come on darkness

(brought to you by yet another short, serious
conversation between me and the Wee One.)


We were discussing the song, Come On Darkness
(by Camper Van Beethoven). I'm not completely
sure how the subject came up, to tell you the
truth. But, there we were. She says she absolutely
can't listen to the song, that it's just too
damn depressing. That other songs, which
are sad and tragic as well, can be listened to
and enjoyed with so much more ease than this one.

To me, yes-it's fairly fucking depressing to
listen to. But, at the same time, I revel in this.
I wrap myself in the melancholy (it's more than
melancholy really, but I hesitate to keep using
the same words over and over) and drift with
the words, the music. The dirge-like quality of
the overall combination.

I seem to do this with things that are of the
same nature, even my own depression. I find beauty
in all of it. In the complete and utter power
that lies therein. Encompassing, changing.
It's a fire to be walked through, to be cleansed
by.

Don't get me wrong. I don't ENJOY being depressed.
I don't bask in the "glory" of sadness and
tragedy. Sure, I clothe myself in black velvet
and hide from the sun. But, that's pure
pretention on my behalf. (yes, yes I am
admitting to the fact that I am, indeed, a
pretentious pain in the ass)

I don't relish the feeling of having my heart
ripped out. I don't particularly enjoy crushing
disappointment, over and over and over again.

But, I can see the beauty in it. All emotions
at their purest are beautiful. Love, hate, anger,
depression. I see them stripped down, to their
barest elements. I feel them flow through my
skin and blood and bone.

I suppose this must be why I'm largely a creature
driven by emotion, rather than logic. Why I tend
to listen to my heart, instead of my head.

When I witness acts that capture these emotions,
and present them in shining manner, I want to
catch them. Keep them. Experience them when I
want, how I want. As many times as I want.

It's all mostly noticed in song (by me, at
any rate). Janis Joplin was one of the best at
capturing pain with her voice and words. Billie
Holiday sang of isolation and loneliness.
Diamanda Galas is anger, embodied. Otis Redding
has pure and undying love. Nick Cave, the wrath
of a drunken god (or lover, scorned).

There are so many instances in life when all of
these emotions so closely mirror one another that
they could very well be the same thing. Love,
for instance. Love can be all of these things,
and more.

It is joy and despair. Hatred and longing.
Scorn and desire. I think of my love and all of
these emotions flutter, unfettered and pure,
in my chest. They spin my head with their power.

It all fits together, somehow. They mimic one
another, dance in their dress. Hatred is so akin
to love that sometimes, it's hard to differentiate
the two. Your entire mind is full of a person.
They are all you think about, day in and out.
Their name is ever on your breath and you long
to have them in your presence.

Sure, you want them in front of you so you
can rip their skin off and feel their blood
caked under your nails. But, it basically amounts
to the same feeling, now doesn't it?

I've lost the rest of this in the whistle of the
passing seven fifteen train. Someday, I may
finish it. But, not right now.

geek the girl

I am not a pretty girl.

On good days, I'm passingly cute.

I get in these moods, where I feel rancid and
disgusting. A virus to infect everything around
me. Filth oozes from my skin and I can't bear
to face my reflection.

I want to be beautiful.

It's worse on nights like this. I see people,
watch the lines of their bodies, the curve
of an angel's jaw. I don't feel fit to stand
next to them, to even be in the same room. Let
alone be seen out in public with them.

It shames me and I continue to hide. I constantly
hold myself up to other's faces, only to be found
constantly lacking.

I want to be full of light.

(no subject)

What do you want from me?

What am I to you?