Kesha is my favorite dance-pop artist. The New York Times once called her "the Bob Dylan of Party Nihilists," and while that's clearly hyperbolic, I've always felt there's great truth and honesty in the simplicity of her method, and the unambiguity in her approach. Her music is about, well, getting wasted, loving life, and trying to touch that transcendent little thing that makes life magic -- the same spark of the divine that I chase. She's superior to her contemporaries e.g. Lady Gaga or Rihanna in that the single-mindedness of her music gives it a greater purity, like Walter White's blue meth. She's the best at what makes dance-pop music good, she embodies its party spirit far better than any other act.
Kesha's one of the artists on my concert bucketlist and I had failed to see her last time around so I knew I had to go this time. I also have an iPhone now so I was able to use Uber and get to the show.
Unfortunately, I ended up leaving after the first song. I never thought I'd be the type of person to leave a concert early, let alone for an act I'm so fond of. And she even opened with one of my favorite pop songs of all-time, the song that made me fall in love with Kesha in the first place, We R Who We R. But there was just no point in my staying at the show, the acoustics were unbearable. I'm sure what Kesha herself was bringing to the concet was fantastic, I'm sure it was a good show. But the music was so soft and quiet, compared to what would be necessary for an open city block. I wasn't even that far back from the stage, and it was still just a jarbled mess. After the song she was talking, but I couldn't make out a word of it for a million bucks. What's the point in being at a show you can't even hear?
If Kesha had come on earlier I would probably have stuck it out just to "be there," but by that time I was miserable and bored to the nth degree. I had terrible diarrhea, that was a nice way to start. But honestly, it was kind of a good thing, it gave me something to do, whereas otherwise I would have been bored out of my skull for the four & a half hours before Kesha took the stage. The concert was scheduled to start at 6, I got there shortly after 6 and Kesha didn't come on the stage until almost quarter to 11. There were a couple of opening acts, but both had extremely short sets and the inhibiting acoustics made them mediocre at best.
Standing room only concerts are terrible. Unless it's a top 5 act, I don't think I'll ever go to one again. All it is, is ignorant assholes pushing, shoving, and stomping their way to the front, with no regard to common decency. I'm not talking about dancing or moshing, those things would be completely expected. And there's nothing remotely wrong with people moving up in the cue wherever there's an open space, that's perfectly reasonable. But there's an alarming number of people who are just straight up scumbags and they feel entitled to elbow, ram, and bodyslam their way into spaces that were previously occupied by other humans. As if that's okay. You wanna be in front? Get there earlier, buddy.
One of the things I've learned in my time trying to become a more social person, is that I absolutely despise dance party/raves. Give me an old school frat party and sure, I'd probably have an alright time these days. But despite my resonance with Kesha's MESSAGE, the actual dance party culture is not my scene. So I was fearing the worst, but to their credit it wasn't even that kind of event. Rather than dancing, people were focused completely on the stage, listening, like they would be if it was a rock, rap, metal, or folk act. So the problem really came down to the unacceptable volume and the inconsiderate assholes.
A lot of my discomfort might come from the fact that I'm on these bipolar pills. I don't find myself enjoying pop music the way I used to, and that may just be the ebb & flow my music taste always goes through, or it could be the fact that my mania which gave me my intermittent lust for life, is also what seemed to fuel most of my pop-love.
So that was a total bust of a night. Lots of money wasted, wow. On a positive note though, the Ani Difranco concert I attended a couple months ago was one of the best concerts I've ever been to. It was a gorgeous little college town, my hotel room was right next to the venue, and Ani filled her set with a bunch of classics I didn't expect to hear.
"The moral of the story, is try not to get too old." -- Neil Young
Saturday, June 11, 2016
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
But, you have a great life. (& The Interpersonal Politics of Suicide)
Imagine that you've won a ticket to a One Direction concert. And you absolutely hate One Direction, you think they suck. Now, answer me this: the fact that millions of people would love to go to that show, is that a valid and logical reason why YOU should go to that show, or why you should enjoy it? Just because life is precious to others doesn't mean it is precious to me, and just because others might want what I have, doesn't mean it's logical for me to want those same things.
I've never had any illusions about the fact that my life is pretty decent. There are some areas, very important areas, where I do have every genuine reason to be heartbroken about the course of my life. But for the majority of factors, I've lived a charmed life. In terms of food, shelter, and most capabilities, my life is superior to the majority of those on Earth, most of whom live in poverty. I've always understood that, but that doesn't make me feel better about my life. It makes me feel worse, to know that 1) even the best that life has to offer leaves me completely cold, and 2) people have put so much effort into giving me a decent life, and I lack the ability to properly experience it. As every depressed person in the history of time knows well, telling yourself "your life's great, stop being sad!" is as effective as yelling at a broken computer in the hopes that it will fix itself.
You really can't expect somebody to love life because "it could be worse." It's a logical fallacy predicated on the idea that everyone alive has to continue living, which is a fallacy us suicidal people have circumvented. It only matters that everyone else forces themselves to trudge through the pain if there's no other option, but there's a great option available to us all: just opt out. "Everyone's life is hard," that's very true. And that's the thing people tell me when they're trying to convince me to live. But it sounds a whole heck of a lot more like they're advocating suicide, rather than life. If life and and pain are inherently intertwined, how is that a better argument for life than against it? Why not end the pain instead of needlessly enduring it? Yes, everyone experiences pain, and yes, most people choose to keep living. And just because they make that choice, I should as well? Is that a reasonable declaration to make?
You might have scoffed at the One Direction concert comparison when you first saw it, because, hey, life is more important than a concert. Even if you hate One Direction, if not going to that concert is going to break the hearts of all your friends and family, then of course you'll go and suck it up for a night, for their sake.
I've always been not only mindful of the impact my suicide would have, but I've been vividly open to the idea that I can make things better, that time will improve the situation, and that there may be things about life I don't yet understand. In terms of our allegory, I understand that maybe there's a reason millions of people love One Direction, and maybe if I go to the concert, I'll find out why.
But imagine that you've been going to that concert every night for 28 years. And imagine that your opinion of the show hasn't gotten better, it's gotten worse. Of course I don't want to break my family's heart. That's the only reason I've been going to this stupid One Direction concert for 28 years. People say suicide is selfish, but the people on both sides of the equation are serving themselves. I don't want to experience the pain of life, and they don't want to experience the pain of losing me.
You might think "oh, it's so sweet, they don't want to lose you. How could you ever harm them, for the crime of wanting you to live?" Well, why do you think I've been going to this concert for 28 years? There exists a threshold somewhere, by every reasonable logic possible. I'm not going to pass that threshold today. I'm not going to pass that threshold tomorrow. I could be 55 like Brad Delp, or 63 like Robin Williams, when the line is crossed. But there exists a threshold where the decades of time I've put into this One Direction concert, the decades of displeasure I've endured for the sake of my loved ones will outweigh, by every reasonable scale of logic and consideration, the duty I have to not inconvenience the people who know me with my death.
It's something that, sadly, most people will never be able to understand. I do love you, I do care what you would have to go through if I was gone. I consider it on a daily basis, even diagram it and try to think of ways to lessen the impact. And I want you to understand, that my life isn't constant agony. Whatever it is that you imagine a suicidal person's life to be, that's probably not what my life is like. That knee-jerk reaction of pure horror the people get, when I say I'm suicidal... I dread that reaction. I don't understand that reaction. Yes, I want to die. No, I don't think dying is bad.
I've learned to live with this the best that I can. I may not like One Direction, but I can get wasted at the gig and recite Ani Difranco lyrics in my head. Every day I'm fighting to see the bright side, and often times I can see it. The good and the bad days are both rare. Most days I merely exist, with a little good, a little bad, and a whole lot of MEH. But the meh grows sharp, as proverbial winds wear down its edges. The longer it goes on, the more it starts to hurt. Do you really expect me to endure this infernal concert for 80 years?
I have my ways to make the time pass as amicably as I can, but these are mere stopgap measures. They are temporary. For whatever reason, I just don't understand this appeal that life has to everyone else. There's something on the uttermost fundamental level that most people understand, which I simply can't grasp. Maybe I was born without a will to live. I have no purpose in life, no goals I wish to achieve. I have very few desires, and the desires I do have are ones I'd gladly give up in exchange for death. Like, I'd sort of like to go see Neil Young in concert. But if the offer is "hey, we'll give you a million dollars to go see Neil front row in Europe, or I'll shoot you in the head right now instead," I would take the second option without a moment of hesitation. People say you need to make your own meaning in life, but I'm already doing that, and it's already not working. The things I like are things I like as a distraction against life, none of them even begin to compete against my desire to die. Even the intangible things... "Hey, we can give you the perfect girlfriend, but you'll then have to live to be 120 years old before you die." I'd definitely prefer to just die right now. So I'm starting from a position of already not wanting to live, and then you add to that the failures of my life, and the fact that I'm becoming increasingly unable to accept the person I've become.
It's something I know most people will never understand. And I'll never be able to understand your perspective either. So the most we can do is try our best to relate to each other. And await the inevitable. Because I'm going to put up with this for as long as I can, but I can't put up with it forever.
I've never had any illusions about the fact that my life is pretty decent. There are some areas, very important areas, where I do have every genuine reason to be heartbroken about the course of my life. But for the majority of factors, I've lived a charmed life. In terms of food, shelter, and most capabilities, my life is superior to the majority of those on Earth, most of whom live in poverty. I've always understood that, but that doesn't make me feel better about my life. It makes me feel worse, to know that 1) even the best that life has to offer leaves me completely cold, and 2) people have put so much effort into giving me a decent life, and I lack the ability to properly experience it. As every depressed person in the history of time knows well, telling yourself "your life's great, stop being sad!" is as effective as yelling at a broken computer in the hopes that it will fix itself.
You really can't expect somebody to love life because "it could be worse." It's a logical fallacy predicated on the idea that everyone alive has to continue living, which is a fallacy us suicidal people have circumvented. It only matters that everyone else forces themselves to trudge through the pain if there's no other option, but there's a great option available to us all: just opt out. "Everyone's life is hard," that's very true. And that's the thing people tell me when they're trying to convince me to live. But it sounds a whole heck of a lot more like they're advocating suicide, rather than life. If life and and pain are inherently intertwined, how is that a better argument for life than against it? Why not end the pain instead of needlessly enduring it? Yes, everyone experiences pain, and yes, most people choose to keep living. And just because they make that choice, I should as well? Is that a reasonable declaration to make?
You might have scoffed at the One Direction concert comparison when you first saw it, because, hey, life is more important than a concert. Even if you hate One Direction, if not going to that concert is going to break the hearts of all your friends and family, then of course you'll go and suck it up for a night, for their sake.
I've always been not only mindful of the impact my suicide would have, but I've been vividly open to the idea that I can make things better, that time will improve the situation, and that there may be things about life I don't yet understand. In terms of our allegory, I understand that maybe there's a reason millions of people love One Direction, and maybe if I go to the concert, I'll find out why.
But imagine that you've been going to that concert every night for 28 years. And imagine that your opinion of the show hasn't gotten better, it's gotten worse. Of course I don't want to break my family's heart. That's the only reason I've been going to this stupid One Direction concert for 28 years. People say suicide is selfish, but the people on both sides of the equation are serving themselves. I don't want to experience the pain of life, and they don't want to experience the pain of losing me.
You might think "oh, it's so sweet, they don't want to lose you. How could you ever harm them, for the crime of wanting you to live?" Well, why do you think I've been going to this concert for 28 years? There exists a threshold somewhere, by every reasonable logic possible. I'm not going to pass that threshold today. I'm not going to pass that threshold tomorrow. I could be 55 like Brad Delp, or 63 like Robin Williams, when the line is crossed. But there exists a threshold where the decades of time I've put into this One Direction concert, the decades of displeasure I've endured for the sake of my loved ones will outweigh, by every reasonable scale of logic and consideration, the duty I have to not inconvenience the people who know me with my death.
It's something that, sadly, most people will never be able to understand. I do love you, I do care what you would have to go through if I was gone. I consider it on a daily basis, even diagram it and try to think of ways to lessen the impact. And I want you to understand, that my life isn't constant agony. Whatever it is that you imagine a suicidal person's life to be, that's probably not what my life is like. That knee-jerk reaction of pure horror the people get, when I say I'm suicidal... I dread that reaction. I don't understand that reaction. Yes, I want to die. No, I don't think dying is bad.
I've learned to live with this the best that I can. I may not like One Direction, but I can get wasted at the gig and recite Ani Difranco lyrics in my head. Every day I'm fighting to see the bright side, and often times I can see it. The good and the bad days are both rare. Most days I merely exist, with a little good, a little bad, and a whole lot of MEH. But the meh grows sharp, as proverbial winds wear down its edges. The longer it goes on, the more it starts to hurt. Do you really expect me to endure this infernal concert for 80 years?
I have my ways to make the time pass as amicably as I can, but these are mere stopgap measures. They are temporary. For whatever reason, I just don't understand this appeal that life has to everyone else. There's something on the uttermost fundamental level that most people understand, which I simply can't grasp. Maybe I was born without a will to live. I have no purpose in life, no goals I wish to achieve. I have very few desires, and the desires I do have are ones I'd gladly give up in exchange for death. Like, I'd sort of like to go see Neil Young in concert. But if the offer is "hey, we'll give you a million dollars to go see Neil front row in Europe, or I'll shoot you in the head right now instead," I would take the second option without a moment of hesitation. People say you need to make your own meaning in life, but I'm already doing that, and it's already not working. The things I like are things I like as a distraction against life, none of them even begin to compete against my desire to die. Even the intangible things... "Hey, we can give you the perfect girlfriend, but you'll then have to live to be 120 years old before you die." I'd definitely prefer to just die right now. So I'm starting from a position of already not wanting to live, and then you add to that the failures of my life, and the fact that I'm becoming increasingly unable to accept the person I've become.
It's something I know most people will never understand. And I'll never be able to understand your perspective either. So the most we can do is try our best to relate to each other. And await the inevitable. Because I'm going to put up with this for as long as I can, but I can't put up with it forever.
Monday, March 7, 2016
Top 5 Songs to Kill Yourself To
Well, my old mistress is in town again. I thought I shook her long ago but she tracked me down, found my new address. I've been thinking about killing myself now more often than I have since I was probably 18, and that's unfortunate.
This article may sound glib, even comedic. I assure you, that is not the intention, nor the spirit with which this is delivered. It may sound like I take the subject too lightly, but it's a haunt that's been following me for decades and I've long since lost the squeamishness that might afflict the lesser acquainted. And music, music is one of the greatest tools in this fight. It makes us feel intimately understood at a stage when we could hardly feel any less connected to people.
It goes without saying that the song you choose to kill yourself to is one of the most personal choices you'll ever make, and it's going to be wildly subjective. These aren't my picks for everyone, these are simply my picks.
#5 Nobody Home
by Pink Floyd
Most of us who don't want to live probably know what it's like to be living in this kind of apathetic squalor. The plodding pace and malaised, petering delivery of the tune makes it sound as though the singer of this song has already taken the sleeping pills and may drift into the final sleep at any moment, so you'll feel right at home making this your final track.
And if you're a truly disturbed person, there's an extra dark irony in the fact that once you're dead, you'll be reversing the song and people will be calling you, but getting no answer.
(Pro-Tip: If you care about your family, you'll box up all of your worldly possessions before you end your life, so that they don't have to spend months going through your old things and, in doing so, facing their loss a hundred extra times. Boxing up your things will also give you time to think over your decision and decide whether you truly want to die, or if you just needed time to heal. Also, schedule some sort of social media post to appear after you're dead so that your body doesn't decompose before it's found, that's an important issue of courtesy.)
#4 The Outside
by Taylor Swift
Seeing Taylor Swift in this discussion may surprise you, and this isn't even in the top 10 saddest Taylor songs -- if all you listen to is the instrumentation. The Outside sounds like a cheery, resiliant song. But like Led Zeppelin's Celebration Day (a song that's actually about the holocaust) the tone betrays a set of lyrics that are genuinely sinister. The Outside is full of the lamentations of someone who is not merely discouraged, but who appears to have decided to kill herself. And on a personal level, it happens to coincide with my greatest failings in life, namely my inability to form meaningful relationships.
First Taylor disavows her struggle against the tide of an uncaring and conformist society and acknowledges the fact that her ambitions in life have conclusively failed. "I didn't know what I would find when I went looking for a reason." "I tried to take the road less traveled by, but nothing seems to work ..."
And then she laments on the fact that she never really even had a chance, because her attempts to reach out were met with indifference. "How can I ever try to be better if nobody ever lets me in?" "You saw me there, but you never knew I would give it all up to be a part of this, a part of you."
Finally, she confirms her intentions to kill herslf, with the unequivocable decleration that "it's all too late so you see, you could've helped if you had wanted to but no one notices until it's too late to do anything." She's basically saying "Don't cry for me, I'm already dead."
#3 Campaigner
by Neil Young
There's nothing inherently suicidal about this song. But it does describe the sort of quivering failure that has marked my life, the complete inability to progress even to the most basic level of human functionality in a world where even a hateful curmudgeon like Richard Nixon rose to the level of President. You might think "Hey, if Nixon can do it, that gives hope to all us curmudgeons, right?" But, no, the rise of Nixon proves that there's a game being played, one that is so woefully and universally indecipherable to me that by the time I've made the first step, everyone else has crossed the finish line. Campaigner has that kind of bittersweet mentality where I could spend my last moments wistfully thinking "There may have been something, somewhere for me in this world, but if it had ever been within my ability to unearth it, I had already missed that chance before I even knew it was there."
#2 When I Die
by GG Allin
Whether he's a tortured genius, the lowest possible version of gimmicky shock rock, or just a midlevel, unremarkable punk rocker, that's for you to decide. But no matter your assessment, it's hard to deny the truth in this bare bones acoustic ballad as GG recounts his life of debauchery without any illusions of self-worth or decency. In a way, the song is proof that even the hardest among us yearn for warmth. And it's a sentiment that rings true for so many of us who think of suicide, the wish that we could convince people not to mourn our deaths, just by saying so.
#1 Serpentine
by Ani Difranco
Ani is the undisputed Queen of writing eloquent songs about depression. But this isn't her most depressed song. It's worse: it's her most hopeless one. As a political progressive and a perennial shadowboxer, even in her darkest moments Ani grasps for the dawn, and doubles down on her will to fight. In one of her most depressed tunes (Bodily), she fights back against the gloom by appreciating even the most simple things -- like "the deep mahogany sheen of a roach!" That is some serious dedication to looking on the bright side. But in Serpentine, in the aftermath of 9/11 and the new age of American interventionism, Ani throws her hands up and gives in. She walls herself in her room alone and refuses to answer the phone. The serpentine thread of broken systems and uncaring voids that this 10 minute song doles out is second to none. Everything has become corrupted, and there doesn't seem to be a way out. If Ani, the strongest among us, can't push ahead, what hope is there left for me?
The wall of fatigue seeps even into the recording of the song itself, where the characteristically meticulous Ani leaves this complex epic less polished than her usual soundscape perfection. I'd be honored to have this biting, glorious dirge as the last thing I hear.
"And the difference between you and me, baby, is I get fucked up when I'm alone."
This article may sound glib, even comedic. I assure you, that is not the intention, nor the spirit with which this is delivered. It may sound like I take the subject too lightly, but it's a haunt that's been following me for decades and I've long since lost the squeamishness that might afflict the lesser acquainted. And music, music is one of the greatest tools in this fight. It makes us feel intimately understood at a stage when we could hardly feel any less connected to people.
It goes without saying that the song you choose to kill yourself to is one of the most personal choices you'll ever make, and it's going to be wildly subjective. These aren't my picks for everyone, these are simply my picks.
#5 Nobody Home
by Pink Floyd
Most of us who don't want to live probably know what it's like to be living in this kind of apathetic squalor. The plodding pace and malaised, petering delivery of the tune makes it sound as though the singer of this song has already taken the sleeping pills and may drift into the final sleep at any moment, so you'll feel right at home making this your final track.
And if you're a truly disturbed person, there's an extra dark irony in the fact that once you're dead, you'll be reversing the song and people will be calling you, but getting no answer.
(Pro-Tip: If you care about your family, you'll box up all of your worldly possessions before you end your life, so that they don't have to spend months going through your old things and, in doing so, facing their loss a hundred extra times. Boxing up your things will also give you time to think over your decision and decide whether you truly want to die, or if you just needed time to heal. Also, schedule some sort of social media post to appear after you're dead so that your body doesn't decompose before it's found, that's an important issue of courtesy.)
#4 The Outside
by Taylor Swift
Seeing Taylor Swift in this discussion may surprise you, and this isn't even in the top 10 saddest Taylor songs -- if all you listen to is the instrumentation. The Outside sounds like a cheery, resiliant song. But like Led Zeppelin's Celebration Day (a song that's actually about the holocaust) the tone betrays a set of lyrics that are genuinely sinister. The Outside is full of the lamentations of someone who is not merely discouraged, but who appears to have decided to kill herself. And on a personal level, it happens to coincide with my greatest failings in life, namely my inability to form meaningful relationships.
First Taylor disavows her struggle against the tide of an uncaring and conformist society and acknowledges the fact that her ambitions in life have conclusively failed. "I didn't know what I would find when I went looking for a reason." "I tried to take the road less traveled by, but nothing seems to work ..."
And then she laments on the fact that she never really even had a chance, because her attempts to reach out were met with indifference. "How can I ever try to be better if nobody ever lets me in?" "You saw me there, but you never knew I would give it all up to be a part of this, a part of you."
Finally, she confirms her intentions to kill herslf, with the unequivocable decleration that "it's all too late so you see, you could've helped if you had wanted to but no one notices until it's too late to do anything." She's basically saying "Don't cry for me, I'm already dead."
#3 Campaigner
by Neil Young
There's nothing inherently suicidal about this song. But it does describe the sort of quivering failure that has marked my life, the complete inability to progress even to the most basic level of human functionality in a world where even a hateful curmudgeon like Richard Nixon rose to the level of President. You might think "Hey, if Nixon can do it, that gives hope to all us curmudgeons, right?" But, no, the rise of Nixon proves that there's a game being played, one that is so woefully and universally indecipherable to me that by the time I've made the first step, everyone else has crossed the finish line. Campaigner has that kind of bittersweet mentality where I could spend my last moments wistfully thinking "There may have been something, somewhere for me in this world, but if it had ever been within my ability to unearth it, I had already missed that chance before I even knew it was there."
#2 When I Die
by GG Allin
Whether he's a tortured genius, the lowest possible version of gimmicky shock rock, or just a midlevel, unremarkable punk rocker, that's for you to decide. But no matter your assessment, it's hard to deny the truth in this bare bones acoustic ballad as GG recounts his life of debauchery without any illusions of self-worth or decency. In a way, the song is proof that even the hardest among us yearn for warmth. And it's a sentiment that rings true for so many of us who think of suicide, the wish that we could convince people not to mourn our deaths, just by saying so.
#1 Serpentine
by Ani Difranco
Ani is the undisputed Queen of writing eloquent songs about depression. But this isn't her most depressed song. It's worse: it's her most hopeless one. As a political progressive and a perennial shadowboxer, even in her darkest moments Ani grasps for the dawn, and doubles down on her will to fight. In one of her most depressed tunes (Bodily), she fights back against the gloom by appreciating even the most simple things -- like "the deep mahogany sheen of a roach!" That is some serious dedication to looking on the bright side. But in Serpentine, in the aftermath of 9/11 and the new age of American interventionism, Ani throws her hands up and gives in. She walls herself in her room alone and refuses to answer the phone. The serpentine thread of broken systems and uncaring voids that this 10 minute song doles out is second to none. Everything has become corrupted, and there doesn't seem to be a way out. If Ani, the strongest among us, can't push ahead, what hope is there left for me?
The wall of fatigue seeps even into the recording of the song itself, where the characteristically meticulous Ani leaves this complex epic less polished than her usual soundscape perfection. I'd be honored to have this biting, glorious dirge as the last thing I hear.
"And the difference between you and me, baby, is I get fucked up when I'm alone."
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