There’s a quickening of the senses, a natural euphoria, a firing of the imagination that comes fast and easy when life is new. Music is one of the obvious catalysts and for a while it is important.
But years pass, familiarity gently makes these triggers less effective. New sources are needed. But life and time seem to grow incompatible with discovery. Was it never that good after all, for the vast majority? Else why, by middle age, are most in thrall to – at best – biological imperatives (like child rearing) and too far from joie de vivre to feel it without a crutch like booze?
It isn’t a surfeit of life experiences making a humdrum of what is left. Nor can it be mere wageslave toil; because generally jobs are worse when younger. Resignation then? Dare not loose the mind into that arena predicated on hope and immortality and self-love?
Or is everyone just singing on the inside by the time they’re middle aged?
It’s often said, of nice introspective people, they have a heart of gold. It might be hidden under a prosaic facade but beneath things are different. Well maybe that’s true but gold is all about material utility. Gold might be a safer, better medium for conductivity but it won’t beat fast and burn palpably like flesh and blood!
Check out this Charles Bukowski poem: http://laist.com/2006/08/13/charles_bukowski_the_man_with_the_beautiful_eyes.php.