Pictures of You (The Cure)
I sat on the floor of the top-floor apartment in Bowling Green, Ohio, I shared with my then-girlfriend and listened to this song, poring over the lyrics and staying quiet the entire 8-plus minutes, wanting only to hear the music and whatever it meant. (At the time, this song was barely more than 10 years old, as it came out in 1989.) I was drunk, but not too drunk to appreciate the sentiment. "That's a beautiful song," I said when it was over, seemingly to no one, but Mike, my then-girlfriend's friend who slept that night on the couch, heard. (I never did ask if he and her had a relationship in the past. Some things were better off not known.) And he agreed like it was always so. Yet I had just discovered it. Music no longer holds that sort of meaning for me. I'm all angst-ed out. You can say the same about pictures. I don't fetishize them either. Maybe working with photos for 7.5 years as a graphic artist and much longer as amateur photographer weaned me off ...