queen of female angst
queen of female angst
The light is blinding, my eyes have been too trained in the dark. But the coffee is great coming off a long cold spell thoughts of life crowd my head, the sheer melodrama has transformed into hysterical hilarity.
I'm stressing to the music of Alanis, the queen of female angst. I think women need some of her music for perspective, at least after listening to Mariah's dreamy-lovey-dovey ditties. “No concept of time other than its flying” - Alanis endeavors to give women balls, a cheap way of growing balls. A lot of women get whooped by a lot of things. While its true that men and women's issues are worlds apart, processing them through music sometimes spell the difference. While men have rock music, women have to make do with wimpy love songs, slow tunes that seem to coax the tears right out of the ducts. Now how can that compete with the guitar screeches of rock? “...and every time you speak her name does she know how you told me you'd hold me until you died, till you died? well you're still alive...” Women get so caught up in the drama and the exercise saps all the power to fight back and get even. “...must be strangely exciting to watch the stoic squirm...” Music is very spiritual, well for me it is.
a fork in the road
The hardest to deal with are the tears that won't fall. They stay gripping the heart, squeezing it tightly and never letting go. So after you have shed oceans of tears for mountains of reasons the soul is still weary like an old man stripped of all glory. The inside is empty and hollow. Like a gaze that penetrates but does not comprehend. I wonder if anyone else recognizes this texture of sadness when it shrouds their lives. This is worse than losing a loved one or getting your heart broken because at least there is the visceral pain that accompanies these kinds of sadness. Pain is something that everyone can relate to because its almost alive, almost tangible. This barren grief though cannot be described and cannot be named. Empty and hollow, it does not inspire suicide, no, that would have been better. This sadness drags you by the hair kicking and screaming to imprison you to a state of nothingness. It does not inspire anger, just resignation and it draws a bleak shade on everything that used to be happy and bright and it stays. Keeping watch, waiting to pounce again and again without warning.
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