Author: Jenny

Sometimes when I’m leaving, I want to take the light with me and figure out what makes it buzz. Then I ask myself if it’s broken, and then I want to fix it. Or take it somewhere to get fixed. But then I wonder about the “what-if’s.” What if I’m the one that’s broken? Or maybe—just maybe—all that buzzing isn’t here to make us crazy.

It could be another language. Or maybe the lights sing to son because it’s lonely and it’s crying. Maybe all this noise I hear doesn’t really exist; I could be making it all up because maybe my psychological wiring is off. But between all these “maybe’s” and copious “what-if’s” I never get around to really thinking through, I’m not sure that I’d actually like to prove or disprove any of my theories.

Scientifically speaking, I could be hearing white noise. Or static noise. I don’t even know, but my point is that whatever I’m hearing could quite possibly be explained by science. It could have nothing to with music or Buddy Holly dying.

My aunt Judy used to tell me it wasn’t anything to worry about. The music wasn’t dead and there wasn’t anything wrong with me. She didn’t understand that I knew, though I has a feeling that echoed through my bones. The music was going to die; the world was going to end.

It wasn’t going to be something as big and scary and public as 2012 or Y2K. But it was going to rock us just the same—leave us shaken and bloody and wondering if we’d finally found the apocalypse. I feel bad for all those Jesus freaks out there.

Anyways, I think it’s safe to say the music didn’t die with Buddy Holly. The music died with the discovery of hair metal. And I mean the quality died, not the music itself. The death of music was a long, drawn out process. It was the product of carelessness—The process I’m talking about started back in ‘98—during the Y2K uproar that was really a bug for people to buy a bunch of shit they didn’t need and keep businesses from filing bankruptcy. It was December, it was cold, and it was the day after Christmas.

I worked at one of those stores that sold all these old records you couldn’t find anywhere else. It was constantly filled with people who were nostalgic for thing they weren’t even alive for—like The Beatles or Elvis or The Rolling Stones. My girlfriend at the time had it bad for The Who. She also had a dark green Mohawk and gaudy hoop through the middle of her nose that scared my shitless. Her idea of a good time was snorting blow and summoning the devil.

That’s what we were doing when I got that feeling—when the ground shook and our record waved. And I knew Y2K was a myth because the devil we were talking to said so. He said that technology didn’t know what year it was. But we could tell it. He just kept talking, and I didn’t understand, so I stopped listening.

When I wasn’t listening, I was feeling. The Earth was shaking, Franky had her fingers around my wrist, and I was somewhere between screaming and crying because when the ground shakes, it just makes sense to shake with it. 

Note: I think it was a pretty awesome addition, what do you guys think? :)

Next Author: Kyle