“I Want You”

Posted: February 28, 2012 in rants
Tags: , , , , ,

Elvis Costello and the Attractions

This song, if you’ve never heard it, begins with a very sweet sounding introduction. The introduction is a lie. Here, take a listen:

Kinda long, innit?
It dredges up some none too pleasant memories of a time during which I was rarely, if ever, sober. The usual reasons apply: don’t deal well with abandonment, surrounded by people who not only displayed a passive antipathy towards me (standard operational procedure) but by folks who actively disliked me, and made it their business to go out of their way, it seems, to remind me of this fact. Continuing to fail to live up to expectations (not black enough, not clever enough, not creative enough, not man enough, etc) and always reminded of that.

It became internalized. I figured that, if I could just stay in a state of inebriation, floating about in an alcohol – induced miasma, my time in this place would pass quicker, and I would be done. Emerge out the other side somehow. During this time, a very important relationship I had was, suffering, to say the least. That’s what this monster does: encapsulates you in a black, tar like goo that no light can enter, and you grow self-centered beyond reason. Feedback loops are set in motion. You isolate yourself, so others can’t help but to “abandon” you. Which pushes you further down in the sticky,oily and hateful mess. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I am writing about this song now, not so much because it’s something that was hard to remember, but because I want to face this time in my life. I want to stop running away from it, I want to stop being stuck back there. Like a character from Dune, I want to let this time pass through and over and around me like a sandstorm, so that when I look back, only I will remain. That’s the theory, anyway. Also, I’m writing this to perhaps shed a little light on my little quirks, so that friends can fill in some gaps they might have.

In short, this happened. Note the tense. Time to let it go and move on.

words© Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.
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