It became painfully obvious that my turn-on of girls crying is related to my own penchant for sad lovemaking.

I’ve always liked the idea of bringing someone from tears to blissful physical pleasure. Like make-up sex without the fighting.

A girl was able to do that for me once, so I’ve always wanted to be able to do it for someone else.

Either that, or my sadness is mingling with my lust.

I’m in a bad way

My sleeping schedule is upside down. I’m lovesick. I’m heartbroken. I can’t eat anything without shitting blood. My lips are chapped. My teeth keep grazing my canker sore. I’m breaking out. I’m dreading another day of work.

But I’d still rather be alone, than be with you.

This morning I put on Give Up, and for the first time I heard it without a single tinge of sadness. It felt like freedom, as if I could finally have this music to myself now. And at the same time, as much as I cherish all the memories and emotions, it’s nice to be able to say that I’m past it all now, and I can finally share this music with others.

It’s rare that something will make me feel forlorn nowadays, but every so often, something will set me off. I love to stew in those emotions, to appreciate them when I do feel them. Some songs sound totally different, like Battlecry by Grace Like Winter, but there’s nothing like hearing the opening bars of Oddity by Coal Chamber. A song that makes the skin feel like it’s peeling off, that must be loud enough to burn the tympanic membrane. It’s like the body melts, and everything fuses together.

Eventually, everything goes away.

I have to get this down before I lose it.

The new Starsailor album is out this month, and I’m not sure if I’ll buy it. There’s something about the general sound of Starsailor songs that evoke an almost ineffable emotion in me. I never even knew they existed until last month, but for some reason, their 2001 Love Is Here album cover is oddly familiar. Every time I see the sun-washed tracks falling into the horizon, I get an odd sense of déjá vu.

As one who rarely has such an ephemeral, mystical experience, this strikes me as a extremely poignant thing. I feel as if I know this album, that I’ve seen it before, even had emotions associated with it. It’s something I can’t explain, and whether the emotions are good are bad, I can’t recall.

Their music moves me nonetheless. The chord progressions are unpredictable yet dulcet, bitter yet sweet. I can’t decide if it’s sunset or sunrise music, and the album cover serves to emphasize this equivocality. I can’t even tell if the music makes me happy or sad.

And so remains my problem. Do I want to listen to this music or not? I always find it odd that someone would not want to think about or experience something simply because it makes them sad. Doing so seems to be so cowardly, as if one is running from one’s self.

Yet the problem remains, with other music as well, and as clear as this logic is for me I find it difficult to queue up certain songs. Listening to The Postal Service brings back so many amazing, unforgettable memories, but so many painful thoughts as well.

I choose not to ignore either, and end up being emotionally torn, unclear in my heart and in my mind.