Acoustic Heart

Link to set your mood: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnhKcCwZwl8

"Cause a free wind is blowing through your hair..." - America

1,2,3,4....So, I have never been able to figure this out. I still to this day cannot express in words what the sound of acoustic guitar, or even more specifically, 70's classic rock can do to me. Maybe it's the crisp sound of metal guitar strings and bellowing voices that have reason and heartbreak in equal measure.

James Taylor can bring me to tears in the midst of an agro-workout where Nelly Furtado was previously helping boost my heart-rate and hair-bop on the elliptical. Don Mclean has nursed me out a thousand bad moods. Cat Stevens? The tone of sincerity in his voice wraps my spine in a web of love and compassion. "Father and Son" makes me want to be a man and love one at the same time. ( bizarre visual....sorry).

The Eagles, Hall and Oates, The Police, Fleetwood Mac, America...maybe its the memory of those bell-shaped white speakers with huge punch holes standing on large stripe painted poles at the pool? I was in an American compound in the Middle East... how did this music: 1. Get there? 2.Effect me so? Regardless of its roots in my soul fibers, it reminds me of youthful sex and freedom. Yet, I wasn't youthful for long, and my sexual prowess was in the early 90's (to horrible music.)

Right. Okay. So, this is where a perfectly wrapped up paragraph would be ideal. I, like my blog-thoughts, don't really follow a conventional pattern. It's amazing what comes to mind. I will free flow this: A cheap painting of dark brown stalks of pussy willows and wheat blowing in auburn-colored skies.Rail thin blond(es) with yellow bikinis lounging in "clockwork orange"-like beach chairs. Myself on a sandy warm beach with my hair blowing lightly across my face. Candle light. Hot lovey sex. The Wheaties box.The smell of sunscreen. The warm tingle of the sun beginning to burn my skin. My heart, like a palpitating energy of confined love melting through a cage and dripping its purified capacity of hurt and give into the universe.

Every time I hear such music I am taken somwhere. Again, I struggle to place where it started, but it has always been there. In the same words I used on my 8th grade page in junior high:

"If they were right, I'd agree. But it's them they know, not me." - Cat Stevens. Grace Church School yearbook (1991, Houston, TX)

Doot Doo, Doot Doo....do-do Doot Doo...