It's funny, how people laud the old school rock concerts with one hippie on the stage strumming an acoustic guitar as the best rock and roll concerts. The ones with the most feeling, the most sincerity, and which were the most tangible. He knows because he once believed that was the purest form of rock&roll concerts. The Best it could ever be.

Now he drowns himself in music with too many percussion tracks, too many vocal tracks harmonizing with the lead vocal whining in smooth alto. It makes him forget everything, and lose his mind in between the drumbeat and baby lose yourself in me. Or else, he just concentrates on the guitar track, trying to piece chords together across the confusion of sound.

The guitar strings speak of inarticulate hours and hundredfold silence at midnight.

a/n: crap la i really have to get you out of my mind when i'm writing. everything reeks of you. in a pleasant, musky way.