Often, I find myself ambling about the Internerd, swinging my pocketwatch, singing something akin to ”Got to pick a torrent or two.” A gleam of intent in my eye, itchy fingers tapping the mouse in my pocket.

Yes Sir, I’ve been thieving for quite some time now and I have no intention of stopping, whether you manage to foil me or not.

No, I wouldn’t steal a car; but if I could download one, I would. If the mood struck me to steal a child and I could download one through some new FireWire port to be stored safely on one of my special child back-up devices, I’d probably do that too.

That said, my thievery is largely precluded to music and film. I will not download a book unless it is out of print. I still haven’t found a viable way to get that car and I find it much easier just to buy the software or use a free option than to steal it. Often I prefer the smaller option — shareware or otherwise. If I like it, I’ll pay for it or donate something. Though that is largely personal preference.

My theft of music and film, were it cars or houses, would be crossing to some sort of Diabolik/Moriarty legendary status. With terabytes just about to crest into the double figures, I have unplugged harddrives lying about filled with unlistened to albums. I’m not sure I even need to heat my apartment anymore, what with the warm glow coming from those beautiful, spinning disks.

Yet I try to inject this very obvious theft with a measure of decorum and perhaps dignity. When it comes to film, of the good; I will watch the film again in the cinema — funds permitting. But more than that, I have regular film nights — food is cooked, people come over and I showcase what I’ve found.

It is rare that I ever allow anyone to hook up to my archive and take anything. It’s not that I am precious about it, it is just I feel if they want it, they can either find the means to steal it as well or they can buy it. Just like I do when I find something of particular worth. Quite often, more than you’d think or give credit to, people do go out and buy or rent the films. If not, then I will give those films to people as presents.
It may not be orthodox, but it’s a system and it works.

With music, it’s different.

Enough?

I’ll never have enough.

I am that coke whore in ’Up In Smoke’ who will snort the Ajax. I have collections of construction site noise collages, bagpipe music, the sounds planets make to satellites passing by, Japanese Zen flute and ethnic music I can’t even pronounce yet can still sing along to. Yet I never seem to have exactly what I want. Ever. And yet, I still want more.

”Gimme another line o’dem’dere’ tunes would’ya?”

There are bands I will wax lyrical about to people, yet I will never give them a copy of. I may throw them a bone, a lone MP3, but I will not give them any pirated version of the band (Ulver would be a good example). I view some bands (Earth) as too sacred, too important to even risk the possibility of detracting from what money they make. I will play them for people then tell them to go find them on their own or I will give them the address of ’City Disks’ (in Dublin) and firmly tell them to buy it.

The problem is — I like so much underground, obscure stuff that I worry that continued theft will force them to stop making music — and in such an occurring reality, my only resort will be murder.

This does not however stop me from stealing from them. I’ll take whatever I can get. I listen and then — in most cases, when I am able, I buy. It is the Schrodinger’s Ear that I suffer from. I am afraid if I stop listening, stop buying, they may stop. Though I’m not quite sure, so I keep stealing anyway.

The fact that steps lead down to my apartment only serve to worsen the bunker like feel to it. Wherever you look, there are piles of books and CDs — some of which are still in their wrappers. I’ll get around to them at some point, I promise.

I don’t mind stealing from the bigger stratospheric artists. Because, well — fuck them and their labels. Sometimes I download the Metallica back catalogue just to delete it. It salves some sort of wound.

I don’t believe in this new thought-worm; that artists should give away their music and make their money from touring. I believe in paying them — when and where I am able. I do, however, believe the price of music is in many cases outrageous.

Were I to stick to the rules and only buy music when I had the spare money, I’d probably never buy music and stick with the tapes I made off the radio. Many people don’t even know you can listen to CDs before you buy them in shop. I just prefer to listen a few times at home. The problem of food, cigarettes and booze sort of solves the conundrum of buying over-priced music.

To overcome the musicless world of an itinerant writer with a need for tobacco, food and booze, I devised this plan of throwing a fiver into a jar each week. Sometimes it’s less, rarely it’s more. I let this build up as much as I can, to two or three hundred euros. Then I go crazy. Just dropping this much on music in one go is its own high.

You might find yourself dizzy outside a music shop, having a near post-coital cigarette in the effort to steady yourself enough to get the bus home.

Once home though, as I put the first of my purchases on, I set about seeing what new there is to download — and the thieving starts once again.