Sunday, May 01, 2005
WORDS
 

Alison Krauss had a hit with her song “You say it best when you say nothing at all.” For this log entry, I am changing the words to “You say it best when you have nothing to say.” I aim to eradicate any notions you may have that a person should have a lot to say if they are going to write a lot down. Piffle!

Do you know how many “important” works of literature already exist in this world? Of course you don’t. No one could possibly count them all. Too many, that is for certain. Writing something "important" has already been done - more than once. It's yesterday's news. And, moreover, it's not a requirement.

I propose that to write at length about things that don’t matter is truly an act of courage. To commit those words to paper (or pixels, as the case may be), fully aware that doing so will result in the wasted time of every poor sucker who reads them, requires a bit of nerve. Some would even say that such writers have a lot of nerve. Yet to ruminate proliferously on topics ridiculous and/or pointless is to exercise your most basic right as an American. You're free! You don't need to have anything to say.

The realization that you can write even if you have nothing to say may surprise you. It may even liberate you. But I have even better news. You see, the truth is: you don’t even have to care that much about your subject matter. The passionate, dedicated writers you envision hunkered over smith-coronas in the wee hours are but quaint Rockwellian conjurings. Sure, they exist. But it’s not a requirement, you see.

Now, if you’ve read this far and you’re wondering what my point is, then you haven’t been paying attention. Thus far, there is no point. And I promise I'm not going to get one. Look down – you have a lot more reading to do!

As hard as it may be to believe, faithful readers, I have come this far - all the way to this sentence - with little or no point to speak of. I am writing, (courageously, but not passionately) and so doing, blazing a trail of sorts for other writers, like me, who have nothing to say and don’t really care all that much, and who – until today – allowed that to prevent them from writing. If these words help just one person realize their potential to say nothing at great length, then I will rest knowing that this was (most likely still not) worthwhile, after all.

I realize that in stating this purpose, I run the risk of giving my writing purpose, which could be mistaken for merit or value, and would not only completely negate everything I just said, but would also defeat my purpose. But the most important quality of this log entry remains, and shall remain, true: it’s totally unimportant. And even if a smidge of importance somehow managed to infiltrate these lines of text, rendering all my claims false (and discrediting me, the author), it would only diminish the importance of this log entry even further, and in turn, strengthen my point (if I had one).

One small aside, (while I’m thinking of it): A few paragraphs back, I used the word proliferously. In the interest of full disclosure, I just want to note for the record that I made that word up. YES, my friends, it is OK to make up words!

So anyway, moving on, I would like the thoughts that follow to be a little delirious, partially surreal, and at least mildly amusing – which would be apt for an author, like myself, who is very tired, lying in bed, and doomed to fall asleep at some point in the near future. I do not want this log entry to be angsty. (I shouldn’t even have brought it up, but my mind’s thoughts are laced with traces of angst, and the challenge will be to avoid selecting those thoughts as I select the thoughts to write. To assist me, I am listening to a mix of music that I put together. I titled this particular mix “Songs of blissful love and/or unbearable heartbreak,” because, by complete coincidence, almost every song I put on the mix was either a happy love song or a bitter, woeful ballad of love lost.

For example, the Brad Paisley/Alison Krauss song “Whiskey Lullaby” is playing as I type this. This song is so tragic, it’s almost comical. I would think it a farce, except it’s a country-western song, and I don’t think it’s joking. But with lyrics like, “She put him out like the burnin’ end of a midnight cigarette” and “We found him with his face down in the pillow with a note that said, ‘I’ll love her ‘til I die,’” it truly pushes the envelope of country music themes. In fact, I would have to call it “Extreme Country” – a new category of country-western for the younger generation of shit-kickers for whom traditional country music does not deliver a deep enough sense of loss, loneliness, hopelessness, or sorrow.

Speaking of which, the next song (playing now) in the playlist is Dolly Parton singing “You left me, just when I needed you most.” Do you see what I mean? That’s hardly tragic enough for today’s cowboy. “So, you got jilted – big whoop. At least you’re not dead, lying face down in a pillow in some trailer somewhere, rotting in the Summer heat and stinking of decomposing flesh because you’ve been there for three weeks and nobody’s discovered you or even stopped to check in on you since you drove away all your friends with your heavy drinking and constant heaving sobs of despair. So you’re alone now – get yourself a cat.”

You see what I mean.

And now the song playing is “The Water is Wide.” I can’t quite figure this song out. Is it joyful? Hopeful? Or hopeless? It’s confusing. On the one hand, you have the lyrics “The water is wide, I can’t cross o’er, and neither have I wings to fly, give me a boat that carries two, we both shall row, my love and I.” So this seems kinda hopeful, I suppose – there are obstacles, but together we’ll overcome them. Then in the next verse, “Love is gentle, love is kind, the sweetest flower when first it’s new.” Singing praises to love would lead one to believe this is joyous, but it continues “But love grows old, it waxes cold, and fades away like morning dew.” Those aren’t the words of someone in love, but of someone who has some experience loving and has borne the pain of losing it. So I guess the gist of this song is, “Well, you’re my love, and I love you (for what it’s worth – nothing lasts forever, after all) and we have each other, which is something, but let’s not kid ourselves, we still have a lot of shit to face, and even though we’re facing it together, it’s going to be hard for both of us.”

And now it’s time for the trivia question for today’s blog entry. A correct answer is worth fifteen points. The question involves the next song in my love/heartbreak music mix. It’s a duet, Alison Krauss singing with James Taylor. They’re performing a cover of a well-known folk song by a world-famous performer. “I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles – such are promises” is a line from the song. Without Googling the lyric, can you name what song they are singing? Gee, I think it’s too easy, but hey, if it’ll make you feel smart, so be it. (And because I'm feeling generous, I'll award an extra bonus star if you can name the play that is referenced in the title of this entry). You can post your answer in the comment area for this blog entry. But don't look at other people's answers - that's cheating.

After the trivia song is – and I swear this is the truth – Olivia Newton John singing “Country Roads.” Now, if you’re like me, you’re thinking “Why on Earth would Olivia Newton John try to sing “Country Roads?” It makes absolutely no sense. Country roads might take her home to Adelaide, but West Virginia is not the place she belongs, and she can’t convince me that it is.

How quickly the songs go by as one types. Now, Dusty Springfield is singing “Son of a Preacher Man,” which you may think does not fit the “love/heartbreak” theme, in which case I will gently correct you, because it is a nostalgic love song about a preacher’s son (I think, unless there’s a hidden meaning). If you know the hidden meaning of "Son of a Preacher Man," post it to the comment area, below, for twenty points.

There’s no hidden meaning in the next song of the playlist. It’s Claudine Longet singing “Love is Blue” (in French, except the spoken word portion, which is in English and goes “Yesterday we were together and life was sweet. Today you’re gone, life is sad, and love is blue.”) What a poet – and marksman. I would have to classify this as a song of bearable heartbreak, but that makes for a nice transition into a happier, more blissful and lovey-dovey portion of the mix (you were correct in noting that the songs up to this point have all been in the “heartbreak” category), which starts off with Ella Fitzgerald singing “Blue Skies,” followed by “I Won’t Last A Day Without You,” sung, of course, by that singer of happy songs, Karen Carpenter, whose haunting voice can send a shiver through even the happiest of ditties.

How does she achieve this? Perhaps it’s because the maturity in her voice belies the bubble-gummy subject matter, creating a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia for the days when we were naïve enough to actually believe we were on top of the world, looking down on creation. Or, maybe it’s all the vomit.)

But as I was saying before I got off on the music tangent, I don’t want this log entry to be angsty. Angst carries with it the stench of importance, and I will have none of that here. Which reminds me, if you’re an average reader (speed-wise), I have, as of this moment, just wasted about seven minutes of your time (give or take).

 
So far, this post has made 2 people think of something to say. COMMENT.

Comments:
Wait....what did I just read?

Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest
 
Sooooo.... I read and read...
Though he warned nothing would be said...
Afraid it was a trick or there was a "catch"...
(You know... a hidden prize for one who persisted through all the gobbledygook...
like airline tickets to SF or a free meal at Buca Di Beppo)
But, alas... no... nothing... nada...
But, mostly, I read it word for word
Because I'm his Mom...
And that's what Mom's do, you know!!
 
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Fewer than 10 percent of those trying Anarchestra reported feelings of ennui, nausea, headache, or dry mouth.

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Matty G
Your Anarchestrator

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A Humble Agitator.

When I obliterate my Self, I reform.

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I am the color of a prairie slope glistening in the light of daybreak - the sound of a gypsy wedding - and the nature of a well-told tall-tale.

I am the creation of myself.

I am what I have been waiting for all along.

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