Terms of misunderstanding have lead me to believe that the promiscuous and, hence, tartish behavior of my musical choices have left my mate in an otherwise undesirable, yet, highly agitated mood. Obviously, I was “highly agitated” when most of the music was introduced to me, but on further inspection it has left me wonton and without sexual congress. Due to the nature of my audiophilic needs and the various oppositions displayed by my congenital needs, I feel torn. And not the good kind, mind you. Several people have engaged in conversation about my auditory pleasures and the amount of emphasis I place on hardcore musics from the 1980s. She, my wife this time, finds it “shouts” in her words, angry. I lust for the dramatic push and pull of life’s rigorous and salacious moments, when men against men and women pitted against them, enthralled us all and our deceits were left unchallenged only to be rebuked in a pit of fear, confusion and eventual, demise... Fated to no one except our needs, hopes and, yes, desires. How I wish this service fulfilled all that, but, yeh, it is my own memory that binds my kismet. I will challenge it, for tonight, I listen.