It's like cigarettes

My signature deadly sin is wrath, and one of the ways I express it is through my most-indulged guilty pleasure: Christian radio.

In my daily commute, 104.9 FM starts off as a country station at Exit 24. Ten exits down the way, on the outskirts of Springfield, it's morphed into a Christian station broadcast out of Stepford, CT. (Or at least I think it's Stepford, CT. Something with an S. And Stepford would fit right in with this being Lovecraft Country.) Once you get inside Exit 13, 1400 AM (the local liberal talk-radio) turns into fuzz. All this means that, twice every day, while driving between Exit 6 and Exit 14, I tune in.

Not because there's nothing better to listen to. Almost because there are many better things to listen to.

It's like cigarettes. I trip on the fact that it has no appreciably redeeming qualities, and that I'm never getting those moments of my life back.

I listen to the officially-sanctioned mediocre praise choruses that they put on. It's sorta like this, in that it makes me wanna listen to Cannibal Corpse when I get home. The major differences being that the ilahija is Bosnian. And good. And makes me want to listen to Cannibal Corpse for the exact opposite reason.

The ilahija, for whatever reason, is five minutes of serenity, and no calm can shake my inmost storm while to this rock I'm clinging. Seriously; it'd mess up my gyroscopically-balanced psyche, and no good ever comes of that.

Whereas this (because I'm too lazy to look for the original, which is just as ghastly) is the opposite of that: it's one more wind in the hurricane, keening mosquito-like at an annoying frequency.

Fuck that. I have enough of them already without a boring melody with no bassline.

This is Edo, signing off for this post.