Story Behind the Song
True story...This is the first time communication of this magnitude went down between us. This is my actual Dad on the track.
Lyrics
Dad:
Testing…testing..
8.bliss:
Think about my father. At first, I ask myself why bother? I'm not in the mood to test old waters. But I know not to ever repress, or second-guess memory, and I suppose I shouldn't speak hypocritically. So I'll take my own advise, and think twice about the man born a father to me.
He was once the seed my mother needed, obviously, to feed the birth of me, he’s half the roots of my family tree. But sadly, as a child he didn't always please me.
He was an alcoholic undeclared. So when I stared, for the first time, at those grade school filmstrips, I then began to trip, out about, my dad taking a sip, daily, not the mention, that whenever, in a car near of far, he still often needed that drink to the lip. An alcoholic and I knew it for there were times when he got rather loose with it. He'd sit, tension thick, waiting for anything unplanned and bam he'd explode, with enough wind, to erode a small child’s nose into a freckle.
He never really knew me, or did he choose to see my mental, reality, he was just a dad to me, a father figure. A face behind a newspaper, lazy boy chaser, watching television news capers, eating potato chips with salt and vinegar. It's not that he was dumb or dumber. He' s rather intelligent. An account, and I still remember summers, mowing the lawn for me as I still slumber. Remember, He’s a money manager, so in me, he instilled a good work ethic, but as far as coordination is concerned, I hate to say it, his skills were pretty pathetic.
And I was of a different breed, a small b-boy bmx'er, than an obsessed skate boarder, constantly focused on physical testers. Pushing myself to spiritual borders, always looking to be one with the zone of mental clarity. That’s where I feel most at home, the true reality, mind empty, silent soul, focused in the now, so it didn't seem that far off, that I taught, my self how, to perform verbal gymnastics. I like mind tricks. But my dad didn't know what to make of it.
No shit. I'm not surprised, as a child you hardly knew me a bit. But now compassionate words I want to spit. I want to focus on the gift, of having a family, not what it could be. Now my mother, she completely understands me. My father's better half, she's the reason their relationship still lasts, cause problems of the past, are just that, problems of the past. Now my Dad has been through Alcoholics Anonymous, so now he’s on the task of understanding all of this.
Dad:
Testing…testing…
8.bliss:
A few months ago, I shared some poetry with my folks. Confused, unaware of it's purpose, this time it was my dad who began to trip. My mom sees me as a preacher, a verbal teacher, and a divine seeker. But to my dad, I look like stranger, a lost soul in society's fish bowl, jobless, just wanting to cultivate the gift. This to him seems somewhat useless. But embracing life is the most important thing to me; I can care less about the money. As long as my rents paid, I feel saved, blessed, not about to second-guess, my actions. I receive self-realized satisfaction, as payment. It's time spent, well. So now I must tell, the reason for this track.
Once my dad heard my poetry, he ceased to hold back. He wrote the first poem of his life. One that might, finally create our communication. He asked for a reply, but I wasn't ready, the subject was too heavy, for me to easily, jot down a few words and flea.
So the last time he visited, I re-visited the words he wrote to me. I had him record his words of poetry.
Dad:
Testing, testing…testing, testing…Is this thing on?….
“Am I a stranger to you? Are you my son?
Am I a stranger to you? Are you my father?”
8.bliss:
Basically Dad, to answer your question. You are not a stranger to me. I know exactly, how you think, you dwell on the brink of discomfort. You feel the need to control every situation. And that’s the complication. Life is out of our control. Just relax and let it unfold.
Enjoy every moment. Whether you planned it or not. This moment is all you got. Don't sink into negative thought when what is brought, to your table is not what you ordered, don’t' get floored, with anger. The waitress has to face this danger every day; mistakes are made, so hey, eat it anyways. Send out peace, and the pleasure of the moment will not cease. Not to mention, the flyers and brochures that you read, they're just a tease. A photo is not as good as the actual tree. So next time we're at a park please, put down the brochure and see, why they created these to tease.
I also understand that media has also been feedin' ya. Don't worry I'm not going to loose out, if I don't choose the standard cloned 40hr/week route. I've come to find out. That the unseen road is what I'm about, I've learned how not to doubt, and just surrender, to the divine’s route.
I'm not a pretender, or scared to be the back-bender to obtain what's important, peace of mind, so please, I ask you to look inside and find. The truth that binds, us together, I am you. You are me. Ingrained in my personality, strangers we will never be. I know you, even though you may feel you may not know me. I love you dad. I'm blessed to a fruit on your family tree. I thank you, and I give you this track, as a reply to your poetry.
I hope it makes sense; I want you to understand me.
Dad:
“Am I a stranger to you? Are you my son?
Am I a stranger to you? Are you my father?”
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