owlectomy. (no subject) (Reply)

Tonight as I was coming home from work, they were marathoning Smashing Pumpkins, because it's the day after Halloween, so what are you going to do? Smash pumpkins. And all of a sudden I was fourteen years old again, because that was the music of me being fourteen and fifteen years old, more than anything else. And just as suddenly, I was embarrassed. Not embarrassed in the way these things usually go, a sense of "Oh my god did I really like that? That's awful," but embarrassed at my total obliviousness to the sex in the music, in the drumming and the guitar riffs. I had been primly insistent that I listened to the lyrics, and vaguely indignant at those who suggested that rock music and sex had anything to do with one another. I liked Smashing Pumpkins the way preteen girls like horses, attracted at some level that cannot be named or contemplated. When I consider that as far as real life goes I practically qualify for a convent even now, it's very odd to consider how much has changed since then.

And then I can't help thinking of that theory that yaoi appeals to repressed girls who are terrified of sex, and how I discovered Matendou Sonata at 16, which is all wings and longing, and it was like, oh. NOW I get it. (And yet, when I'd stumbled over Aestheticism a couple months earlier, I hadn't thought anything more of it than Gosh, it really does take all kinds, doesn't it?).

So I got home feeling fifteen but wiser and happier. And then VHI was doing its '80s music countdown, and even though I didn't actually listen to any music during the '80s, except for the Paul Simon and James Taylor that my parents owned, that left me even happier and more nostalgic--and feeling like I have grown up into a pretty good version of me.