Tag Archives: lyrics

The Great Release

And it feels like it won’t come on
And it takes like you’re full of love
Still the time never to pay on
Still the time never to pay on

And it feels like I’m coming home
And it’s still like a merry cow
And it feels like it’s coming home
And it feels like it’s full of love
Still in time is the great release
Something dying will be a great release

I recently realized that I began writing for the web not long before the 2000 election season. There was no cause and effect there – I certainly wasn’t writing about anything deep on Day One – but I do find the timing curious. Soon, what had been a predominantly vain site about my school goings-on became my emotional release to the world.

As outlets go, I’ve been hard pressed to find one that can be more cathartic than writing: writing for myself, for a nebulous group of friends and coworkers, for the world. I write to preserve thoughts, to capture feelings. I write so that I will not – so that I can not – ever forget.

With that in mind: I do not ever want to forget how I felt at 5:58 in the morning, walking to PS 16 and finding a line, the first time I would ever have to wait to vote. I was #31 at my polling station. I could not cast my vote soon enough.

And I do not ever want to forget how I felt last night, at a quarter past ten, when the path to victory became clear and I began to eagerly count down the forty-five minutes left until the west coast closed and the election could be called.

And I do not ever want to forget how the nation and the world reacted at eleven o’clock the evening of November the 4th, as the tears came to my eyes.

And I do not ever want to forget watching John McCain concede – both for his attempts to mend the wounds he had caused during his campaign, and for him coming face to face with them, as his supporters booed the president-elect.

And I do not ever want to forget listening to President Obama’s victory speech, and realizing that I no longer had reason to doubt the possibility of the American spirit, to no longer believe that hope was little more than an exercise in futility.

I can not ever forget what the last eight years have done to this country. It has divided us, such that my own relatives feel that calling me a “commie pinko” is acceptable discourse. It has destroyed our good standing around the world. It has warped our values: intelligence and eloquence had become something that we no longer wanted in our leaders.

And I will not delude myself: the next four years will be extremely rough on our new government. I do not hold any expectations that everything that is broken will get fixed. President Obama does not have all the answers, nor should any one of us expect him to. But we should expect him to do right: to uphold our rights and empower us; to work with our allies and strengthen us; to deter our enemies and protect us; to set a good example and lead us. We will hold him accountable and demand transparency, just as we should any government.

But the electorate has spoken resoundingly. No longer are we a nation who can be cowed by our government in the name of security, fear, or war. A nation that can so strongly reject fear mongering has already found its strength again. And with the leadership we have elected, we have the possibility of rebuilding from the damage of those last eight years.

For the first time in my adult life, I am hopeful for this nation.

I do not ever, ever want to forget that.

Pearl’s Girl

Wikipedia edit #157981580, article Underworld (band):

Underworld *Live* in Central Park – 9-14-07
Bvllets went to the show and officially said that “They kicked his balls to outer space”. This concert appearance completed part of his summer project and allowed him to sleep easier at night. Komo, Bethany and Tim all were in agreement of the degree of the ball kicking. We had fun. Thanks Underworld.

Above, a visual accompaniment to what I’ve now realized is my favorite Underworld song.

All images are licensed under Creative Commons. Lyrics via SongMeanings.

Let’s Have A High Party

I’m looking at another day to find that I’ve got nothing to say
Or I’m looking for another way to process what happened on that birthday
And either way, if you’re gonna call it art
Then there’s a cup in front of you and right away
If you’re gonna play your part, you must drink it down
But mind eyes have seen the glory
Of the fields of flowers and factory floors
And my mind’s content to lie at rest for hours
Behind my loved ones’ doors and if there’s a war
Another shitty war to fight for babylon
Then it’s the perfect storm in a tea cup
But you must drink it down

And what do you make of the nights
When you thought you’d make much more
Than being too tired to turn the lights out
And too drunk to drink more?
And what does it take to not hear the cynics at your door saying
“It’s time the turn the lights out, and you’ll want to keep it down!”

So I’m lifting up that poison cup to drink a draught of propaganda
Or I’m giving up that other stuff in hopes that it will make me madder
But either way, if you’re gonna call it art
Then there’s a cup in front of you and right away
If you’re gonna play your part
You must drink it down

And what do you make of nights
When you thought you’d make much more
Than being too tired to turn the lights out
And too drunk to drink more?
And what does it take to not hear the cynics at your door saying
“It’s time the turn the lights out, and you’ll want to keep it down!”

And what does it say of all the things you’ve said before
When you’re too drunk to turn the lights out
And too tired to drink more?

And what do you save, and what does it feel like to be saved?
And can you “pull – 2 – 3 – 4! pull – 2 – 3 – 4!”
Can you drink it down?

Happy birthday, Ted.


I found myself this morning in a scenario I couldn’t have typically pictured myself in, but faced it anyhow:

I was storming – annoyed, livid, call it what you will – towards the office. Nearly three full weeks into the semester, I’ve admittedly grown more than a bit frustrated with small technical issues that keep piling up – no fault of any one party, but constantly there and things haven’t really smoothed out yet. Given the number that I was facing this morning, I was feeling myself start to slip from my traditionally calm mood.

This was compounded this morning by an “ongoing police investigation” that had screwed up service on roughly five subway lines, including mine. This means my usual office walk (four blocks crosstown, one block up) was considerably longer (four blocks crosstown, nine blocks up).

This was also compounded by the fact that [I was wearing a suit](http://www.flickr.com/photos/remydwd/45165255/in/photostream/). Sure, it was for a good reason, but it’s also still damn hot in NYC, and having to walk that far in a constricting suit is far from pleasant.

In total, these three disjoint items had formed a hell of downer. But as always, I found myself pulling myself back together through music. I drowned myself in a sea of unlike sounds: Kanye West transitioned into Clap Your Hands Say Yeah over to Japanese teenagers shouting hip hop onto Bloodhound Gang.

Sometimes, I worry about how much power music holds over me. I am running out of space on a 40 GB iPod, which I didn’t think was possible all those years ago when I started collecting. I fixate on songs, associating them with people, places, times in my life, or moods. I realize I’m not alone in this, that it’s a shared behavior the whole world around; that we all make these connections between the things we do and the things surrounding us when we do them, or the things that remind us of them.

Anyhow – [here’s my song for right now](http://www.tedleo.com/audio/Biomusicology.mp3). Lots of things I needed to hear said.

> Had we never come across the vastness of pavement,
The barrenness of waves and the grayness of the sea;
Never lost, or ne’er been misguided,
We’d have ne’er reached seas so shining —

> Or come from out of a hansom in Camden to a bar in the basement,
While all the while it rained;
Or come around to the friendliest of faces,
Handsomest in ugly places —

> Or come from out of the tunnels we dig in
To see that tunneling’s not living
And working doesn’t work;
Or come to find that loving is labor,
Labor’s life and life’s forever —

> Or come to see that keeping’s not giving,
You get what you’ve given,
You get what you deserve;
And in the midst of all of the action,
Maybe only there found satisfaction…

> Chasing sea-foam dreams around another dirty old town;
Parallel run streams toward the gray ocean from the green ground;
“Oed’ und leer, das meer,” but look beneath the glassy surface —
All the songs you hear: down there they have a purpose.

> All in all, we cannot stop singing,
We cannot start sinking —
We swim until it ends.
They may kill, and we may be parted
But we will ne’er be broken-hearted.


Because its appropriate, just for today:

And there are [blackouts in LA tonight](http://olympics.reuters.com/news/newsArticle.aspx?type=topNews&storyID=2005-09-12T235956Z_01_YUE273471_RTRIDST_0_NEWS-ENERGY-LOSANGELES-DC.XML),
There’s an evident lack of light tonight,
An increase in desire
You’ll catch me
Hanging out on a wire
[Cutting the voltage to your power lines](http://money.cnn.com/2005/09/12/news/la_blackout/)
And the lights. Go. Out.

-*Blackout*, by Hybrid, off their latest album