Music & Soul
- LETTURE 126
- Voti 7
- Parti 11
Tagdystopia
I close my eyes and let out a breath before tapping the body of the guitar counting to four then striking the first chord, my fingers having a mind of their own as I play. I open my eyes and find myself at the beach again, stones in my hand. I toss one stone to the next the sound of a guitar and my own voice breaking from the surface. As I toss one stone I pick up another with my free hand, keeping a steady stream going picking up pace and slowing down to create tempo, listening to the composition that I hear with every skip. After a few seconds go by I start throwing rather rapidly, hearing a beautiful riff come from the water transition to what I would have to guess is the chorus as my voice comes up again. Just as I notice I'm running low on stones I hear a voice coming from far away, but it isn't John. I drop the stones and look in the direction of where the voice came from.
Everyone has a genre, it is where we get our labels, our group, everything is dependent of our genre. But there's one problem with that: what about those who don't have one or belong to their own?
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