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Like everyone’s watching you.

October 3, 2011 \pm\31 12:00 pm

There’s something about music that softens triteness and makes clichés less so. A song that’s been mashing me up inside is Talk Show Host by Radiohead.

I want to
I want to be someone else or I’ll explode

Seeing those lines written down I think they’re lines I’d never write. It feels too been-said-before, too well-trodden. But play the song and I will belt with emotion and contort (whether my insides or from dancing) because it’s truth from so deep and natural that it chokes me.

Maybe this is a bad example because the next couple of lines sort of make up for the banality of the first two:

Floating upon the surface for the birds
The birds

It’s a better image, but birds? Poetry’s sidebitch, its flog-ready horse corpse? I wouldn’t go near it. I never forgive myself one line, sometimes even just a word. Which is maybe why I’m often paralyzed so that I do not write at all because to express things so commonly feels too much like being common. I do realize how with this kind of thinking, this self-doubt and insecurity, I set myself on dead-end courses, so I’m trying but it’s… not easy. When I was younger I used to paint, or well, draw really. I’d draw these circles and lines of all sizes and they’d look like eyes with lashes or insects or satellites but they weren’t and then my then boyfriend showed me the art of this Spanish guy, Miró, as like a ‘look, your stuff it looks like this guy, you could be great, really great’ (artistic potential was a big deal in our relationship) and I just stopped drawing. I guess you’d call them doodles.

You want me
You want me fucking come on and break the door down
I’m ready

Still it’s such a great fucking song.

Another song I’ve been listening to on repeat for the past two weeks is Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap.

Read independently, this song’s lyrics are a ‘veritable cornucopia’ of cliché.

Sweet disposition
Never too soon
Oh reckless abandon,
Like no one’s watching you

A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A kiss, a cry
Our rights, our wrongs

Never mind writing, I’d never dare say or think these things except maybe very late at night, in the quiet blue alone between my temples.

Still when I hear the song, I feel my eyes fizz and glitter, I feel like moonlight and fireworks light shining bright and cool on my face, my heart swelling like bee stung, I feel a moment, a love, a kiss, a cry, without having to process it, just to feel. I think it’s the music, there’s something about the music that does that. Something unspoken but undeniably said.

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6 Comments
  1. DeeAshley permalink
    October 4, 2011 \pm\31 7:52 pm 7:52 pm

    You have such a compelling and colorful way of describing (admitably lovely lyrics in their own right), the creative work of another- a formidable and elegant critique, and this description has a lyrical quality of its own!
    Thanks for sharing. :)

    • DeeAshley permalink
      October 4, 2011 \pm\31 7:54 pm 7:54 pm

      Apologies, I posted my website incorrectly. ;)

  2. Ruta permalink
    October 24, 2011 \pm\31 5:01 pm 5:01 pm

    I love your writing

    • October 25, 2011 \am\31 8:32 am 8:32 am

      aw hey thanks. i like your name, it reminded me of the actress uta hagen and then i had a whole daydream about being a hollywood starlet and uta hagen praising my acting and i felt happy

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