Before I gush about the brilliant, heart-breaking piano riff and dimension-ripping tenderness that oozes out of this psuedo-ballad, I'd like to present to everyone the lyrics:
"Out here, I can barely see my breath
Surrounded by jealousy and death
I can't be reached, only had one call
Dragged underneath, separate from you all
This time, I've lost my own return
In spite of everything I've learned
I hid my tracks, spit out all my air
Slipped into cracks, stripped of all my cares
I'm so tired, sheep are counting me
No more struggle, no more energy
No more patient and you can write that down
It's all too crazy and I'm not sticking round"
I'm not a sentimental person. Scratch that, I really am a sentimental person. I'm emotional as hell and I'm going to be a man and admit that right now. I cry easily during emotionally charged movies like 'Dancer in the Dark' and even 'In Bruges' (the suicide bit, not the funny bits.) This song hits me right where I'm tender. It hits that microscopic switch in my brain that runs the old projector that flickers to life and shows memories, on loop, of all the great things I've done in this state during the past year. I jumped in a bounce castle. I played the Mad Men drinking game with a close friend until I vomited (it was tequila and we made it halfway through the pilot before gushing about friendship). I smoked from a bowl made out of a beer bottle. I had a politically charged conversation with a friend's parent. I reconnected with two old acquaintances and became friends with them. I've learned a lot, to be honest. I've learned a shit load about just being confident in my thoughts and actions. I've learned to just say, "Fuck it, people will like me or my name isn't Kevin fucking Patterson." This sounds like a pretty positive post, doesn't it? Well, here's where the song makes me babble and sob.
This Fugazi song is much different from other Fugazi songs because it is set to a slow, melodic piano riff that just seems to accentuate every note and emotion being poured into the lyrics. These lyrics express alienation and naivity. Well, at least it does in my eyes. There's also a hint of depression and suicide in the painful lyrics (is there another word I can use besides lyrics? I feel like I've used it too many times), but I haven't slipped that far yet. You may be asking yourself, well, how does this apply to my current train of thought and college? Just why does this song matter right now?
I've learned so much in the past year, but I can't help but feel powerless when it comes to college. I feel anxious, nervous, nauseous, and uneasy about being completely surrounded by people that have lived year of their lives like the way I lived the past one. They practically float in memories, stories, and confidence. They fucking glow with satisfaction as they continue their conquest. Me? I'll do okay for the first month, I think. Then it will happen. It's like in The Sims. I think I'm ready for a baby, I get one, but then I realize it's more difficult to juggle it in with my daily activities. I scrap the baby. I give up. I feel like I'm going to give up on people for my own self-interests sooner or later because, well, it's easier.
This can't fucking happen. I'll make a tear-pact with you, Fugazi song. I'm going to get over myself and my slacker mentality to become a nice, easy-going person. I swear to you.
And that ending. That abrubt, immediate ending.
"It's all too crazy and I'm not sticking round"
8/27/2011
Kevin Patterson Recommends, Vol. 1: 'The Puffy Chair'
Beautiful. Hilarious. Emotional. Just fantastic, really.
A Collection of Haikus (?)
He said, "Behold," and
set fire to the skyline
to prove a vain point
He shed his image
of an equestrian but
defended his taste.
Urges arose to
sketch unintellibly
trivial feelings.
Free souls only smoke
out of bowls made out of old
Corona bottles.
You procrastinate
only to draw attention
to your husk-like soul.
set fire to the skyline
to prove a vain point
He shed his image
of an equestrian but
defended his taste.
Urges arose to
sketch unintellibly
trivial feelings.
Free souls only smoke
out of bowls made out of old
Corona bottles.
You procrastinate
only to draw attention
to your husk-like soul.
A Brief Track-by-Track Review of: 'Watch The Throne', Kanye West & JAY-Z
Well, here it is. The super-hyped collaboration album between one of the most eccentric rappers of recent years and the guy married to Beyoncé. While I do like a couple of albums by each performer, one more than the other, there's no way in HELL they deserved this much hype. I should know. I'm the king of hyping shit up. No lie. Anyways, let's run through each track really quickly and tally up the hits and duds.
1. No Church in the Wild (feat. Frank Ocean)
Fantastic. Frank Ocean provides some dreamy vocals and the beat is killer. Love this one. (+)
2. Lift Off (feat. Beyoncé)
I literally paused the album here. This is some HAM shit, man. Disappointing. (-)
3. Niggas in Paris
Everything I wanted/expected from this collaboration. They're richer than you and they're rapping about it. (+)
4. Otis (feat. Otis Redding)
As far as production goes, it really doesn't get better than this. As far as rhymes go, this song paints the perfect portrait of Jay-Z sweating and panting trying so desperately to keep up with Kanye's speed and precision. Overall? So close to perfect. (+)
5. Gotta Have It
Another stellar beat. This whole album should be 'Kanye West (feat. Jay-Z)' even though Beyoncé's husband doesn't fall that far behind on this track as he did Otis. (+)
6. New Day
Three words: Auto-tuned Nina Simone. Verdict? Three words: No thank you. (-)
7. That's My Bitch
Somewhat childish and aggressive, but goddamn. So catchy. (+)
8. Welcome to the Jungle
I paused it here again. Did they both take a break on this track?(-)
9. Who Gon Stop Me?
Maybe they just took a break for the second half of this album. (-)
10. Murder to Excellence
Oh. My. God. Do I smell redemption coming from Jay-Z's corner? This track is stunning. More stunning than it really should be. (+)
11. Made in America (feat. Frank Ocean)
Overall this track is very underwhelming. I mean, by itself it is. Right after the epicness of 'Murder to Exellence', this track kind of fits. It flows. But still kind of boring. (-)
12. Why I Love You (feat. Mr. Hudson)
OOH, I LOVE YOU SO. BUT WHY I LOVE YOU, I'LL NEVER KNOW. (+)
Hits: 7
Duds: 5
In Conclusion: Good. Really good. Catchy, upbeat, obnoxious, in-your-face, and just good.
When All Else Fails: A Free-Form Rant
When it comes to things I love more dearly than life itself, the number one spot will always be held by movies. Number two is undoubtedly buffalo wings and number three would be David Lynch's hair (would that be more appropriate under the 'movie' category?). Those two I mentioned aren't important right now, though, and I only mentioned them to show how high movies rank compared to everything else. All the emotions I know now were given to me through movies. My upbringing was modest, typical, and somewhat boring. I never went outside because I live in a half-ghetto where gunshots can be heard on certain nights and Asian brothels are a dime a dozen. I went to fluffy, white bread Catholic schools. All the TV show drama of high school seemed to be exclusive to public school the same way all half-decent computer games are exclusive to the Windows operating system. I was stuck with a Mac; it was nice and shiny and good for show when it came to college application time, but the best thing I got as far as excitement goes was an old, crusty port of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. And don't even get me started on the controls for that thing. Atrocious. But I digress.
It took a while for me to make friends. Hell, it still takes me a while to meet new people. That's something I am definitely still working on. In middle school, I had about three friends. When high school came around, I stopped talking to them. Communication just halted for some reason. In high school, I only had conversations with a handful of people and of that handful only two or three became close. College is coming around, though, and I'm not really the best when it comes to keeping in touch. But again, I digress. With no friends, no outside environment to escape to when I got insufferable feelings of cabin fever, and no discernible skill in any athletic endeavor, I turned to my TV and a handful of DVD's in the basement. Eureka. I wouldn't watch a movie as much as sank into it. I let that motherfucker rise and engulf me. Whenever a strong character felt an emotion, so did I. Whenever a monumental task was achieved or a goal was accomplished, I was elated. I received euphoria vicariously through fictional characters.
I've never been in a real-life situation as exciting or as pulse-increasing or as emotionally powerful as a great fucking movie. The only one that comes close is this one time me and three friends discussed etiquette in the drug world as we sat waiting for some weed in an upscale neighborhood. The dialogue flowed naturally and, in that moment, I felt as if I was a likeable character. Subconsciously I guess I really want to be a character you can root for. I want to have problems only to overcome them. I want to see things in a different way to make myself different. In a way, though, my awareness of this desire deflates it. My life could end up ending abruptly with no closure. All of the flaws and development I so delicately built since birth would be wasted as the television show of my life is cancelled. To me, a character or an individual's emotion and drive lies in their insecurities. If everything's perfect, what is there to work for? If someone has it all, what could they gain from any sort of attention or journey? More shit? More confidence? I'm a very introverted person by nature. Wait, not by nature. I'm an introverted person because the world made me. When I was young, certain circumstances led me down the path to shy and reserved as opposed to loud and crass and confident. That's my challenge to overcome. That's my hurdle to jump. I was given a load and, by God, it's my responsibility when it comes to throwing it off my back. I understand this, I just haven't done it yet.
I think I'm attracted to stylistic movies because of the monotony of my home and, let's face it, love life. There's always need for something exciting. I'm not going to make it a secret that I love (certain) Guy Ritchie movies and Frank Miller's goofy-as-fuck 'The Spirit'. Sometimes I need camp in my film diet. I love flashy yet, at the same time, raw movies by Cassavetes and Leigh always fill me up with such warmth and emotion even if the subject is coarse and sinking. I'm sad to say this, but the popular idea of 'art' is seperated into low and high. No matter my stance on the matter, it's true. I don't see one movie as 'higher' than another even though the popular opinion to putting Akira Kurosawa and Trey Parker on the same pedestal is, "The fuck?!" I think that's the reason I started this essay. I started it to show my displeasure towards art segregation even though I am aware of its grasp on the mainstream mindset. It's like capitalism. We all know it's a bitch, but what can you do? Try going a month without buying anything from anyone and tell me how that works out for you*. I profess myself as a 'low culture expert' to sort of mock this general notion of artistic hierarchy. I'm not putting myself on this pedestal, though. "Oh, look at me and my views." Y'know what? That's why I don't like talking about my views and ideas. I always feel self-absorbed and narcissistic. That's why I almost never say what I do on Twitter, just things I see and feel. It takes the importance off of who I am and places it on things around me. Get it?
I recently saw the Mark Duplass (Man Crush #4) and Jay Duplass film 'The Puffy Chair'. I'm probably going to write a review of it soon, but I saw this movie and it reminded me of a heated internet argument between a die-hard Ray Carney-phile and a casual filmgoer. The latter hated this movie and the entire mumblecore movement while the former damned the latter for liking Quentin Tarantino and not seeing the brilliance in the uncut and raw scenes of pure human condition drama. My question is, why are the two mutually exclusive?
Why can't I love both camp and class? Style and stripped? Cassavetes and Tarantino?
*This is based off of my minimal, amateurish knowledge of capitalism and communism. I'm working on two books I have by Marx and Zizek, so cut me some slack.
It took a while for me to make friends. Hell, it still takes me a while to meet new people. That's something I am definitely still working on. In middle school, I had about three friends. When high school came around, I stopped talking to them. Communication just halted for some reason. In high school, I only had conversations with a handful of people and of that handful only two or three became close. College is coming around, though, and I'm not really the best when it comes to keeping in touch. But again, I digress. With no friends, no outside environment to escape to when I got insufferable feelings of cabin fever, and no discernible skill in any athletic endeavor, I turned to my TV and a handful of DVD's in the basement. Eureka. I wouldn't watch a movie as much as sank into it. I let that motherfucker rise and engulf me. Whenever a strong character felt an emotion, so did I. Whenever a monumental task was achieved or a goal was accomplished, I was elated. I received euphoria vicariously through fictional characters.
I've never been in a real-life situation as exciting or as pulse-increasing or as emotionally powerful as a great fucking movie. The only one that comes close is this one time me and three friends discussed etiquette in the drug world as we sat waiting for some weed in an upscale neighborhood. The dialogue flowed naturally and, in that moment, I felt as if I was a likeable character. Subconsciously I guess I really want to be a character you can root for. I want to have problems only to overcome them. I want to see things in a different way to make myself different. In a way, though, my awareness of this desire deflates it. My life could end up ending abruptly with no closure. All of the flaws and development I so delicately built since birth would be wasted as the television show of my life is cancelled. To me, a character or an individual's emotion and drive lies in their insecurities. If everything's perfect, what is there to work for? If someone has it all, what could they gain from any sort of attention or journey? More shit? More confidence? I'm a very introverted person by nature. Wait, not by nature. I'm an introverted person because the world made me. When I was young, certain circumstances led me down the path to shy and reserved as opposed to loud and crass and confident. That's my challenge to overcome. That's my hurdle to jump. I was given a load and, by God, it's my responsibility when it comes to throwing it off my back. I understand this, I just haven't done it yet.
I think I'm attracted to stylistic movies because of the monotony of my home and, let's face it, love life. There's always need for something exciting. I'm not going to make it a secret that I love (certain) Guy Ritchie movies and Frank Miller's goofy-as-fuck 'The Spirit'. Sometimes I need camp in my film diet. I love flashy yet, at the same time, raw movies by Cassavetes and Leigh always fill me up with such warmth and emotion even if the subject is coarse and sinking. I'm sad to say this, but the popular idea of 'art' is seperated into low and high. No matter my stance on the matter, it's true. I don't see one movie as 'higher' than another even though the popular opinion to putting Akira Kurosawa and Trey Parker on the same pedestal is, "The fuck?!" I think that's the reason I started this essay. I started it to show my displeasure towards art segregation even though I am aware of its grasp on the mainstream mindset. It's like capitalism. We all know it's a bitch, but what can you do? Try going a month without buying anything from anyone and tell me how that works out for you*. I profess myself as a 'low culture expert' to sort of mock this general notion of artistic hierarchy. I'm not putting myself on this pedestal, though. "Oh, look at me and my views." Y'know what? That's why I don't like talking about my views and ideas. I always feel self-absorbed and narcissistic. That's why I almost never say what I do on Twitter, just things I see and feel. It takes the importance off of who I am and places it on things around me. Get it?
I recently saw the Mark Duplass (Man Crush #4) and Jay Duplass film 'The Puffy Chair'. I'm probably going to write a review of it soon, but I saw this movie and it reminded me of a heated internet argument between a die-hard Ray Carney-phile and a casual filmgoer. The latter hated this movie and the entire mumblecore movement while the former damned the latter for liking Quentin Tarantino and not seeing the brilliance in the uncut and raw scenes of pure human condition drama. My question is, why are the two mutually exclusive?
Why can't I love both camp and class? Style and stripped? Cassavetes and Tarantino?
*This is based off of my minimal, amateurish knowledge of capitalism and communism. I'm working on two books I have by Marx and Zizek, so cut me some slack.
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