I am waiting on hoof and on hand.
I am waiting all hated and damned.
I am waiting - I snort and I stamp
I am waiting, you know that I am,
Calmly waiting, to make you my lamb.
A Black sheep boy dissolves,
in hot cream and in sweet moans.
I am about to ,albeit poorly, tell you what I think this song means. I'm listening to it now, obviously and I must say that it is a very very lovely tune. It's subtle and soft and it's edgy and deep. It's like all of the wonderful things that I love in one song. He dabbles, un-ashamedly, in sex and drugs and brings with him many different tones that make this song beautiful in music while it is meaningful in word.
The art of song writing is beyond glorious. It is beyond thought and reaches the less invasive and elaborate world of feeling. You must feel what you want to be saying and exude it through your instrument and while there are some ways of playing without feeling, if you do not feel, only those who follow suite will care for your music. At least, that's how I understand it.
Will sheff feels so much and has felt beyond what I can believe to ever feel in my entire life. It is a terrifying notion, to those of us who feel more than normal, to think that these feelings are in our control, when perhaps they are not. It is terrifying to feel like I have to know everything in order to do what I have to do correctly. It is a terrifying feeling to think that I have to be perfect. That thought brings tears to my eyes. It makes me feel like I have to be perfect towards everyone and that I have to do everything I do for other people. That was a horribly composed sentence.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
It breaks.
Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away, but now it seems they're here to stay.
For the sake of being thought of as funny, David once again found himself in that extremely foolish, awkward place of being laughed at. At least he can say that he controlled why they were laughing at him now. It's a sad thing when intelligence is a laughable matter. What's more sad is that when David went home, this intelligence and pain was always overshadowed by Dad.
For David, home was in a nice enough part of town, the lawn was always cut and the paint was chipped all to hell behind the shutters. Mom smiled for the neighbors but I could hear her crying every night Dad wasn't home. I still can't decide or remember why dad was always gone. Maybe my child's brain blocked out all of that ugly mess. Then why couldn't it block out everything else? Every other step, the floor creaked and all the doors hinges needed oil. When dad came home, the good was never good enough, if he even acknowledged that, and the bad was always all that his blind eyes could see. Without a glimmer of hope for any kind of advancement in his relationship with Dad, David made the decision one night to just duck his head and run with all of his might. High reward but also high risk. For if he fell or failed, Dad was sure to be there to point it out. If he was able to make it, though, the peace and freedom would be endless. To stay up all night and figure out all of his problems was his goal. To disappear from his dad's world: his mission.
My skin crawls and my eyelids want only to rest, but I must pull through. Pushing against you is hard work and my knees are already 80 years old, but I must do what I have to. I have to be what I know I can be, and do so without you, because I know I can. I have a very strong sense of independence and I hope, for my sake and all those around me that I am able to control myself in all ways and make something of myself without hurting anyone who so happens to be around when I do so.
For the sake of being thought of as funny, David once again found himself in that extremely foolish, awkward place of being laughed at. At least he can say that he controlled why they were laughing at him now. It's a sad thing when intelligence is a laughable matter. What's more sad is that when David went home, this intelligence and pain was always overshadowed by Dad.
For David, home was in a nice enough part of town, the lawn was always cut and the paint was chipped all to hell behind the shutters. Mom smiled for the neighbors but I could hear her crying every night Dad wasn't home. I still can't decide or remember why dad was always gone. Maybe my child's brain blocked out all of that ugly mess. Then why couldn't it block out everything else? Every other step, the floor creaked and all the doors hinges needed oil. When dad came home, the good was never good enough, if he even acknowledged that, and the bad was always all that his blind eyes could see. Without a glimmer of hope for any kind of advancement in his relationship with Dad, David made the decision one night to just duck his head and run with all of his might. High reward but also high risk. For if he fell or failed, Dad was sure to be there to point it out. If he was able to make it, though, the peace and freedom would be endless. To stay up all night and figure out all of his problems was his goal. To disappear from his dad's world: his mission.
My skin crawls and my eyelids want only to rest, but I must pull through. Pushing against you is hard work and my knees are already 80 years old, but I must do what I have to. I have to be what I know I can be, and do so without you, because I know I can. I have a very strong sense of independence and I hope, for my sake and all those around me that I am able to control myself in all ways and make something of myself without hurting anyone who so happens to be around when I do so.
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