Thursday, October 16, 2008

Let's remove any question of cure



There's a lot I could tell you. We feel this need to take our lives and put them out there and this medium makes it so easy to do. In fact, it's almost seductive in its immediacy. Why do we do this? That's a question for another day, and one I've been mulling for some time.

For now, the relevant point is this. I think you've had moments, too, where something—a book, an image, a song—touches you, becomes meaningful, serves as a life raft. And you hang onto it, imbue it with your own meaning. This song from Aimee Mann is one of mine. It's part of an odd collection that ranges from Satie to Linkin Park [I know, go figure] to Elvis Costello to, recently, tango electronica.

For the most part, I can't write in specifics of being unattached at 48. That would be too confessional, but more to the point, it would be an invasion of privacy. Whether any individuals involved deserve my respect is another matter. Some do. Some don't. Just like any situation in your own world. Don't get me wrong- some will definitely score some re-telling because they have acted way beyond the bounds of decency and have become their own cautionary tale. But what's going on now has to remain opaque.

Therefore, I'll choose instead to give you the lyrics again, a January 5th post redux. And if my ethics happen to slip, you'll be the first to know.

. . .

Satellite
from Bachelor No. 2 (Or, The Last Remains of the Dodo)
by the extraordinary Aimee Mann


Let's assume you were right
and play the game of charm and strange
and satellite
and when we've all had our fun
deflate the stars
and put away the sun
and so we can call it a day.

Cause I'll never prove that my motives were pure
so let's remove any question of cure
cause even though you've made it pretty obscure
baby, it's clear, from here—
you're losing your atmosphere.
from here, you're losing it.

So let's assume it was true
cause baby can't lift up a hand to swear to you
and what's the use of defense?
the hangers-on are too far gone for evidence
and that one was lost from the first.

Cause I'll never prove that my motives were pure
so let's remove any question of cure
cause even though you've made it pretty obscure
baby, it's clear, from here—
you're losing your atmosphere
from here, you're losing it.

So have it your way
whatever makes the best resume
whatever you can throw in
wash, rinse and spin til it's
spun away—okay
but I won't be sticking around.

Cause I'll never prove that my motives were pure
so let's remove any question of cure
cause even though you've made it pretty obscure
baby, it's clear, from here—
you're losing your atmosphere
from here, you're losing it.

. . .

—Listen to a sample at iTunes.

2 comments:

sparky said...

Why do we do this?
narcissists seeking to see themselves 'in print' on an international level, while gaining attention?

but, about songs in the key of being unattached at 48; the words become personalized to the specific emotional attachment within. it's what all 'love' songs are about; the external affirmation of an internal experience. 'hey, they're like me'/'i'm attached to someone'

sadock said...

Well, I'm gradually making my way through your blog, fascinating lady. Good to know that songs will occasionally 'speak' to you as well.