After yesterdays rambling bloggness it should be apparent that my head is not exactly...something. Its not something. Thats brilliant. It covers whatever point i am trying to make though. Clear enough for you all?
This is why it is so nice to have a collection of music that reflects and illuminates the fog of feeling and logic that swirls around me, particularly right now when i am experiencing a mild coffee induced anxiety attack - which inspires its own set of memories that are pleasant and unpleasant revolving around past anxiety attacks of mine and others and how they have felt, how they have been dealt with etc.
The music i have recently chosen is Bright Eyes "Lifted..." Unlike one past Bright Eyes cd which i own that was pressed in 2000, this one elevates itself past the heart stitched sleeves and attempts to transcend the wounding rather than wallow in it. Lets be clear, though. It doesn't entirely succeed.
There is something deeply self indulgent about all of the Bright Eyes music that i've heard and yet it seems to earn it and be worthy of it in some bizarre way that i can't fully comprehend. Conor Oberst's voice is one angle for this phenomenon. It has a character in its wavering, cracking, scratchy, vaguely whininess, that reminds me instantly of Modest Mouse in that 'i'm just barely holding it together' sort of way. Its wonderfully desperate. Generally i'm wary of the desperate, feeling that it may be teetering on the brink of disingenuousness. Knowing from my own experience with the desperation of expression that we frequently confuse the need for expressing something with what needs to be expressed.
The lyrics and music that attends the vocals go a long way towards legitimizing it, though. To say the album seems a tad overproduced would be like saying baroque architecture is a tad on the ornate side of things. But even in the obvious overproduction, digital mixing, and whatnot it feels stripped down, as though they used a sick amount of technology to make it sound like it was recorded on a victorola circa 1923. Somehow it works. And it works well.
Emotionally speaking, even though i can't shake the vague sensation that i'm being put on by a master at mimicry of the human heart, it's convincing enough and feels like Conor and friends are ripping out the still pumping heart out of their collective chests and showing it to you - grinning - before stuffing it back in to fill back up with the next set of experiences. It's good. It's definately worth owning, but it still feels just a little unsettling in its presentation. Maybe it's supposed to. Maybe its worth a listen simply because the music world of today is gorged on piss poor poets regurgitating the old wounds of the human heart, and at the very least here is a band that is doing something a little more beautiful with all that blood.
For instance, the spare and beautiful anthemesque "Nothing Gets Crossed Out":
"Because I Have been feeling sentimental for days gone by...all those summers singing, drinking, laughing, wasting our time. Remember all those songs and the way we smiled in those basements made of music. But now i've got to crawl to get anywhere at all. I'm not as strong as i thought."
If this were the entirety of the song i would probably grown, get reflective of my own mental state of the past few years and look back with emotional disgust at some high school nonsense and say that it has its place but i can't share the space anymore. But it goes on and lands with a nice, weak, hesitant finish:
"But if everything that happens is supposed to be and its all predetermined, you can't change your destiny. Then i guess i'll just keep moving and someday, maybe, I'll get to where i'm going."
Not bad. Not entirely transcendent but is there anything in ourselves that is, in reality, transcendent? Or does it just feel like that - a little tottering step here and there and the occasional awareness that you are where you are and where you are is where you're supposed to be.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Mistakes We Should Have Known We Were Making
So.
So.
So.
So-so.
One thing i regularly say to myself - that i say a little too regularly to myself in fact - is "I am an idiot." It's a fairly common expression for people who are smart enough to not be idiots to use when they have done something that they must acknowledge as stupid. In reality (whatever that is) when i have said "i am an idiot" it means simply that i acknowledge having made some mistakes.
Well.
That said:
I am a frigging idiot.
My brain/heart/symposium of being has undergone a significant self inflicted upheaval of late and a few mistakes have been made of the colossal 'oh my god i can't believe i was so stupid' variety. But there you go. Its amazing to me just how many toes you can shoot off of your own foot when dissident portions of your rebellious brain conspire against every other good sense you may have and blind you to the fact that you are not, in fact, blazing away at parts of your life that you wish to change but rather systematically losing podiatric appendages at an alarmingly rapid pace.
Some of the change i have undergone has been necessary. Absolutely. I was losing my mind for quite some time. Things were falling apart in my head and heart and it was not good, not pleasant, and in fact held a level of emotional pain i haven't known ever. The fact that i was experiencing this pain pretty much blinded me to many practical, personal, social, and every other sort of consideration i could take in my own life. Change had to be made, for sure. But let's be honest here. I had the emotional and mental maturity level generally considered to be present in large extinct reptiles with big spiky tails and like those reptiles, suddenly deposited in a Tiffany's emporium i swung that tail and crashed around busting things that didn't really need to be busted. So without getting too specific to those involved in my wreckage and without naming names to protect the completely innocent, i humbly make my apologies. I love you probably more than you will ever adequately know.
So. To all of you fellow codependents out there who might be asking: Are things better now that you have upheaved yourself? Does drastic change really improve things?
Yes and no. Clarity in ones own life is required. Conciousness is a necessity. Things have gotten slightly clearer now that i have done drastic and pretty stupid things. I can at least recognize that stupid things were done. So. I can say with some honesty that at least the fog is clearer. I now know i am looking at fog with my eyes half open and i know that whatever mistakes i made i have made them and they are owned by me and no one else.
At times my self esteem level is hovering somewhere above primordial ooze and i feel like i should have a government warning tatooed on my forehead to be read by those who would dare to attempt to get close to me. At other times...
Hmmm...
At other times i am enjoying the view. All of this probably sounds pretty cryptic. Those who know me will probably know what i'm talking about and those who don't i hope you enjoy the brilliant writing.
Oh and for those of you who may be wondering, the 'we' used in the title refers to the cast of angels and better demons of my harsh nature that have taken up space in the high rise condo of my psyche. They are very busy these days, spring cleaning, dusting, clearing cobwebs, redecorating, buying shit from Ikea and deciding what the sofa set says about them as a person. Some of them are very good. They are clear eyed, determined, unhappy at the task before them but aware that it is their task to perform. After all who really likes moving furniture? The others routinely sit on balconies of the high rise throwing rubbish down at the Ikea and Ragstock trucks as they pull up to unload. But such is life. We live. We screw up. We make it. Sometimes barely and sometimes not at all. But there you go. Life sucks and in its sucking there is so much that is beautiful.
So. I am getting help wherever i can find it. Mostly from myself. Really only from myself. And as my favorite Kimya says "The people in my head still visit me sometimes and they bring all of their friends but i don't mind" cuz (altering lyrics slightly) i'm getting better at feeling bad and thats why i'm still here.
Once again: I love you all so very much. Anyone who reads this. Even if you hate me. I'm not very good with this love thing. But you know i'm going to get better at it. It's happening already. One of these days the work i am doing will pay off and i will have discovered that i have shaved down that big spiky lizard into the shape of something nice and friendly and not liable to destroy the furniture. Something like a beagle maybe.
With an extraordinary amount of love and gratitude to all, and to one in particular-
Prince Lyov Nikolayevitch Myshkin
So.
So.
So-so.
One thing i regularly say to myself - that i say a little too regularly to myself in fact - is "I am an idiot." It's a fairly common expression for people who are smart enough to not be idiots to use when they have done something that they must acknowledge as stupid. In reality (whatever that is) when i have said "i am an idiot" it means simply that i acknowledge having made some mistakes.
Well.
That said:
I am a frigging idiot.
My brain/heart/symposium of being has undergone a significant self inflicted upheaval of late and a few mistakes have been made of the colossal 'oh my god i can't believe i was so stupid' variety. But there you go. Its amazing to me just how many toes you can shoot off of your own foot when dissident portions of your rebellious brain conspire against every other good sense you may have and blind you to the fact that you are not, in fact, blazing away at parts of your life that you wish to change but rather systematically losing podiatric appendages at an alarmingly rapid pace.
Some of the change i have undergone has been necessary. Absolutely. I was losing my mind for quite some time. Things were falling apart in my head and heart and it was not good, not pleasant, and in fact held a level of emotional pain i haven't known ever. The fact that i was experiencing this pain pretty much blinded me to many practical, personal, social, and every other sort of consideration i could take in my own life. Change had to be made, for sure. But let's be honest here. I had the emotional and mental maturity level generally considered to be present in large extinct reptiles with big spiky tails and like those reptiles, suddenly deposited in a Tiffany's emporium i swung that tail and crashed around busting things that didn't really need to be busted. So without getting too specific to those involved in my wreckage and without naming names to protect the completely innocent, i humbly make my apologies. I love you probably more than you will ever adequately know.
So. To all of you fellow codependents out there who might be asking: Are things better now that you have upheaved yourself? Does drastic change really improve things?
Yes and no. Clarity in ones own life is required. Conciousness is a necessity. Things have gotten slightly clearer now that i have done drastic and pretty stupid things. I can at least recognize that stupid things were done. So. I can say with some honesty that at least the fog is clearer. I now know i am looking at fog with my eyes half open and i know that whatever mistakes i made i have made them and they are owned by me and no one else.
At times my self esteem level is hovering somewhere above primordial ooze and i feel like i should have a government warning tatooed on my forehead to be read by those who would dare to attempt to get close to me. At other times...
Hmmm...
At other times i am enjoying the view. All of this probably sounds pretty cryptic. Those who know me will probably know what i'm talking about and those who don't i hope you enjoy the brilliant writing.
Oh and for those of you who may be wondering, the 'we' used in the title refers to the cast of angels and better demons of my harsh nature that have taken up space in the high rise condo of my psyche. They are very busy these days, spring cleaning, dusting, clearing cobwebs, redecorating, buying shit from Ikea and deciding what the sofa set says about them as a person. Some of them are very good. They are clear eyed, determined, unhappy at the task before them but aware that it is their task to perform. After all who really likes moving furniture? The others routinely sit on balconies of the high rise throwing rubbish down at the Ikea and Ragstock trucks as they pull up to unload. But such is life. We live. We screw up. We make it. Sometimes barely and sometimes not at all. But there you go. Life sucks and in its sucking there is so much that is beautiful.
So. I am getting help wherever i can find it. Mostly from myself. Really only from myself. And as my favorite Kimya says "The people in my head still visit me sometimes and they bring all of their friends but i don't mind" cuz (altering lyrics slightly) i'm getting better at feeling bad and thats why i'm still here.
Once again: I love you all so very much. Anyone who reads this. Even if you hate me. I'm not very good with this love thing. But you know i'm going to get better at it. It's happening already. One of these days the work i am doing will pay off and i will have discovered that i have shaved down that big spiky lizard into the shape of something nice and friendly and not liable to destroy the furniture. Something like a beagle maybe.
With an extraordinary amount of love and gratitude to all, and to one in particular-
Prince Lyov Nikolayevitch Myshkin
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