It was easier when we were just friends. He never minded when I teased him for brewing coffee in a French press. True, it tasted better than the burnt water we serve at the pub, embittered by months of amber residue lining the carafe’s wall. But Julian’s beans were roasted with the fear of having to learn anything new. And I mean anything; the guy is teched so low he still uses a land line.
It was easier when he was just Julian: oil painter, plagiarizer of Grounder lyrics, and lender of decent books. When we were friends, I couldn’t let him down. Over the two years we dated, I disappointed him so frequently I never gave him an opportunity to displace his offense with an offer of love.
When he told me he was seeing someone new, the tight grip I’d held to my end of our connection fell as slack as his. Limp between us, the provocative manacle lay prone, taunting me to text him a photo with no subtle indication I’d taken it up again. Julian doesn’t have a phone to access such an image, of course.
Mixtape Methodology is a place for writing about music, for writing that wants to be music, for writing that wants the emotional immediacy of music, for those of us who want to experience the mental takedown of sonic oblivion through as many psychological pathways as possible, for those of us who want to dance about architecture.