Play me a song to set me free.
“Every time she sneezes I believe its love,
And oh Lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”
Words like those are the reason I love Adam Duritz. His lyrics are so perfect. So absolutely beautiful. I cannot wait to see Counting Crows in September.
The other day someone said to me “Kelly, you intimidate me with your words.”
I find this odd. I don’t consider myself to be very good with words. Maybe a little better than some when it comes to written words, but not when I speak out loud. My brain refuses to function and I sound like a fool.
I wish my brain connected to my tongue.
I wish my feet connected to the ground.
I wish my arms connected to you.
(Whoever you are).
I woke up this morning, sat on my roof and watched the heat melt into the sky.
If you ever want to be close to heaven, watch the sun rise.
If you ever want to escape your mediocre life, watch the sun rise.
If you ever watch the sun rise, listen to Counting Crows, let your eyes shut and your hair glow.
As the remains of night drifted higher, disappearing into lightness, I adjusted my Saturday clothes,
leaned against the brick wall and breathed in so deeply,
until the universe shook down the empty stars and left over blankets of black.
Nothing made sense, but nothing ever does.
I believe I was smiling, maybe even laughing.
Simply content in a numb moment. Simply content being alive.
A friend told me the other night that she prefers listening to rap because it’s “fun music.”
And for the first time in seven years I felt like I was sitting next to a stranger.
And I felt like a stranger in my own skin.
Fun music?
Is there something wrong with me? I mean that as a real, legitimate question. Is there something I’m missing? I feel like I’m being tortured every time I have to listen to Akon or whoever else is rapping this week. I consider Elliott Smith or Jeff Buckley (for example) as fun music, because they get into my heart and it feels like they read my mind when they wrote their songs. I would rather listen to Chris Cornell or Jimmy Gnecco over Beyonce or Gwen Stefani any day. I’m sorry, but anyone who would write a song with lyrics like “This shit is bananas” and who then proceeds to SPELL the freaking word out in the song has no credibility with me. But someone who writes words like “What were you here for? What will you find? Could I save your life, like you saved mine? Wait until the morning comes around Wait for something beautiful Wait to see if worry turns around Wait, please wait,” brings me to my knees. I can barely believe that I get to see Jimmy Gnecco sing those words in a few short weeks. I’ll probably do something ridiculous like burst into tears or something. Songs like David Cook’s Incarcerate make me sit still and ache for more. The hairs on my arms stand up after he wails “incarceraaaaate” towards the end of the song. And THAT’S how you can tell the real stuff from the bull. Songs like Rhianna’s Lipgloss never made anyone ache, and most certainly never made the hair on anyone’s arms stand straight up. And while I'm on the subject, I hate it when people assume I like a musician because of his looks. Let me tell you right now, Adam Duritz isn’t one bit attractive, and I worship the ground he walks on. Elliott Smith wasn’t good looking and I’m pretty sure his soul was linked with mine. David Cook could look like complete crap and I’d still think he was perfect.
I’ve always wanted to marry a writer or a musician. Ideally he’d be both. To me there is nothing sexier than a guy who pores his soul out into words, forming phrases and using metaphors to turn the ugliest of thoughts into something beautiful. And if he uses his voice to express those words, shows his emotions through the occasional voice crack or softly sung phrase in amongst beautiful chords and progressions, forget it. I’m in love in two seconds flat. I guess I just love words, and I’m a sucker for anyone who’s able to manipulate them into something golden.
I think I feel too much of my soul in music. One year I made a boyfriend a mix cd for Valentines Day. I spent HOURS choosing the right songs, putting them in the right order, making the cd perfect. And when he told me that he’d played the cd in one of his classes, for everyone to hear, I felt so humiliated. I never told him that. But I did. To me it wasn’t just a bunch of random lovey-dovey Valentines related songs. They were my SOUL. I felt like he’d read my damn DIARY to the class. Most people don’t get that. Most don’t understand how deeply I feel the music rooted inside of me. I don’t think anyone else feels this way. Other people say they’re obsessed with music, but I’ve yet to find anyone who feels for it as intensely as I do. I think God messed up big time when He made me inapt at playing instruments and singing.
I've finally figured it out. I understand why I feel the way I do about life now and it makes me both happy and depressed. It’s so simple. I don't know why I've never recognized it before: I am greedy. I am greedy and I am paranoid.
I am greedy for life. I am hungry for every experience, both good and bad. I want it all and I am paranoid I will get none of it. It explains why I get obsessed over things so easily. It explains why I hold out for a 'perfect' guy. It explains why I fantasize over my dream life non-stop. It explains my completely irrational and unrealistic thoughts at times. It explains why I am not satisfied with the life I live. I want more than this.
I want that storybook, movie plot line romance. I want that kind of confidence and positive energy that people are drawn to. I want success in everything I throw myself into. I want it all and then some.
I am driven. I am competitive. I am greedy. I don't want to miss out. On anything. I want it all. I don't want to miss out. The last thing I want is to look back on my life, disappointed that I didn't achieve all that I wanted. That I didn't do anything with my life.
This revelation is both comforting and distressing all in one.
I don't want to be alone anymore. Together this world is scary enough. And alone? It can be torture.
Thank God for the music that gets me through the days.
And oh Lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”
Words like those are the reason I love Adam Duritz. His lyrics are so perfect. So absolutely beautiful. I cannot wait to see Counting Crows in September.
The other day someone said to me “Kelly, you intimidate me with your words.”
I find this odd. I don’t consider myself to be very good with words. Maybe a little better than some when it comes to written words, but not when I speak out loud. My brain refuses to function and I sound like a fool.
I wish my brain connected to my tongue.
I wish my feet connected to the ground.
I wish my arms connected to you.
(Whoever you are).
I woke up this morning, sat on my roof and watched the heat melt into the sky.
If you ever want to be close to heaven, watch the sun rise.
If you ever want to escape your mediocre life, watch the sun rise.
If you ever watch the sun rise, listen to Counting Crows, let your eyes shut and your hair glow.
As the remains of night drifted higher, disappearing into lightness, I adjusted my Saturday clothes,
leaned against the brick wall and breathed in so deeply,
until the universe shook down the empty stars and left over blankets of black.
Nothing made sense, but nothing ever does.
I believe I was smiling, maybe even laughing.
Simply content in a numb moment. Simply content being alive.
A friend told me the other night that she prefers listening to rap because it’s “fun music.”
And for the first time in seven years I felt like I was sitting next to a stranger.
And I felt like a stranger in my own skin.
Fun music?
Is there something wrong with me? I mean that as a real, legitimate question. Is there something I’m missing? I feel like I’m being tortured every time I have to listen to Akon or whoever else is rapping this week. I consider Elliott Smith or Jeff Buckley (for example) as fun music, because they get into my heart and it feels like they read my mind when they wrote their songs. I would rather listen to Chris Cornell or Jimmy Gnecco over Beyonce or Gwen Stefani any day. I’m sorry, but anyone who would write a song with lyrics like “This shit is bananas” and who then proceeds to SPELL the freaking word out in the song has no credibility with me. But someone who writes words like “What were you here for? What will you find? Could I save your life, like you saved mine? Wait until the morning comes around Wait for something beautiful Wait to see if worry turns around Wait, please wait,” brings me to my knees. I can barely believe that I get to see Jimmy Gnecco sing those words in a few short weeks. I’ll probably do something ridiculous like burst into tears or something. Songs like David Cook’s Incarcerate make me sit still and ache for more. The hairs on my arms stand up after he wails “incarceraaaaate” towards the end of the song. And THAT’S how you can tell the real stuff from the bull. Songs like Rhianna’s Lipgloss never made anyone ache, and most certainly never made the hair on anyone’s arms stand straight up. And while I'm on the subject, I hate it when people assume I like a musician because of his looks. Let me tell you right now, Adam Duritz isn’t one bit attractive, and I worship the ground he walks on. Elliott Smith wasn’t good looking and I’m pretty sure his soul was linked with mine. David Cook could look like complete crap and I’d still think he was perfect.
I’ve always wanted to marry a writer or a musician. Ideally he’d be both. To me there is nothing sexier than a guy who pores his soul out into words, forming phrases and using metaphors to turn the ugliest of thoughts into something beautiful. And if he uses his voice to express those words, shows his emotions through the occasional voice crack or softly sung phrase in amongst beautiful chords and progressions, forget it. I’m in love in two seconds flat. I guess I just love words, and I’m a sucker for anyone who’s able to manipulate them into something golden.
I think I feel too much of my soul in music. One year I made a boyfriend a mix cd for Valentines Day. I spent HOURS choosing the right songs, putting them in the right order, making the cd perfect. And when he told me that he’d played the cd in one of his classes, for everyone to hear, I felt so humiliated. I never told him that. But I did. To me it wasn’t just a bunch of random lovey-dovey Valentines related songs. They were my SOUL. I felt like he’d read my damn DIARY to the class. Most people don’t get that. Most don’t understand how deeply I feel the music rooted inside of me. I don’t think anyone else feels this way. Other people say they’re obsessed with music, but I’ve yet to find anyone who feels for it as intensely as I do. I think God messed up big time when He made me inapt at playing instruments and singing.
I've finally figured it out. I understand why I feel the way I do about life now and it makes me both happy and depressed. It’s so simple. I don't know why I've never recognized it before: I am greedy. I am greedy and I am paranoid.
I am greedy for life. I am hungry for every experience, both good and bad. I want it all and I am paranoid I will get none of it. It explains why I get obsessed over things so easily. It explains why I hold out for a 'perfect' guy. It explains why I fantasize over my dream life non-stop. It explains my completely irrational and unrealistic thoughts at times. It explains why I am not satisfied with the life I live. I want more than this.
I want that storybook, movie plot line romance. I want that kind of confidence and positive energy that people are drawn to. I want success in everything I throw myself into. I want it all and then some.
I am driven. I am competitive. I am greedy. I don't want to miss out. On anything. I want it all. I don't want to miss out. The last thing I want is to look back on my life, disappointed that I didn't achieve all that I wanted. That I didn't do anything with my life.
This revelation is both comforting and distressing all in one.
I don't want to be alone anymore. Together this world is scary enough. And alone? It can be torture.
Thank God for the music that gets me through the days.