Half-hidden by shadow and starlight, the paths of the Floating Island at night form a labyrinth that is neither straightforward, nor entirely real. You attempt to retrace the path you followed out to the Garden, without success. Many times, you feel that you're starting to recognize the terrain around you -- and just as many times, you take a step into reverie instead of a step towards home.
A glimmer of hope appears, in the distance. Torchlight. Before long, you have followed it into an ancient plaza strewn with chunks of coral, as well as marble pulverized by the relentless grasp of vine. In the center of the plaza, you discover a device. Laying hands upon it, you hear a fast, repetitive, relentless beat. It makes your nerves go crystalline with adrenaline, and with each beat of your heart you can feel the distinctive hum of electric bass.
B Side: Lift Me Up
(For the A-side, click here)
"Cool To Be You"
I don't believe in unity
it's just one more abandoned dream
once the people get together it's easy to see
it's just a matter of time til they come after me
but it must be pretty cool to be you
with your brothers at your back, protecting you
it must be pretty cool to know you belong
isolated my whole life counting scars in the land of the smiling knives
yes I'm envious it's true, but it must be cool to be you
you got a loving family to give you everything you need
my family loves each other so much
we live a thousand miles away and never stay in touch
but it must be pretty cool to be you
with a home and a family to go home to
must be pretty cool to know you belong
isolated my whole life counting scars in the land of the smiling knives
yes I'm envious it's true but it must be cool to be you
what can I do? I know this bitter jealousy is wrong
maybe i'll move, and find a brand new place I don't belong
some friends I'll never know (I'll never know)
New places I can't go (I can't go)
Cause everywhere I've been
Is on the outside lookin in...
You got a deep sustaining faith,
a lord who listens when you pray
I was raised in a church and I was taught to believe
I wonder if god believes in me...
It must be pretty cool to be you
with your holy faith sustaining you
must be pretty cool to know you belong
isolated my whole life counting scars in the land of the smiling knives
yes I'm envious it's true but it must be cool to be you
Must be cool to be you
Must be cool...
+++
It's childish punk music.
It's trite and immature.
It's three chord pop.
I fucking love the Descendents.
I mean, I don't expect anyone to like punk. You're not really supposed to, you know. And this, it's melodic and poppy and some generations removed from the root of the stuff.
But it's sincere. Sincere, uncomplicated, and even hopeful. (If you can't hear that without me having to explain it to you, then I don't know what to tell you, and maybe it's better that way.) The Descendents describe my emotional reality so perfectly, sometimes. And I admit to you freely that some parts of my self will never be older than teenaged. The kid in the corner, alone at the show he walked to get to, eyes half-lidded and waiting to be lifted up, waiting for apotheosis, waiting for the moment that the Pit will beckon and he will fall in, grinning manically and throwing elbows.
In another life, one of the many, I was working at one of my office monkey jobs, complaints department and managerial aide for a cruise line, sweating in the Century City early evening sun, dragging the black office tie-noose looser by a few notches, (no coat, too hot) shirt sleeves rolled up, stomping along, faceless in the crowd.
"Walking in the shadows of
The buildings in the city
Through reflective windows I
Can't see anybody.
The businessmen wear sunglasses
To cover up their eyes
It seems like I'm the only face
In a sea of suits and ties."
-- Crimpshrine, "Left Outside Again"
Standing on the corner, I remember taking a step off the corner and into the street when the walk sign went green. I was in the crosswalk. Apparently my opinion vis-a-vis the appropriate relative positions of cars, pedestrians, and crosswalks differed from that of the driver in the beat-up Lincoln waiting for a right turn. He gunned it forward, leaving me to contemplate a sartori of brown paint and rust for an infinite second. The vehicle grill went right into my knees; possibly in that instant I had started leaping forward instead of back, because instead of falling under the car, I ended up splayed facedown on the vehicle's hood as it came to a quick stop again.
My knees were numb, hands and face stinging from heat, friction, and impact. Everything stopped. I was still blank with shock, and so what happened next was as much a shock to me as anyone else. I've never considered myself among the very brave in this world, nor determined, nor resilient. I have my moments, but objectively speaking, I am a small person in a large world. I don't know what shocked me out of my stunned state; maybe it was the completely vacant unconcern of the mustached and bearded driver, slouched in the driver's seat. I guess a responsible adult would have gotten the guy to write down his insurance, taken a license plate, whatever it is that responsible adults do.
But it just seems like sometimes the proper thing to do when hit with a car, is to hit the car back.
I drew breath from somewhere, and in the next movement brought the heels of both already-bruised hands down on the hood of that car hard enough to lend another buckle to the metal surface, and used that breath to scream through the windshield,
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING!!!" Held eye contact. He still hadn't moved.
And then heaved my self off the car's hood, straightened the tie, and limped on my way, and held up only by post-shock adrenaline, and a chorus of blaring three-chord guitars living only in my mind. For months after that, whenever I rested full weight on my left leg, it would go into fully-locked position, so that my options were either to limp slightly, or to keep the muscles in that leg always slightly flexed and consciously bend the knee a little bit with each step. Sadly, this did not produce super-heroic steely-tough leg muscles, but for the most part it doesn't happen at all today.
You're not the same person as me, and there might be nothing in this music for you. No biggie. There are enough write-ups and music samples around for the asking -- I don't need to waste your time telling you things about the Descendents that other people are paid to write down for you. This was just to let you know what they are to me -- teeth-gritting under the heel of adversity, defiance in the face of overwhelming opposition, the little voice in the back of my head that comes forward sometimes.
To lift me up.
--KB 070907
Cool to Be You
(For the A-side, click here)
"Cool To Be You"
I don't believe in unity
it's just one more abandoned dream
once the people get together it's easy to see
it's just a matter of time til they come after me
but it must be pretty cool to be you
with your brothers at your back, protecting you
it must be pretty cool to know you belong
isolated my whole life counting scars in the land of the smiling knives
yes I'm envious it's true, but it must be cool to be you
you got a loving family to give you everything you need
my family loves each other so much
we live a thousand miles away and never stay in touch
but it must be pretty cool to be you
with a home and a family to go home to
must be pretty cool to know you belong
isolated my whole life counting scars in the land of the smiling knives
yes I'm envious it's true but it must be cool to be you
what can I do? I know this bitter jealousy is wrong
maybe i'll move, and find a brand new place I don't belong
some friends I'll never know (I'll never know)
New places I can't go (I can't go)
Cause everywhere I've been
Is on the outside lookin in...
You got a deep sustaining faith,
a lord who listens when you pray
I was raised in a church and I was taught to believe
I wonder if god believes in me...
It must be pretty cool to be you
with your holy faith sustaining you
must be pretty cool to know you belong
isolated my whole life counting scars in the land of the smiling knives
yes I'm envious it's true but it must be cool to be you
Must be cool to be you
Must be cool...
+++
It's childish punk music.
It's trite and immature.
It's three chord pop.
I fucking love the Descendents.
I mean, I don't expect anyone to like punk. You're not really supposed to, you know. And this, it's melodic and poppy and some generations removed from the root of the stuff.
But it's sincere. Sincere, uncomplicated, and even hopeful. (If you can't hear that without me having to explain it to you, then I don't know what to tell you, and maybe it's better that way.) The Descendents describe my emotional reality so perfectly, sometimes. And I admit to you freely that some parts of my self will never be older than teenaged. The kid in the corner, alone at the show he walked to get to, eyes half-lidded and waiting to be lifted up, waiting for apotheosis, waiting for the moment that the Pit will beckon and he will fall in, grinning manically and throwing elbows.
In another life, one of the many, I was working at one of my office monkey jobs, complaints department and managerial aide for a cruise line, sweating in the Century City early evening sun, dragging the black office tie-noose looser by a few notches, (no coat, too hot) shirt sleeves rolled up, stomping along, faceless in the crowd.
"Walking in the shadows of
The buildings in the city
Through reflective windows I
Can't see anybody.
The businessmen wear sunglasses
To cover up their eyes
It seems like I'm the only face
In a sea of suits and ties."
-- Crimpshrine, "Left Outside Again"
Standing on the corner, I remember taking a step off the corner and into the street when the walk sign went green. I was in the crosswalk. Apparently my opinion vis-a-vis the appropriate relative positions of cars, pedestrians, and crosswalks differed from that of the driver in the beat-up Lincoln waiting for a right turn. He gunned it forward, leaving me to contemplate a sartori of brown paint and rust for an infinite second. The vehicle grill went right into my knees; possibly in that instant I had started leaping forward instead of back, because instead of falling under the car, I ended up splayed facedown on the vehicle's hood as it came to a quick stop again.
My knees were numb, hands and face stinging from heat, friction, and impact. Everything stopped. I was still blank with shock, and so what happened next was as much a shock to me as anyone else. I've never considered myself among the very brave in this world, nor determined, nor resilient. I have my moments, but objectively speaking, I am a small person in a large world. I don't know what shocked me out of my stunned state; maybe it was the completely vacant unconcern of the mustached and bearded driver, slouched in the driver's seat. I guess a responsible adult would have gotten the guy to write down his insurance, taken a license plate, whatever it is that responsible adults do.
But it just seems like sometimes the proper thing to do when hit with a car, is to hit the car back.
I drew breath from somewhere, and in the next movement brought the heels of both already-bruised hands down on the hood of that car hard enough to lend another buckle to the metal surface, and used that breath to scream through the windshield,
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING!!!" Held eye contact. He still hadn't moved.
And then heaved my self off the car's hood, straightened the tie, and limped on my way, and held up only by post-shock adrenaline, and a chorus of blaring three-chord guitars living only in my mind. For months after that, whenever I rested full weight on my left leg, it would go into fully-locked position, so that my options were either to limp slightly, or to keep the muscles in that leg always slightly flexed and consciously bend the knee a little bit with each step. Sadly, this did not produce super-heroic steely-tough leg muscles, but for the most part it doesn't happen at all today.
You're not the same person as me, and there might be nothing in this music for you. No biggie. There are enough write-ups and music samples around for the asking -- I don't need to waste your time telling you things about the Descendents that other people are paid to write down for you. This was just to let you know what they are to me -- teeth-gritting under the heel of adversity, defiance in the face of overwhelming opposition, the little voice in the back of my head that comes forward sometimes.
To lift me up.
--KB 070907
Cool to Be You
I have always loved this piece. And I think you capture well that razored edge between truth and hope--how can one truly be hopeful without first being brutally honest. The freedom to say, Shit is Fucked Up, brings also the freedom to see the Potential beyond it.
Lately in my head, rattling around, is the intersection between intuition and imagination. The capacity to "make believe" (and what a peculiar turn of phrase that is) makes room for the impossible. Intuition will never perceive what it cannot fathom as possible.
Anyway. See ya on the island.
Six impossible things before breakfast are a healthy way to start your day. Thanks for (re)reading. ^_^