When I hear the soft gilded tones of that voice of his, it makes me want to lie there in sheer awe, bathing in the glistening softness of the speakers that do so convey this wondrous sound. My skin prickles with the anticipation of what appears to be feelings of love, rather than feelings of lust. It is that clear distinction that makes the experience all the more pleasurable. This longing and obsession for the sound that seems to simply pour out of his mouth makes my head spin with the dizzy desires of a school girl crush and the pure trueness of a woman’s love. This gilded delicate situation is the peculiar love child of heart and mind. I know in my head the relationship between woman and computer screen could not and will never work out. However my heart says otherwise, ignoring the reality and accepting the fantasy, believing that it will work out for the better.
I know that many women have been held by the arms of the man behind the voice. Yet I choose to ignore that, I have only been held once, been loved once, if one could call it love. The carnal desires of what is man and what is woman can only bring about the catastrophe of the mind and the breakdown of the heart. Unhinged by this very knowledge I go about my dream world in ultimate bliss. Now I know how the phrase “ignorance is bliss” feels like, and I do quite like it. I know that it can never become reality, but this means that I know I can never get hurt. If I can never get hurt, one must question is this fake reality better for the soul? I have seen many immoral acts that have been committed in this year of my life. The seventeenth year seems particularly ominous, disastrous, and downright crap, which helps me predict that the year ahead will possibly be rather unholy as well. The only thing, sound, person that brings me to a standstill is that of a forty eight year old man with slicked back hair and a voice that echoes through the many fruitfully depicted pages of time, of which are sadly fading. They fade because they are forgotten, they are not flicked through anymore, none of them are casually gazed at, and it is such a shame. The rough and ready man that was once there has now, as the great many classics have, faded in to the background. The foreground is now filled with people undeserving of its bedazzling lime coloured light, they are not humorous, they are not talented, and they most certainly are not worth the money that they are paid to do whatever they do.
Obviously there are exceptions, and I’m not saying that every man or woman standing under the bout of fame is not worth their bread, I know that there are plenty of people who do work hard and are genuinely passionate about what they do for a living. However I don’t see the point of some people who are just their because, let the classics live on and let the fame hungry materialists starve.