Music Week (Day 5)

March 4, 2011 § Leave a comment

I don’t have much to say about the song today. Discussing anything political always takes too much out of me emotionally, so I don’t do it much any more. I still get goosebumps each time I listen to this song. Sometimes, it makes me cry.

HANDS HELD HIGH

Linkin Park

Cover of "Minutes to Midnight: European T...

Cover via Amazon

Turn my mic up louder, I got to say something

Light weights step it aside when we come in

Feel it in your chest, the syllables get pumping

People on the street, they panic and start running

Words on loose leaf sheet complete coming

I jump in my mind, I summon the rhyme, I’m dumping

Healing the blind, I promise to let the sun in

Sick of the dark ways we marched to the drum and

Jump when they tell us that they wanna see jumping

Fuck that, I wanna see some fists pumping

Miss something, take back what’s yours

Say something that you know they might attack you for

Cause I’m sick of being treated like I have before

Like it’s stupid standing for what I’m standing for

Like this war’s really just a different brand of war

Like it doesn’t cater the rich and abandon the poor

Like they understand you in the back of the jet

When you can’t put gas in your tank

These fuckers are laughing their way to the bank

And cashing their cheque

Asking you to have compassion and have some respect

For a leader so nervous in an obvious way

Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay

And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day

In their living rooms laughing like, “What did he say?!”


Amen amen

Amen amen

Amen


In my living room watching but I am not laughing

Cause when it gets tense I know what might happen

The world is cold, the bold men take action

Have to react or get blown into fractions

Ten years old is something to see

Another kid my age dragged under the jeep

Taken and bound and found later under a tree

I wonder if he had thought, “The next one could be me…”

Do you see the soldiers that’re out today?

They brush the dust from bullet-proof vests away

It’s ironic – at times like this you pray

But a bomb blew the mosque up yesterday

There’s bombs in the buses, bikes, roads

Inside your market, your shops, your clothes

My dad, he’s got a lot of fear I know

But enough pride inside not to let that show

My brother had a book he would hold with pride

A little red cover with a broken spine

On the back, he hand-wrote a quote inside:

‘When the rich wage war, it’s the poor who die.’

Meanwhile, the leader just talks away

Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay

And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day

Both scared and angry like, “What did he say?!”


Amen amen

Amen amen

Amen


With hands held high unto a sky so blue

As the ocean opens up to swallow you…


Because I’ve not found any two sites that write the lyrics to this song in 100% the same way, there may be a few mistakes. But those are irrelevant to the message so I’ll let them stand.

LISTEN TO IT HERE –> Hands Held High by Linkin Park

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Music Week (Day 1)

November 20, 2010 § 2 Comments

As usual I have about 15 incomplete posts just waiting to be finished and published, but I want to do something different today. If you hadn’t noticed already, to me music = life. If I’m not listening to something, then I’m almost definitely singing to myself or drumming out beats. And if I’m not doing THAT, then be sure the secondary voice in my head (not the one thinking and saying stuff, but the background one) is doing the same – playing a song, or singing, or making beats. I used to think everyone felt that way, but I get surprised time after time when I talk to people who like music fine, but it isn’t their main squeeze, you know? Anyway, every day for a week, starting today, I’m going to write the lyrics of a song I’m really feeling. It could be the whole song, it could be just a verse or the chorus or whatever. It may be a favourite song, or it may just be something I listen today every once in a while. Whatev.

 

SLIP OUT THE BACK

Fort Minor

I’m no hero, you remember how I was, you know

All I ever did was worry, feeling out of control

To the point where everything was going end over end

I’m spinning around in circles again

This is where you come in

All of this to explain to you why

I had to separate myself away from yesterday’s life

Please remember this isn’t how I hoped it would be

But I had to protect you from me

That’s why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

I know you felt unprepared

But every single time I was around I just bring you down

And I could tell that it was time to be scared

That’s why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn’t fair

I didn’t want to be around just to bring you down

I’m not a hero but don’t think I didn’t care

Slip Out the Back by Fort Minor

The Rising Tied

Image via Wikipedia

There Is A Cancer In Me. (via So It’s A Wednesday…)

August 11, 2010 § Leave a comment

I love this. It’s so beautiful. I’m lucky (?) enough not to suffer from depression, but for some reason, a number of people that I’m really close to do. And I’ve seen how it affects their lives, and the lives of those around them. And so, even if I don’t actually suffer from depression myself, I’m definitely coping with it.
Anyway, I liked this. Oh, and check out Cissy’s blog, will you? It’s definitely interesting to read 🙂

There is a Cancer in me. There is a mutation festering in the core of my being, putrefying my organs at an agonizingly slow pace, corrupting me.  It has warped my vision so that I no longer see the world as I should.  Everything has transformed into undefinable blurs of evil and anarchy before my eyes.  It has twisted and molded my young body into something old and used.  It feeds off me leaving me weak, drained, open to any and all kinds of infe … Read More

via So It’s A Wednesday…

Rediscovery.

May 18, 2010 § 9 Comments

When I used to get emotional – angry, sad, scared, confused, hurt, lonely – I would sit down, and just write and write poetry (sometimes 5 or 6 in one sitting) until eventually my energy would be channelled away from what I was feeling, and into what I was saying. Then I’d stop. I don’t believe I’m particularly talented or gifted at it, but it’s what would get me through those dark spots. About two years ago though, I guess I just felt too much at once, you know? And nothing could help. I haven’t written a poem since.

I’m trying to get back some of the old me. I used to be so wonderfully creative – I wrote short stories, I wrote poems, I played piano, I sung… But I just dropped everything one by one, and now i feel so…dry. And devoid. Of course I’m not yet ready to just pick up a pen and get back to it, but I’m hoping for inspiration. So I’m going to start by posting maybe a few of my poems, maybe even a story when I’m ready, and then hopefully, eventually, i’ll be brave enough to reopen that chapter of my life.

So, these poems have been shared with no one. EVER. I’m literally shaking at just the thought of putting them out there for someone, anyone to see. But I invite criticism. I last wrote when I was 17, and I started at about 13. Since I figured out the importance of dating my work way too late, everything I post, until I eventually state otherwise, is from that period of my life.

They’re really not very good, I know, but hopefully I’ve grown (still am) since then.

*sigh*

So here’s one:

I clutch the pieces of my heart close to me.

The blood drips between my fingers

Yet my eyes remain dry.

Another piece falls out and I choose to let it go

Or risk losing the rest of me.

I can never be whole again

But I will remain strong!

Don’t look into my eyes

Ignore my despair.

My heart is breaking

And no one even knows.

A Reflection Of Just Who We Are Today.

May 9, 2010 § Leave a comment

I’m one of those people that’s perpetually behind on the news. About 3 weeks or so ago, I was on some site – probably yahoo! answers or something, don’t really remember – and this girl was very expressively stating her views on parenting methods and children these days, etc., and she brought up the Phoebe Price case. This was the first I was hearing of it (although it happened in January. Oh, the shame!) so I google-whored my way out of ignorance.
I tend to emotionally-distance myself from all these tragic tales, not because I don’t care, but because sometimes that’s what we have to do to keep living in a world filled with so many injustices. This got to me though. I don’t know if you’ve heard her story? This is a break-down of it:
She was an Irish girl, who had moved to the states about four months before. And you know how there’re ‘hierarchies’ or whatever in school, right? The popular kids who feel like it’s their right to sort of rule the school? Okay, this is the part of the story I’m sort of hazy on ’cause I didn’t think it was too important, so don’t quote me – a guy that one of the ‘popular’ girls liked was into Phoebe. And I guess they slept together or whatever, and this girl got royally pissed, ’cause Phoebe didn’t ‘know her place’. (bit I’m even hazier on) she also slept with another guy, I’m just not sure how exactly he ties into the story…
Anyway, all this resulted in Phoebe being called a slut, and all those other nice words teenagers keep throwing around, and it escalated into serious bullying. Not only did they torment her in school, but also in the cyberworld (because aren’t facebook and twitter and formspring and all these other social networking sites all so pleasant?). And I mean TORMENTING her. In school. Via her phone – they used to text and call her constantly [she changed her number at least 3 times. Hopeless]. On the internet… There was just no escaping them.
She reported the bullying to the school authorities…nothing. A group of students saw what was happening once and also went to the school authorities…still nothing. Her MOTHER reported her concern over the bullying…more nothing. Once even, apparently, there was a TEACHER present who witnessed the bullying…you get the drift. Fun, eh?
On January 14th, I guess she’d just had a particularly gruesome day. As she was walking home from school, one of the girls drove past her, threw a can out of the window at her, and yelled a final insult. That must have been the last straw because “Phoebe kept walking, past the abuse, past the can, past the white
picket fence, into her house. Then she walked into a closet and hanged
herself. Her 12-year-old sister found her.” (I’m thoroughly tempted to Harvard reference, but I shall refrain)
I don’t know what frame of mind she was in that day. Obviously, she must have been suffering from depression. But I’m assuming it wasn’t pre-meditated because she didn’t say any ‘goodbyes’ and she had the dress, the date, and the excitement for her school’s cotillion which was only 2 days away.
And I’m also making no judgements about her sexual activities. The 2 boys were charged with statutory rape (she was 15. Did I mention that?) but I don’t know enough to state whether or not it was what she wanted.
BUT HERE’S WHAT GOT TO ME –
She was dead. Tragically young, it could’ve been prevented, et cetera, so a memorial page was started on facebook. And they abused her on it. On the page created in her memory. She was DEAD, and they were still saying how she ‘deserved’ it. One of the girls put ‘accomplished’ as her status the day phoebe killed herself.
And 2 days later, they were all at the cotillion laughing and generally having a gay old time.
Now, I know humans can be…how shall I say this politely?…messed up. I KNOW that.
But I still don’t get this.

What Is The Difference

April 9, 2010 § Leave a comment

between your heart breaking, and your ego being, not bruised, but shall we say horrifically damaged? Yeah, I like that. Horrifically damaged.

Breathe No More

February 10, 2010 § Leave a comment

I’ve been looking in the mirror for so long
That I’ve come to believe my soul’s on the other side.
All the little pieces falling, shatter.
Shards of me too sharp to put back together,
Too small to matter,
But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces
If I try to touch her.
And I bleed,
I bleed.
And I breathe,
I breathe no more. 

Take a breath and I try to draw from my spirits well,

Yet again you refuse to drink like a stubborn child.
Lie to me,
Convince me that I’ve been sick forever.
And all of this
Will make sense when I get better.
But I know the difference
Between myself and my reflection.
I just can’t help but to wonder,
Which of us do you love.
So I bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe no…
Bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe,
I breathe-
I breathe no more.
Written by Amy Lee.
Performed by Evanescence.
Lyrics quoted from www.azlyrics.com.
Felt by me.

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