About the voices in my head

New Napster lets me listen to about anything, so I put in my ear buds as tight as they'll go and crank the volume up even though I know I shouldn't and I may end up deaf as Pete Townsend, but right now who cares? It's been a long day and all I want to do is fill my head up with somebody else's smooth voice and somebody else's sweet song and something besides stuff that makes me frustrated or bored. When I turn the music up so loud it drowns out the TV that's on another basketball game and whatever it was Greg just said to me about the chicken and the furnace when it comes on and the phone that rings, I can't even hear the click of the keyboard, that's how loud it has to be to fill up my head and drown out the everyday voice that JUST WON'T SHUT UP. And this invention called new Napster, all legal and everything and I just have to click on whatever songs I want and they go in my playlist and they play and play. And sometimes I need to touch base with the past, so last night it was Cat Stevens and Elton and Doobie Brothers and Loggins and Messina. But really that is so yesterday's news and tonight I stay in this century and it's John Mayer's voice in my head, for there is some trueness there he shares with the others that knows no generation, and if the kids he's singing to in Waiting for the World to Change are not my demographic, well hell I don't care--I keep forgetting I'm so dang old anyway, that I'm closer to the generation that sang with now-departed John and the boys All We Need Is Love and sadly that has not worked out so well either. We are a Generation Failed. But no matter of things societal, I just feel like having young John's voice in my head singing Slow Dancing in a Crowded Room and Say and even Your Body Is a Wonderland, even when I know the reality of that statement. Not so much.
Sometimes when morning has broken I get up with the same songs floating around in my head, sans headphones, and I wonder how they stay there? Where do they hide all night, floating around with my dreams, singing to each other, James Taylor in a duet with Lenny Kravitz, and both Johns' voices is in there too, and I think hear Cat, old Yusef Islam himself, declaring once again it's the Year of the Cat, which is eversomuch more romantic than singing it's the Year of Yusef Islam. But oh baby, it's a wild world, and with this mix tape of the mind, maybe I've been dreaming with a broken heart--but I won't let it bring me down. From this vantage point, I can see for miles, and I won't get fooled again. I may need a little quiet, though, here inside the infinite now of head. Can't seem to learn that lesson. I'm not frustrated or bored, anymore, though. Worth a few decibels.
What's on your playlist?