Rage Against The Machine One of my friends had a sleepover when I was sixteen. There was about twenty of us at her house; the girls slept upstairs and the boys slept downstairs. I only knew half of the boys, the others were the birthday girl's friends from church. The boys did not mingle well.

Dave brought a CD. The music he played was loud, fast, and angry. I didn't care for it but at the time it was fun to lose myself in.

When I was seventeen, it was hearing that same album that made me trade in my new acoustic guitar for an electric. I learned how to play every song on the album and I jammed start to finish with it, over and over.

It was the self-titled album from Rage Against The Machine.

There was more to this music than what I'd been listening to. It was loud, because it had a message, and its volume reflected its importance; it was fast because it was urgent; and it was angry, but it was with purpose and focus. Somewhere in the verses I learned that the world is a lot more complex than I knew it to be. Until then, I'd been sleepwalking through life. Rage Against The Machine woke me up.

Your anger is a gift.  ¶ 8:29 PM