Autobiography

If I were ever to write a memoir or biography, I would have to learn a new language. The language of music.

From the earliest memories of singing hymns and cantatas in choir, to the classical music which regulated my moods when nothing else would, to the comfort of IAMX and the blood-pounding rhythms of NUL, music has shaped and defined my life. While words provided direction, hope and dreams, music filled my blood and kept me alive.

I would say that I am addicted to music. If I go without it for too long, it affects my mood. Once it comes back, I can handle nearly any emotional upset.

I have synesthesia. I experience the world a tick off from most people. I sense moods as colors and shapes, words as human movement, time as an empty box with visible walls and invisible beginning and ending. Taste, touch, sight and scent are jumbled up. I do not simply feel emotion, but visualize it as a landscape inside of my head.

Music? Music is blood. Life. It is what moves my limbs, soothes my fears, releases the tension in my body. Music is my heartbeat. If I am tired or distraught, music will restore me more than sleep or food. A live concert, with the right band, fills me with palpable energy and an emotional high beyond words.

My memoir would have to be a piece of music. Not a musical, not an opera, but a single piece of music. Elements of Pachelbel’s canon, Rachmaninov’s pianos, Liszt’s Hungarian Dance would mix with IAMX, KMFDM, The Clash, Cattletruck, Bella Morte, Ego Likeness, Angelspit, NUL, The Lord’s Prayer, Eisbrecher.

The holy and the profane. The music that glories in purity, skill, resonance and construction, alongside the music that relishes pain, anger and the desire to survive at the most basic level. The two foundations of my life, and what has shaped me.

And that is why only music could summarize.

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One Response to “Autobiography”

  1. I totally can relate to this. Thank you for this post. It makes perfect sense to me. This is something I often struggle to put into words for others.

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