aren't all pleasures guilty?

a new fts segment. guilty pleasures. i have stellar taste in music. don't argue. you know in your bitter little hearts it's true. and part of you wants to be just like me. it's ok. accept it, move on.
however, there are skeletons. they rattle like maracas.
eddie money. 'i wanna go back'. i like this song. it touches me. buried beneath the shotgun snare, icicle synths, and ghastly, squealing saxophone is an authentic sadness. regret. resignation.
i pride myself on not being a nostalgic person. i boast about it. the past is some dream i woke from. it fades quickly. i don't like photographs. 'people take pictures of each other, to prove that they really existed'. ray davies. what's the point of remembering? the only things you want to remember are the good moments and they're gone and it's a drag so why do that to yourself. fuck the past and the ghosts that linger.
but maybe i protest too much.
maybe i'm swimming in the past. rewriting it, editing, turning the drama into a black comedy.
see, when you wake up one day and you're 37, and living in a duplex with your mom, actively alienating those around you, well, it forces you to think.
mistakes have been made.
would i go back? would i change things?
if i was ambitious, perhaps. if i wasn't a fatalist, yeah, maybe.
but you can't change yourself. even with a time machine.
so i've fucked up, i know. the key is not to dwell on it. just keep moving forward. and hopefully, someday, 'watch this hurting feeling disappear like it was common sense'. elvis costello.
well, that's it. i'm gonna fall into my time machine now. sleep. g'night y'all!

p.s. jesus. an eddie money song made me think that? i got problems.