I carry him in my pocket and he sings to me

...and yet you'll still wonder why girls fall head-over-heels for guys in bands.

---

In the grimy underground, one of the few places in society where it's acceptable to be as anti-social as heck, his song and his words are my saving grace. His voice, smooth as a cascade of molten chocolate flowing into a glass, can lower to the most sultry growl and rise into a piercing tenor--0 to 60 in nanoseconds.

When he sings, the lime greeny walls of Dundas station--mired by the constant build-up of dirt and leavings of an active civilzation--just crumble away from my consciousness. I feel my feet lift off the scuffed and sometimes oddly sticky platform, and the ceiling of unspeakable germiness disappears before my outstretched fingers.

Then the train comes and blows me back to the ground, but after I scurry in and nab myself a spot (which involves a brief scuffle with this old lady, and she was armed with a cane goddamnit), I lean back and fall straight into the sweet embrace of Matthew Bellamy's lyrics, imagining that he's singing to me, even though I'm sure he isn't; we never even introduced ourselves on eHarmony.

But that's the point, isn't it? Boy bands, rock bands, solo artists with their gushy lyrics and sweet nothings are meant to snare the very delusional female fan.

Sometimes, we know that the song itself is dedicated to a real life sweet heart of the artist's, but then we go satisfy our stalker tendencies and declare that the perfectly beautiful and stable beloved of our beloved is an ugly old hag, which makes it perfectly alright to go back to thinking that the song, really, is just for us (or, really, it's written for me).

It's an evil, evil marketing scheme, and whoever thought of manipulating the emotions of unsuspecting fangirls/boys is ...kind of a genius. But, you know, an evil one, rolling in lots of money and...god, this is kind of depressing.

My point isn't very clear here, mostly because I just kicked my butt at the gym and I'm really, really dying for a good hamburger. So to prove my point (about the manipulation and the evilness and blah, blah, blah), here's some South Park.