I am "coffeehouse soul" which, roughly translated, means that I play at coffeehouses for a living. This leads to the emancipation from my already-estranged relationship with my soulless mother. She's a real estate agent so me being "coffeehouse soul" is basically her own little version of purgatory. She just doesn't understand that college doesn't hold my attention. That I'm destined to go absolutely nowhere, do absolutely nothing, and make myself into an absolute nobody. She especially doesn't understand that I'm absolutely fine with it.

So what if I'm in an ever-present argument with my mother and the entire human population in general? So I hate people! So I hate people more than I hate celery, or Daughtry, or cappuccinos (who drinks foam anyway). Aside from the rare exceptions, I just dislike human beings. So I write songs about vengeance, cruelty, mythology, folk lore...anything that is either mean or completely impersonal.

But most of the time I'm just an everyday person torturing the masses. See, after discovering I could mess with live music it became my favorite thing to do. Like a hobby only it doesn't involve knitting, gardening, woodworking, or gnomes. Completely driven by my extreme hatred of people and wannabe musicians. And people.

--

The delicious smell of beer and cigarettes fill my nostrils in sweet pain as my ears screech with pleads for me to leave the room. A little part of me says masochist, but the part that says fun quickly eats that part whole. The band, From Their Ignorance (it's like their begging to made fun of them) are doing a Godawful Fall Out Boy impression (which is even worse considering I hate Fall Out Boy). With a chuckle I pull out a new trick from my sleeves, the lead singer's voice cracks with an astounding screech. He looks at the crowd, beads of sweat falling down his forehead while the rest of the band stares daggers at him. The bassist looks like he wants to taser him, while the drummer has that look that says "go play on the highway!" all over. He quickly retreats of stage while everyone else (in a true fit of diva) yells at him as they run after. I chuckle.

"Thank the Goddess!" says my feminist raised Hattie with a wide toothy smile. "Beautiful voice, horrible song."

"Beautiful voice?"

"I'm a nice person!" she yells in defense.

"Just say it sucked! Tell the truth!"

"See! This is why I graduated from anger management and the judge ordered you to another session!"

"Shut up bitch!"

"You fir-"

"-Bitches and bastards may I present Through the Keyhole," drones the announcer.

"I'll be the judge of what hole it's through!" I shout, which is met by a round of applause. The drummer then proceeds to flip me off as they come on stage.

Then the music starts.

And it's beautiful, and tasteful, and it just melts my skin in a way that only Led Zeppelin and Blue October and Strays Don't Sleep can. I'm a puddle of Delia on the floor...Then I'm fucking angry.

"They're amazing!" says Hattie with a wide-eyed look of awe at them.

"Fuck," I whisper angrily.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

"Are you pissed?" she looks at me as if I've committed a mortal sin which, considering my parole officer, basically is for me.

"I'm fine!" I yell in anger as I try and concentrate on screwing up this song.

"Calm down Delia!"

"Shut the fuck up!" I have no idea how I did it, but suddenly the song was going backwards, and then, just as suddenly and before I even had the chance to smile, the song went right back to normal. Now I was pissed. I go to jump on stage as Hattie grabs me and pulls me back and tries to lead me to the door. I still concentrate on the song even as the drummer stares at me and I'm being dragged outside. I'm determined to ruin this song, and I still have no idea why I want to so bad.

--

Robert Plant is an amazing singer. His voice is like...complete peace and joy and sadness all in one little person. He's just a single person in the world, as old as his music is, who can make me feel amazing and bring me to tears in the corner of my apartment. Why am I such an angry person? Why am I only truly happy when I hear the acoustic guitar of someone I've never met? Why do i feel at peace when I hear the violin playing a it's song, and why does Robert Plant's voice move me to tears?

Why am I so mean, thoughtless, and...broken? Why can I manipulate music? Why is it my only true friend? Why am I so human and yet so...not?

Who am I?