Juno I’m Tired

I got a place in the Arctic Circle
I’ve got a place that I painted white
I’ve got a home in the salty ocean
So right, so right

All of the lions in your bedroom
All of the tigers we ignored
Pulling the wool down over your eyes
Yes sir, yes sir

You and your soapy eyes
Called it off so late at night
But your hand’s on your heart
Cause your head’s always right

You and your soapy eyes
Called it off so late at night
But your hand’s on your heart
Cause your head’s always right

I’m gonna go back for the science
I’m gonna stay for the decimals
No one will laugh or know the difference
Same old, same old

Fine, you were right
This wound need ice
Fine, you were right
This wound need ice

You and your soapy eyes
Called it off so late at night
But your hand’s on your heart
Cause your head’s always right

You and your soapy eyes
Called it off so late at night
But your hand’s on your heart
Cause your head’s always right

Juno, you’re tired
Juno, you’re tired

This is a first: not sure what my brother will think about posting the lyrics to a whole song on here. But then another first for myself is the thought, that struck me, that certain bands and musics stick with us not because of some random context in which they hit our ears, not because of some comfort-zoned habitual spinning top in our brains , not because of someone else’s fashion that absorbed our eyes, not because of some impressionability to the hearing, some vulnerability to he heard, some capability to hear, BUT because the music actually itself congregates with our bodily minds and creates itself a home, it makes itself at home because the jagged edges of the meaning of the music somehow tessellate to some sufficient extent within the jagged edges of our dispositions, our whole beliefs, our states, our systems, our paradigms, our economies of thought, of memory, of projection. The music, the band, they are real things that we wholly, spontaneously, inevitably, interact with; the music itself, on its own, is real.

That’s why this blog is real, not because we peed and imposed truth on every song we ever posted, but because every song we ever posted was itself a worded-mirror to our identities, this blog is real because you can identify us. When I say us, I mean you and me. When I say me, I mean the blog-writer behind it. When I say real, I mean right.

Hold the /when I say/ disclaimers above with disdain: help the world mean what it says, discover its horizons. Re-activate and have a status again, have an agency again, don’t let the world suck it out of you with its paradoxical tongues. Post the lyrics and the pictures to our favourite song, our favourite thought, our favourite moment, our favourite art, our favourite world; hold the lyrics in our status, our state, that’s what a status is there for, that’s what a state is there for… … …

If you like the posted lyrics of Tokyo Police Club and you want to see their paragraphical-patterns again, but this time to music, then click play on the cool youtube gizmo – this video was uploaded by anonymous member keeping in the Tokyo Police Club spirit; a youtube profile named nick blease who kindly typically put the lyrics on the video, as well as the opening windows movie maker subtitle “Best SONG EVER”. Let it all be a demonstration of love and commitment.

You don’t need to dissect the musical meanings lyrics ever, never need to reflect, never need recollect the moment, never need to have something explained – e.g. how this song belongs to an album that got rated 6.3 on Pitchfork, how the band felt they always lost a little life from their first EP, how you probably only came across it because they were playing at a festival you were going to in the summer and you wanted to do some research on the line-up, how they were the only band you had on CD when you listened to a CD Player when you were abroad for months on end, how they were a band you interviewed in person when you were pre-everything, how they were once being played in a Mountain Café in Canada when you just happened to be whizzing past through the snow; none of that stuff matters, what matters is the songs’ essences themselves, the meaning itself, the mighty pure moments they gave you; those jagged insides constantly lagging and jolting into place, music and all; they will stay forever, without or with identity, with or without attached files of necessary information; you yourself are the songs and the music you love, ingrains, your life is its infinitely-seeming rhythm……. so here I am a bit hungry and feeling a cigarette and tired tired tired but basically keeping you and me on the course of some good old song we might both like.

Never need to convolute, never need concepts, just need a congregation.

That kind of vocative-case mood, creating vacuums and then filling them with an old favourite song like Juno, telling the emptiness what to do, world wide web.

There’s some new obscure good-sounding artists I’ve been on recently that I will look forward to sharing soon in a slightly less intense fashion, but this one needed to happen.

George

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