Oh, Spotify, how I love you.
While I’m writing at work, I can pretty much pull up any song ever and listen to it—thanks to you, Spotify.
I can also do stupid and pointless stuff, like imagining what songs might be on Holden Caulfield’s Spotify playlist—were he actually a real person, alive today, as a teenager, with access to modern technology like computers and such.
So that’s what I’m doing today. I’m taking a stab at coming up with a Spotify playlist for perhaps the most annoying character in modern literature, Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye.
While he’s annoying and hardly bearable, that doesn’t mean his musical selections are:
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I am the wandering poet,
I do not sleep
I am wasting these days in the dregs
Of the deep.
I live in the church of myself
Bizarre & unfulfilled,
The spirit of the waking man,
And the fool, the reckless fool.
For I am walking round the circle
From the outside looking in,
I am the shadow on the wall
And the wall is growing thin.
So can you see me?
~ R.M. Engelhardt
And in this corner;
It’s the hollow man &
The drunken muse
And that song
That goes like this’
As the rain came down
Upon the city streets & poets, sonnets
And upon all of the earth
As If Mozart had just
Written it all for you
On a Saturday night
[And In Parenthesis]
The next round begins,
And they ring the bell
It’s the ghost in the machine
And all the silences in-between
And there’s a savior on every block
Just waiting for you with
The answer in their hands
I’m alone in the dark
Without the directions home
Do you see?
All the desolate and the
Lost, the poor, and the rich
Who still ignore them,
See the universe
In vibrant words
And they just ignore you
The angry masses
Can only scream
And in this corner
It’s the serpent’s coil
And the soul of the dragon,
This world a weeping failure
In thy form, and in thy sight
As they pour more champagne
Half full into the glass
And it’s still the same damn song that goes like this,
As they lit our cigarettes with dollar bills
As all the children starved to death
In Shitsville & Manhattan,
And in the U. S. of A. America
Where all the rains came down
A hard rain still
Falling In buckets, sonnets & poems
That changed nothing
And never will
Because no one even
Bothered to ever
Read the words or
The writing on the wall
~ R.M. Engelhardt
Tonight on television
there is an actor
talking about his battle with
drug addiction, sex addiction and life.
You would think that by the way
the host is interviewing him
that he is wise & worldly, an
ancient sage from his
battle with the curse
And there are a billion lights
in the great big city, a million lives
that get up everyday and go to work like
everybody else. And their addiction is food,
their addiction is rent and how to somehow
get thru the next day and make sure that
their children are dressed, educated & well-fed.
So the question is is that when you
look at the world do you see a gift? Or do you see an
enemy? Do you have faith or do you pretend that
all of these famous people are like you or your friends?
The constant partying,
the good life, broads & booze,
high fashion, money and
Paris Hilton bending over your
patio bench just waiting for
a piece of what you’ve got to give.
But there are those of us who
happen to live in the real world,
those who believe in more than just
the shallow trash that all the others
seem to admire.
And they call us the survivors who don’t
need the shit or the television to fulfill our
needs. The survivors who don’t need the
drama or the fake religions of the moment,
the meth or the cocaine, a little dog or
a brand new $400. dollar purse.