dancehall
easy listening
down tempo
acid rock
kraut rock
girl groups
boy groups
jam bands
gothic rock
industrial music
grebo rock
country
murder ballads
surf
balladeers
kinder-core
horrorcore
shock rock
Quiali
birdsong
howlers
vocalismo
cut up technique
british invasion
gospel
mass
orchestral
symphonic
the people that did everything first
went crazy and never made much money
and the people that followed after
who learned quickly from watching the success
of others and how it could destroy them...
music is full of those stories.
muddy waters writes it.
pat fricken boone has the hit with it.
the whole world is a lot like that at times
in everything.
good to not take it personally and
not get too caught up in catagories that
when it all comes down to it
really just mean the name on the front
of the CD/DVD/LP/Cassette/45/8-track/reel-to-reel
is different.
everyone knows how to spell.
no one needs to know
its psychedelic space rock
to know they like it
when they hear it.
when they groove on it.
if you are different
why not be the best
at being different
make it mean something
be nothing else but
who you are
on your own terms
people will come around
what appears at the time
as a series of let downs
is the slow wheel of time
cascading before our eyes into change
which happens in human hands
but not by human's understanding of time
where we perceive ourselves and nothing before us
or after us with much significance.
when we are only one grain of sand
leaking through the hourglass
with everyone else between
the beach
and the ever lapping waves
of the ocean.