http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QB0ordd2nOI
I didn't need to hear this song. I wasn't ready, where I was, to hear it. Not the time or the place or the person — to or from. But I did, and it stuck like a burr. First innocuous, then diligent, then permanent, a seed, growing roots in me, shaping my tastes and my abilities and my desires — I played this song on the piano, it was memetic, a virus. And I shared it. So it accomplished what it wanted and left me an empty husk — metaphorically, as a virus. But it took its toll — I don't like the artist's other work, and I don't like the room I first heard the song in. I was never comfortable there again.
Maybe it's not even the song. The song is just a timestamp, like a smell or a sight, to cement in how I felt one summer. The chords don't matter at all. But that's how it is.
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