Monday, April 16, 2007


Sometimes a song comes to me, taps me on the shoulder and says, "Hello there, young Vincent. You're looking quite strapping today, aren't you? Take me, Vincent! Take me now and ravage me! Carry me into your bedroom and capture me with your throbbing condenser mic! Let us conceive a beautiful mp3 love child!"

And I do this, because you do not argue with a lust song.

But occasionally a song will come to me and say, "Hello there, young Vincent. You're looking quite fetching today, aren't you? Well, I have to go now. See you later."

And so the dance begins.

Days go by. Months. Years.

Steamy windows.
Hot flashes.
Cold showers.

Then, a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"It is I, young Vincent! The song you've been waiting for," the song answers.

I hesitate for a moment, then swing the door open with reckless abandon.

We embrace, and culminate our passion.

And that, my friends, is a love song.