Bleeding hearts.
We are all bleeding heart enthusiasts in a bleeding heart world. People don't bleed for other people. We bleed for concepts. Ideas.
The tendencies of the average American pinned up as a comparison, I think I'm allowed to say that I've been to more places and that I've seen more interesting things than the run of your mill Joe. I've seen the mighty mighty Opeth live more times than I can count. I was bred on the rock n' roll excesses of the bleeding heart polemics of the early 90s.
Back when post-rock was an expression of a guitarist's right to play music that we've never heard before. When Hardcore was actually an emotion, not a wagon for band-wagon jumpers and flavor of the month rebels. Bands that sang about the truth with the truth inside them. Behold. Music that sounded like the truth. I don't trust the music I find on the radio today.
I put in a cd from 1993. It was the beginning of the Grunge era and the era of wanton polemia, but the genre wasn't the weird kid on the block anymore. Remember what I said about the truth. The truth is never the weird kid on the block. You can't trust the weird kid on the block.
People don't care about concepts anymore. It's so unAmerican.
I stencil the word, "Ark," into my skin with a breadknife. I'm pushing pretty hard but all I get is little red ruts, inflamed with my mind's incorrigible urge to break the skin. The corrugation laughs at me. The cut is afraid to live.
"Push."
I push harder, till I find the pink spot under my forearm. I make the depth of my incisions consistent. I can't draw curves on my arm. I'm drawing in straight blood lines. I pop four more pills that the doctor gave me for my "anxiety." I'm still anxious but pleased with the way the relief is turning out. It's stylish, modern.
I put a full-sleeve shirt on and ask my roommate for a Sharpie.
"I'm too high, it's on my desk."
My arm is burning. I must sit. I push the Sharpie into my cuts, tracing out the words on blood. But then, you can't really see the blood anymore. Sharpies are strong. The pain is my place of peace and salvation. I am strong. I push through it.
The ark is on my skin, the ark is in me. The flood and the Greek pillar. The string and the Heart.
Icarus, and the sun.
I am a concept.
The tendencies of the average American pinned up as a comparison, I think I'm allowed to say that I've been to more places and that I've seen more interesting things than the run of your mill Joe. I've seen the mighty mighty Opeth live more times than I can count. I was bred on the rock n' roll excesses of the bleeding heart polemics of the early 90s.
Back when post-rock was an expression of a guitarist's right to play music that we've never heard before. When Hardcore was actually an emotion, not a wagon for band-wagon jumpers and flavor of the month rebels. Bands that sang about the truth with the truth inside them. Behold. Music that sounded like the truth. I don't trust the music I find on the radio today.
I put in a cd from 1993. It was the beginning of the Grunge era and the era of wanton polemia, but the genre wasn't the weird kid on the block anymore. Remember what I said about the truth. The truth is never the weird kid on the block. You can't trust the weird kid on the block.
People don't care about concepts anymore. It's so unAmerican.
I stencil the word, "Ark," into my skin with a breadknife. I'm pushing pretty hard but all I get is little red ruts, inflamed with my mind's incorrigible urge to break the skin. The corrugation laughs at me. The cut is afraid to live.
"Push."
I push harder, till I find the pink spot under my forearm. I make the depth of my incisions consistent. I can't draw curves on my arm. I'm drawing in straight blood lines. I pop four more pills that the doctor gave me for my "anxiety." I'm still anxious but pleased with the way the relief is turning out. It's stylish, modern.
I put a full-sleeve shirt on and ask my roommate for a Sharpie.
"I'm too high, it's on my desk."
My arm is burning. I must sit. I push the Sharpie into my cuts, tracing out the words on blood. But then, you can't really see the blood anymore. Sharpies are strong. The pain is my place of peace and salvation. I am strong. I push through it.
The ark is on my skin, the ark is in me. The flood and the Greek pillar. The string and the Heart.
Icarus, and the sun.
I am a concept.