17 posts tagged “music”

I gave up coffee and cigarettes

Michelle Featherstone - Coffee & Cigarettes

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I hate to say it hasn’t helped me yet
I thought my problems would just dissipate
And all my pain would be in yesterday

I poured my booze all down the kitchen drain
And watched my bad habits get flushed away
I thought that that would keep my head on straight
And all my pain would be in yesterday

But it’s true
I’m still blue
But I finally know what to do
I must quit, I must quit, you

I thought that if I didn’t go and play
The sadness would get bored and go away
I thought that if I didn’t go astray
That all my pain would be in yesterday

But it’s true
I’m still blue
But I finally know what to do
I must quit, I must quit, you

I sold my guitar and my piano
I thought that it was these that kept me low
I thought if only I could try and change
That all my pain would be in yesterday

But it’s true
I’m still blue
But I finally know what to do
I must quit, I must quit, you

I must quit, I must quit, you

um WOW, this song came on shuffle on my ipod while on the bus back from campus. this sucks - emotionally compartmentalizing certain periods of my life onto this gadget. too many good songs are fraught with conditioned stimuli & responses. i guess rather than escape it, putting it all out here could be some sort of aversion therapy. only time will tell. i don't want it so that feeling upset is a form of emotional relapse.

i’m playing hooky today and not going to my 440 class.

ever feel as if your day is progressing through a serious of consecutive snapshots? frame by frame, not unlike how your heavy eyelids simulate a panoramic display of your environment every time you remind yourself to open your eyes again. that was how i felt this morning, waking up in the fetal position and then later swallowing a multivitamin. and as i took an extra effort to maneuver my eyes to open, i saw myself sitting across from her at the wooden picnic table eating tiramisu in Union Square. 

“you know what i miss most?”
“about what?”
“about relationships - and i’m not necessarily talking about romance or sex specific relationships. the comfort. the stimuli” 

like waking up next to someone, and having any sudden movement met with a response to match it, pulling you closer. two chess pieces without a contrived map by which to follow. like the subtle noise he’d make while kissing - “mmm..” like how his hand perfectly eclipsed the front of my torso. like the inflections in his voice. or how my eyelashes against his skin warranted a small adjustment of the position of his arm. how his breath would undertake a different pattern while my head rested against his chest in front of the screen. like sitting on his bathroom counter and watching him run gel through his hair after our shower. like how, despite how curiously strong altoids are, the taste of this morning’s dunkin donuts’ coffee still lingered in his mouth. the taste of your breath, i’ll never get over; the noises that he made kept me awake. 

as writers, we don’t just experience things, we collect and save the details in little composite capsules. the things we miss. the things we don’t miss: excuses, denials, tears. these jagged little pills. our ideas don’t have a premeditated orbit, this constellation of thoughts hanging above our heads while we sleep, like baby mobiles. this menagerie of encounters. they’re necessary, minuscule as they are. like how jesse carmichael of maroon 5 pounds on one key on the piano when adam levine sings the first lines of the chorus: Every night she cried herself to sleep in "won't go home without you."  this cloud of activity itching to be transcribed and arranged by the alphabet, commas and hyphenates, the occasional exclamation point. it manifests itself through miniature vignettes on the margins of my notebook. in filling every possible letter on the cover of the Times with bic black ink. lower cased a, b, d, g, o, p, q, 4, 6, 8, 9, 0. capital B, D, O, P, Q, R while the professor is lecturing about index crimes. there is no method, no pre-organized way of what comes out. it’s a mess, it’s organic.

maybe we never fully recover from this shared space, temporary as it is. it monumentally affects our driving when certain songs come on the radio. the lyrics of which, ten years ago, meant little to nothing to you. save tonight, and fight the break of dawn. come tomorrow; tomorrow i’ll be gone. deceptively upbeat and killing me softly.

like how the negative space between the blanket and the curved indentation of my upper body needs to be occupied by your hand. or this instinctual impulse to climb into bed next to you, mediated and deterred by the rules.

Céline: I’m happy you’re saying that because...I mean, I always feel like a freak because I'm never able to move on like (snaps her fingers) this! You know? People just have an affair or even...entire relationships...they break up and they forget! They move on like they would have changed brand of cereals! I feel I was never able to forget anyone I've been with. Because each person have...their own specific qualities. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost.

Each relationship when it ends really damages me; I never fully recover. That's why I'm very careful with getting involved because...it hurts too much! Even getting laid - I actually don't do that. I will miss of the person the most mundane things. Like I'm obsessed with little things.

Maybe I'm crazy, but...when I was a little girl, my mom told me that I was always late to school. One day she followed me to see why. I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees rolling on the sidewalk or...ants crossing the road...the way a leaf casts a shadow on a tree trunk...little things. I think it's the same with people. I see in them little details so specific to each of them that move me and that I miss, and...will always miss. You can never replace anyone, because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details.

(Smiling directly at Jesse.) Like I remember the way your beard has a little bit of red in it. And how the sun was making it glow that...that morning, right before you left. I remember that and...I missed it! I'm really crazy, right?

Maybe it’s not so crazy. :-)

got this from a friend :-)

Baz Luhrmann - Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '97... wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be IT.

The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.

I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.

You are NOT as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't, maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself, either. Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings; they are your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Audio: Share a song with powerful lyrics.

Lifehouse - Broken (album version)

The Broken clock is a comfort
It helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow
From stealing all my time
And I am here still waiting
Though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best
Like you've already figured out

I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain
There is healing
In your name
I find meaning
So I'm holding on (I'm holdin on)(I'm holdin on)
I'm barely holding on to you

The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded
I'm an open book instead
And I still see your reflection
Inside of my eyes
That are looking for purpose
They're still looking for life

i heard this song on Grey's Anatomy the other evening and some lyrics carried particular resonance. i no longer feel deeply for songs, or for anything, actually. this could be because i'm "busy" studying or because the dust has settled from whatever drama crossed over into january. but i recall blasting my ipod to drown out my thoughts or keep me running during the summer or to escape things. yet as i sit here in the "talking" phase again, i feel just the opposite...placid. which can mean calm - or, unmoved.

addendum: this song brought me back to something i wrote on NYE:

But then I realize I know too much about myself. My ticks, when I use defense mechanisms, what I'm capable of, what I wouldn't even dream of doing. "I've walked this route so many times this summer," I said to DM when she was wide-eyed with the goings-on from the LES to Union Square. How I've compartmentalized myself to a science, tearing myself apart, carefully, along the perforated lines. So that you won't have the ability to take full credit for hurting me. Fighting to make sure all bases are covered, rebuttals and preemptive arguments. So that I'll be so sure of myself that I won't let you in. "It's hard to get under your skin," he'd said to me once. So that you won't discover the holes in which I've ceaselessly filled with plaster of paris - can't afford any leaks. How did we get here?

"you grow out of people," AA told me at work yesterday. "i'm wondering when you're gonna grow out of me." i gave this some thought, because i was at work and had nothing else to involve myself with other than the monotony of folding decision letters. and because i don't feel like hitting the GRE books just yet. and because i do that - scrutinize myself. ad nauseam. and being a soc major/psych minor is a double whammy on an already analytical person.

i remember many friendships that i've walked out on, leaving the other party indignant and confused, calling me, emailing me, leaving me angry voice messages. i'd told others "i can't deal with this! this feels like a break up, like i'm dumping my friend because i don't feel like being her/his friend anymore and i have to deal with the fallout because i'm the bad guy."

i grow out of pens; i can't use the same one in one sitting. rubber grips are different, how the friction of the ink feels against the parchment. sometimes i even hold the ballpoint tip near a seventy-five cent lighter to improve the viscosity of the ink albeit for about eight seconds, if i'm lucky. i've had and tried about ten different blog servers that are scattered abound in cyberspace. i just can't seem to settle.

then i got to thinking about people. the thing is, those who claim to love me, call me, IM me despite my away message being permanently up, are the ones i grow out of. not all, mind you, but to the ones who couldn't and can't get enough of me, i hardly return their calls until i have to. why is that? body dysmorphic disorder is a mental condition in which a person has a distorted perception of his/her body despite no real evidence of defects. those with BDD find themselves irrevocably defective, yet the thing of it is, it's all in their head. i think i have a dysmorphic perception of myself as a person, so much so that those who adore me "too much for comfort" are pushed away because i have this fear that they'll find my flaws, my defects, whether or not i have any real ones. that i'm not as "amazing" and "so smart" as they tell me, over and over again.

i think i have an innate aversion to reciprocity - it's sick, i know it. that those who were with me become of interest posthumously - after the relationship/friendship is over, after they have left me. that only after the proverbial glue that holds people together temporarily has dissolved away do i write about them, dream about them, google them, keep tabs on them. that an originally unconditioned stimulus all of a sudden provokes a conditioned response - i don't just have songs that remind me of a person, i have entire soundtracks.

and when i revisit the places that harbor so many ghosts, my heart gets that proverbial pang that was nonexistent before. blood is transfused into my veins from 2001, 2004, 2007. butterflies in my stomach, lumps in my throat. i've exhumed a dead memory. throw away the cadaver but keep the personal effects; i'm a mental necrophiliac, i am drawn to dead relationships, cold cases. please tell me that they're not all dead, just on life support. don't tell me it's over. i'm sick of always hearing all those sad songs on the radio. all day, it is there to remind an oversensitive girl that she's lost and alone. i hate our favorite restaurant, our favorite movie, our favorite show. we would stay up all through the night. we would laugh and get high and never answer the phooone...this place, it's fucking cursed in its plague, and i could never escape when my heart it explodesss.

i'm kicking out fiercely at the world around me, what went wrong?

i have to learn to love and accept myself before anyone else does first, but the first step is identifying and admitting to the problem, right? ;]

this song brings me back to 2003. lying in bed, shades closed, a headache from crying for hours. my mom periodically knocking the door and sending my father to follow suit. a chair lodged under the door knob in the event that anyone should find a key. i'd just been rejected admission to NYU.

i was opening large USPS and manila envelopes at work filled with applications, letters of recommendation, extracurricular resumes, personal essays about deaths in families, what it means to go to college, et al. i remember painstakingly filling out the NYU early decision app. my letters were bold, robotic, sterile to fit the millimeter by millimeter cells. i'd had a long love affair with NYU. i'd spent a semester there on saturdays at the law program for high school students. and i'd desperately search through blog networks for students' experiences at the school, anxious nights awaiting message board updates from those who got in, weighing my quantified qualities against those of others.

but i sucked in high school, until senior year. and i'd glance at less-than-stellar grades of high school transcripts of prospective students, and think that this must've been how others had viewed by grades.

sometimes i wonder, because it's a definitive quality of humanism, where i would be now, had i been different in high school. if i'd actually studied and read, instead of avoiding it like the plague. it's been said that we're a product of our environments. and that makes me upset, because the school i'd went to wasn't an environment in which it was conducive to be proactive, to give a shit about academics. bush's NCLB act was a blow to our school as we were living it, witnessing overcrowding of hallways and schools, which led to more disorganization and "you're not really students, you're statistics."

it sometimes pisses me off, the inconsistencies and fuckups of the Bush administration. and it pisses me off that i get upset about it, which is in itself a vicious cycle that vacillates between existentialism and nihilism. were we all meant to go down this garden path together? a collective fate sealed by the inner workings of a very small minority of people. a collective price that we have to pay for years to come.

so i guess we can take our plans and throw them away, or roll them up and smoke them. but i believe that this is not the worst thing in the world - far from it. in my regular visits to Washington Square, i literally feel as if i would be emotionally displaced if i'd actually gone there for school. and i wouldn't have met the oh so many people who've shaped me into the person i am today.

a lot of my friends have (and had) a clear cut plan - you know, the married by age X, and with child by age X. and i feel pretty content with myself that i don't have one. i've been told many times that i'm free-spirited. yeah, it's great, but it can suck too. but i know that i won't be alone in this process. this process called growing up.

so, here's to options, and not a plan.