Me and the Devil Blues

I’ve not really been on speaking terms with music lately. I’ve listened to the same two playlists over and over again, to the point where I no longer hear the music. It’s just a droning noise in the background, indistinguishable from any other sound. An endless, sound that rolls and wavers that is little more than white noise to me. Occasionally I’ll catch a snatch of something that sparks, jolting me into actually hearing what I’ve been listening to, but then it subsides again into a mindless atonal noise.

It’s a depressing thing, because while having music isn’t the end-all for me, it does mean something to me and it plays an important role in my creative drive. It’s always been there to me, to more or lesser degrees. I’ve even based some stories (loosely) on songs I’ve listened to. Sometimes it’s just a feeling that the song provokes that I then translate into story format, like the song “Wanna Rock & Roll” where a man with a cold black heart and red hot mind kills his lady because she dances with another man. If you’ve read my stories, you can probably see why this song appeals to me.

It’s always functioned as a catalyst for me, but lately I’ve been stuck in a rut, both in my writing and what I’ve been listening. So maybe if I switch up what I’ve been listening to, I can get back to writing again in earnest.

If I can find the time anyway.

15 Days Remaining.

Dylan Charles

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