Darkbleuski

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There is nothing to say about myself that my music cant say for me.
He's smoking a cigarette from the passenger side of my car. At this point, even though he seems fine, Im absolutely positive hes on some kind of drug. (other than music of course) The sun is coming up as he is coming down. At least thats the irony I think hes laughing silently to himself about. "What do you want people to think when they listen to your music?" he exhales and the torrent of 80 mph wind vacumes out the smoke from the crack in the partially decended window.
I pause for a second
"I guess no body has asked me that."
"And you've never thought about it?"
"Not really... I donno. I guess. I want people to feel hyped. I want people to not be able to resist listening. They should be able to take to heart the personal application of my vocals."
"Your whole purpose is in doing music is just to energize people?"
"No. Not the whole purpose. I guess its that I believe music isnt good music unless it makes the listener feel something. If one person listens to my any of my songs and likes it, Ill be happy. But thats still not good enough. I want someone to listen to my music the way that I listen to music. Analyze every beat, every note. Pick apart the vocals and turn it into a story that fits them. I want the serious side of happy. If that makes sense"
"Serious side of happy?
"Yeah"
He puts on his sun glasses as the sun traces up past his chest and filters directly at his eyes before pushing out another carsinagenic breath.
"Its kind of a paradox isn't it?"
"Not at all. You can be happy without being jumpy or obnoxious."
"Whatever man... That takes all the fun out of any kind of happieness"
He tilts the car seat back and takes off his seat belt. After finishing rolling the window down all the way so as his right hand will be able to reach comfortably out of the window, he folds his arms behind his head to poorly synthesize a pillow.
I have to pause for a second. I cant tell if that ended our conversation. Hes quiet now but I cant tell if hes got his eyes closed. It was kind of a long night.
"Is that why you do drugs?"
I say trying to shatter the silence already too drawn out.
"What do you mean?"
"Well. Someone who continiously uses drugs clearly isnt satisfied with the natural pleasures of life right?"
He takes off his sun glasses and sits up to look at me; trying a little too hard to make a dramatic point.
"Thats a little naracassistic isn't it"
"I d.."
He cuts me off
"You assume that everyone is like you and the ONLY reason someone would try a drug is if they arent satisfied with life? There isnt any other reason? The truth is we all have our drugs. You dont have to drive a nice car and pay so much in insurance but you do. Are you happier?
"I"
He cuts me off again
"Lemme answer for you. No. Because material things can only make the shallow side of you happy. But happieness of the mental persuasion is so much more valuable.
Look. You could spend the rest of your life living out some goodie fairytale about responsibility or you could enjoy what is in front of you. Its all how you decide to program your life"
I finally stop him.
"Hey, you dont have to get all defensive. I was just stating an oppinion. Its not a personal attack. Besides we were talking about music how did we end up on the subject of drugs?"
"Simple" he states calmly "Music is a drug"
I glimpse to my left to catch the small green car poised at me about 4 feet away.
"Music is addictive and you"
The driver side window turns into peices sprayed accross my lap.
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