|
 |
Not all of us are lucky enough to bathe in the light-headed giddiness of being assured that we've stumbled upon our true paths; to the destiny which we've often wished for, dreamed about, sacrificed so much in the name of and convinced ourselves that anything less would be a life having been wasted. It happened to me, folks.
The planets were in alignment, God or Bog or whatever supreme being watching us from high above or below had twisted fate's arm and granted us a free pass for the fantasies we'd been inebriated with for so long that it seemed we'd been born with them. The winds had shifted, the current was bound to take us home...finally, take us home! For what is the only place more comfortable than the lands from which we were spawned, raised and released? Of course: it is the state of being and the state of mind in which we'd always imagined ourselves ending up if we worked hard, stayed true to ourselves, and had fate in the Angel of Destiny's loving caress.
You may think of a sleeping person as being docile. Such is not the case. A sleeper's brain waves during dream sleep are nearly as active as those during waking life. Our eyes dart about beneath the lids, looking around at the lush landscapes of our mind's own creation through which we wander as if drunk on our own pheromones. Every night we enter a vast environment of the mind, filled with possibilities. Filled with the subconscious wish that we may never awake again.
Our child was suffering. It was suffering and it had to be done.
We'd unlocked our hearts and souls and found passages we'd never even dreamed existed. We'd tapped in to the fucking artery, man! Sweet surrender! I overcame my compulsion to run the sidewalks, barefoot and steadfast, screaming "Take me home! I wish not to be the introvert any longer! I want the world to feel what I feel and hear what my dreams have been singing to me! Take me home, sweet Angel, take me home!" It's the silence which breaks my heart the most.
The silence. The fucking absence of sound, for sound was its heartbeat. What is left of our child now rests within the memories of so very few, diluted with the snap of every synapse and the introduction of every thought. Our Frankenstein had become beautiful, bloomed and wilted seemingly within the blink of an eye. All which is left can barely be grasped by reflection, even in the mind of your humble narrator.
Misinformation has the potential for invading our memories when we converse with others, when we are suggestively interrogated or when we read or view media coverage about some event that we may have experienced ourselves. After more than two decades of exploring the power of misinformation, researchers have learned a great deal about the conditions that make people susceptible to memory modification. Memories are more easily modified, for instance, when the passage of time allows the original memory to fade.
Memories fade. When memories fade, they die. Fools! Fools to think that the Angel was little more than an easy conquest, that we could glance in her direction with our deep arrogant eyes and she would submit to our every last wish! She cried "I am not a whore!" and now our child cries "I was beautiful and now I am gone and forgotten!". We've lost the care to cry. Adulthood became tired of knocking on our door and instead opted to pick the lock. We fended it off with whatever weapons we could grasp, statements like "We can try it one more time!" and "We were meant to live for our dreams!". Adulthood was no longer fooled, and neither were we.
Destiny fancies us the whores.
-- Casper Neurotic
|
|
|
|
|
| Probably one of our best, still stings like salt in a fresh wound... | |
|
| |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
| This song has been around for longer than Linkin Park has existed. That should tell you something right there. | |
Credits: The Odds Are Against Us (circa '00) |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| The "Hit", I suppose...this song was three years old by the time we recorded it and it still sadly stands as one of our better ones. Considered to be the Grad song for the 2000 graduating class of Tisdale, Saskatchewan, firm evidence that no one pays attention to lyrics. | |
|
| |
Copyright notice. All material on MP3.com is protected by copyright law and by international treaties. You may download this material and make reasonable number of copies of this material only for your own personal use. You may not otherwise reproduce, distribute, publicly perform, publicly display, or create derivative works of this material, unless authorized by the appropriate copyright owner(s).
|
|
need help playing tracks?
lo fi play
hi fi play
download
email track to a friend
view track info