In my political science research methods class, we discussed what makes a science. I have been making a science of life, blending together actual disciplines and my own experiences. Is that even valid?
I worry that I systematically study my life and my friends' lives and that it is wrong. That, by sorting and analyzing, I am somehow removing the humanity from it all. And yet, it's therapeutic, it's a coping mechanism for getting it all through. Processing. Continuing.
Andrew Bird has a way of presenting lots of questions in his songs about human existence, but he doesn't offer any explanations. Somehow, through crafting the music, he creates a way of feeling it all at once and being able to let it wash over you. In a weird apologetic way, like he can't answer anything, and he's sorry for bringing it all up, he gives us the music as a coping mechanism for all the quandaries of life that we can't understand.
"a nervous tic motion of the head to the left"
overprescribed, under the mister
we have survived to turn on the history channel
and ask our esteemed panel, why are we alive?
and here's how they replied:
You're what happens when two substances collide
and by all accounts, you really should've died
"the happy birthday song"
when i wake up
in the morning,
pour the coffee,
and i read the paper,
and i slowly,
and so softly,
i do the dishes.
i feed the fishes.
sing a birthday
sing it like it's going to be your last day.
like it's hallelujah,
don't let it just pass on through ya
it's a giant and long cliché,
and that's why i want you to sing it anyway
sing me happy birthday
'cause hell, what's it all about?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment