Neil Young - Dead Man (untitled track).
In my final year at a small college in New York, I spent some drawn weeks wandering the campus and surrounding woods with a borrowed, paint-splattered yellow Walkman, listening to a cassette tape I made of solely this track, over and over and over. I was ill, in a dissociative and frangible state; such music seeped into my mind like water into rocks and dissolved what meager stability I had, but -as is often the case when we are upset- I didn’t want to be stable anyway; I wanted to feel as much as I could, despite the fact that I felt almost only various forms of anguish. I was younger.