A heavy bassline is my kind of silence

I'm pretty sure I have bad taste.
In pretty much everything.
Except maybe clothes, but that's only because in that respect, I look like everyone else. I buy my clothes from the same high street shops as everyone else.
I'm at ease with my questionable taste. But it poses problems.
For instance, if someone asks me to recommend a film, I feel bad doing it. Because the chances are, they'll shell out twenty quid and hate what I chose.
Same goes for music. Obviously. I mean, I fucking love a lot of the same music my peers do. You know, alt-pop, punk, post-punk, new-wave, no-wave, rocknroll, indie, all that. But I spend most of my time listening to random crap hardly anyone's heard of. Cheesy pop. Old country blues. Long-haired hicks from Shitsville, USA, singing about girls and screwing over/getting screwed over by best friends. Overly emotional screams.

I'm thinking about this because I've spent the last two days reading a book that I can't put down. I'm so fucking inspired by it that I've written more in my notebook over the last few days than I probably have done in weeks. It's been a while since I've used a pen for anything more than jotting down times and places, so I pretty much can't spell or write.

Back to the book.
I've just finished it and I feel slightly empty. What I expected was to be a story of the author's travels across America visiting famous rocknroll death sites turned out to be more about his cynical views on life, love and music culture. When I read a book, I fold the bottom corners of the pages up when I like a bit of the writing especially. And at the end I've folded up a record number.
Not that I talk about books much with my friends (it's usually music and whoever we hate/love most at that point in time), but despite how much I loved this book, I am never going to recommend it. Even the author admits that most book enthusiasts slate his style of writing.
On one of my folded pages is this:
"Art and love are the same thing: it's the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you. It's understanding the unreasonable."
This sounds pseudo-intelligent, but don't be fooled. These few sentences were preceeded by how he can relate every romantic encounter to a member of KISS. But I guess this sort of shows why I like this book (scrap that, I love it). I know it's not the most intellectual read but it reacts with me and even though the author is a cynical thirty year old from New York I fucking agree with him. Everything he rambles on about that has shit all to do with the book I relate to.
Even though I've never experienced it.
In that respect I'm painfully aware that this book is one big record.
I get it.
It pulls at my mind and my heart.
And for that reason no one else will agree.

I've been thinking about how every situation I encounter can be perfectly depicted by a particular song. Whether I'm adapting the meaning of the song to fit the scenario or looking for scenarios to re-enact the song, I'm not sure. And not sure I want to know, honestly. I guess most of the people I experience these moments with would be offended by the choices I've made to sum up our time together. There's one song that I can't listen to anymore because it will only ever remind me of one time in my life. Which is dumb because I only ever wanted the situation to be like a rock song, whereas in reality it was the other way round.

I've bought two more books, but I don't want to read them til I've got the other one out of my head.
Which could be a while.
It's called 'Killing Yourself To Live'.
And it's by Chuck Klosterman.
And I'm 85% sure it's the best book I've ever read.