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Adventures in Writing, Reading & Book Culture

Rocking to the Zeppelin

Led Zeppelin


I’m back onto Led Zeppelin after too many days without their sound. I think I leave them aside on purpose, though unconsciously so, somehow knowing that when I return I feel that I have missed something, have been missing something, from my existential connection to the world. This reunion of the missing becomes a profound act, or association, with what was known and what is heard now (thought, read, felt, smelled, touched …), that diabolical bond that makes living worth doing again tomorrow. Sometimes that’s tough, otherwise.

I know how this must sound to some people, but what the hell do I care about that. We all have our Linus blanket, still, now, and forever, no matter if mom or dad or sister or brother tore it from our clutching hands and burned it before our eyes (in my case, I remember willingly giving it up; but I cried).

The Zeppelin were influential to my maturing sensibilities of the possible in life. I was not a musician, and can’t hold a true note (though if you want to hear dogs hide their snouts under their paws, let me sing), but I was always imaginative and creative, and discovering in my teens that four musicians had in their late teens and early 20s created something that made sense, and not be repetitive, was encouraging. The creative notion is in all of us, but comes out in different ways. I’ll never play the guitar, but I can listen to as good as anyone.

I do, however, gi-normously miss Guitar Hero.

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