For more than a decade, I've been a fan of Aerosmith. But only now I realize why that outward cry of Steven Tyler gets me. Everytime he screams his heart out with a feeling that sounds like anger, betrayal and even regret, the words of love, passion and joy pours out of him.
What happens between the moment when you desperately have to act in a certain kind of way you desire and the moment you realize that in fact you wouldn't have to do what you did and what's worse, you mustn't have done that? What exactly brings you to the verge of regret? Is it listening to your inner gut, which makes you feel the shame? Or another person's exclamation points in his/her voice? Or a simple trigger that gets you unprepared for what you are about to bring upon yourself? The lighting in a room, a verse in a song, an unfeeling kiss from a stranger, a long lost passion hidden in the eyes of an ex-lover or worse, that unfeeling kiss you couldn't give even though you always thought you could.
Steven Tyler with his brilliant words and protesting idea of rock -to me at least, I'm not a music critique afterall- sings out the life itself. Each note can claim to be that moment where you started to feel the conquest of regret upon your soul. Each comma can take the form of a bullet, shot right through your heart, with a simple trigger mechanism put into action right before that comma.
Just as I have witnessed in a beautiful play this evening, listening to his music, I can feel that I'm right there/here with blood running down my chest. It's not much -the amount of blood I mean- as when you are shot at your heart, no more blood is pumped to your body. But still, your heart stays warm for a little longer as if you're alive.
And there, it dawns on you. That moment of truth when you realize that your insecurities of which you were sure kept you away from the reality you were supposed to live -if you were courageous enough that is- are in fact true and showed you the right way to act in a certain moment.
Another perfect moment when you realize that above mentioned feeling with good memories tingling inside, but not dread surging and overwhelming your soul.
In a world where every man acts for himself, we walk alone on the surface of the earth. What matters is whether you'll walk whistling with plugs in your ear, listening to the songs of the people who actually had the courage to live and write them, or whether you'll open yourself up and hear the other whistlers to make your own harmonic piece of music. It doesn't matter whether it's good or bad as it's yours and yours only.
I can't shake that taste of iron in my mouth today. So be it. At least, it's my piece of music, eh?