Thursday, August 25, 2011

Savor the flavor even if you're the only one drinking

Though unable any yester eve to hath writ a chanson, or to-day, or to-morrow, let alone crunch out more than an A or an E chord -- which reminds me, the cheap copy's (still) crying for a new saddle -- a sermon of Kristin the Magnificent speaketh a veracity I find applicable to my style (do I have one? Sure, vanilla. Oh, I get jokes. Oh, that was no joke? Oh.) of spilling wretched verse:

"I hear them as an instrument of phonetic melody, and when I try to sing lyrics that are wrong, they stick in my throat; I feel like I'm lying and it's not until they spill out that I know I'm telling the truth."
Those that know me or have been exposed to things better left unknown know north, south, east & west of here my fancy for the florid, the purple [ed. note: the tiresome offensive], the plaster of assonance covering yawning gaps of quality or self-delusion or both -- mmm, sprinkles -- but there are those exceedingly rare occasions where, even when the emotion is, as usual, explosively histrionic &/or rich like creamery butter, the truth flows with a fright like water over a bombed-out dam, & what is truth but something we wish we wouldn't have to confront, unless you're perfect yes it's true & I'm betting at least five bucks that you're not.  

The mark of the serendipity beast trumpeted rare occasion #2 the other night, a cataract redacted here so as to not call down institutional repercussions; even a fingerful of words varnished in disguise, what would follow but truth vanishing, confession to an empty box, & that's not the point.

The problem is, for those of us who are cowards, that's the stuff that never sees anything but light of a closed notebook. Why is it a problem? Even if we do the right artistic thing & create for ourselves, we all wish to share our stuff, desiring validation, connection, a bit of "hey, I totally get what you're saying because I felt that, too, once upon a time." Even nihilistic bedroom black metallers let their discount blasphemy slither past the front stoop.

You plant, I plant, we all plant lies, tiny & white. It's just sense & sensibility in the flower garden, ever on the lookout for a rare, honest petal to pluck, soon stuck between the pages.


thatgirl said...

I should've written something last night watching the sheets of niagara rain.

Kristin is my muse.

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

I planted a mango.

(It won't make it through the winter, not enough sun comes through the window for some reason in the winter.)

Randal Graves said...

thatgirl, you certainly should have, if only so I could bug you about reading it.

if, that makes no sense. Which states get more winter sun than Ohio?

Anonymous said...

Kristin the Konkerer. The Real Ramona is in my top 10 all-time album list. I'm gonna go listen to Ellen West right now.

Jim H. said...

"the truth flows with a fright like water over a bombed-out dam, & what is truth but something we wish we wouldn't have to confront," = l'ennui malodoreux.

I've long had a problem with Keats's false equivalence. I don't believe art is about truth. It's about beauty. Truth is something different. But that's just me.

Randal Graves said...

karl of the österreich, being a metalhead & a Muses late bloomer, I'm partial to the post-Donnelly stuff (crunchy!) but there's no denying that that's a ridiculously swanky record.

jim, I'm definitely on board with you as concerns Keats, but what I'm saying (and what I think she's saying) is truth, as opposed to Truth. This bit that BDR linked to the other day (yesterday?) kind of nudged this forward a bit; the masks we construct (often subconsciously), how memories are interpreted anew each time the reappear, all that jazz.

So by truth, I mean me coming to grips with how things are on a microcosmic level, relationships with X, Y or Z, etc.

Truth with a capital T? That's above this moron's pay grade, which is why I stick with pretty things like poems and spine-melting power chords.

Ethan said...

I'll never forget the story Kristin Hersh told one of the times I saw her that included the sentence, "Now, penguins don't look at you the way a snake looks at you."

Tom Harper said...

"Savor the flavor even if you're the only one drinking."

Ah yes, the joys of social drinking.

Laura said...

I didn't read your post. I read two lines and realized I'm not smart enough to figure it out. ;p

I made some banana muffins (mini of course as they have no fat or calories when they are in mini form).. and chocolate chip cookies.

I just thought you might like to know that. :)

P.S. Yes, I have been drinking-thank u for asking. :)

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

You owe me $5.

That said you can keep it because I really like your last graf, and I think you've earned your keep. That was actually a beautiful bit o' prose.

Well done.



susan said...

I've never been brave enough or skilled enough for real Truth so I stick with pretty truth and less than Truth and hope a tiny bit of true Truth filters through.

Jim H. said...

Thome or not Thome, that is the question.

Answer: Thome! to the Tribe. Wow.

Randal Graves said...

ethan, she's not wrong, though I'd still be wary of penguins.

tom, I went to the George Thorogood self-help seminar.

laura, and did you bring any to share? Nooooooooo. Lousy drunks.

tengrain, if it actually is any good, I'm sure I probably stole it from somewhere.

susan, exactamundo. (exactomundo?)

jim, once upon a time, I wish I had had the VCR ready, but who ever expects postgame interviews to be any good: "Jus' tryin' to accomplish what we're tryin' to do."

Now that's wisdom.