..By "Stranding" Myself
It's All Regina Spektor's Fault
Just getting home from what I thought to be the concentration camp of my life, (I admit six hours of school is a little harshly compared to years of dehumanization in Auschwitz-- but bear with me-- to a seventeen year old, counting the days left until freedom, it seems reasonable) I'm looking for any means of relaxation. Stressed from the days boat load of usual high-school drama, brain drained as it is, I'm just looking to walk through the doors of my humble abode, hopefully feel a cool contrast from the sweltering stickiness of the outdoors and forever sleep and dream of nothing on my couch. I must have walked up to the wrong door though, for instead of walking through heavenly gates, I walked right into the incinerator. And there was Satin, in all her fiery rage, screaming after my second step in to clean my room.
At this point, I'm looking for any way to get away from her noise. My selective hearing isn't always at work, so I have to start thinking of new ways of tuning her out, usually coming to terms with my i-pod. I stick my head-phones as deep as possible into my ears, crank the volume, and stare. She never seems to notice my inability to hear her toxic tongue now. Waiting for some sort of end, I start to see right through her, I begin to drift. I wonder what's in the fridge? Random things come to mind, but I don't care, I can only hope for something to think about. With really nothing very interesting or powerful enough to drown her out surfacing in my thoughts, thankfully, a song that strikes a memory comes up in the shuffle. I think, unable to remember the name nor artist of the song, I then read, Better....By Regina Spektor. Huh, haven't heard her in a while. I think some more, still standing in front of the demon, of where and when I had first listened to her before. oh yea....
Four am. One of those sleepless nights. I had been living with my Aunt and Uncle for about two months then. As I lay downstairs in the living room on the small couch, because my bed upstairs in the loft had me sweating buckets that humid Florida night, I watched TV. Laying on the cool burgundy leather, that moderately quenches my bodies wishes of an AC or at this point an ice-bath, I flip through the channels annoyed with the lack of shows airing at the time. I settled with MTV music videos (Thinking perhaps this would put me to sleep). However, my insomnia only worsened with all the thoughts that had been swimming through my head that night. Thoughts of my living situation, the people I miss, wondering who missed me and if I'd ever go home again. Then, I did not want to think. I forced myself to pay attention to the show, sure it would rid my mind of these things unwanted. Analyzing the videos, their quality, the lyrics, the sound.
Music, to me, seems to easily relatable. For ever song that played hit me somewhere. Punched me, took a grip on my insides, not caring what might rip or tear. As if every artist wrote a song just for me, knowing exactly what was troubling my life. Each song would talk to me and understand. One song in particular had stood out. One song I had never heard before that night, on that couch, struck me special. Fidelity, By Regina Spektor. An artist too I had never heard of. Somehow this women knew exactly who I was.
She got me wanting to listen, wanting to search for the meaning and not help but put it into context with my life. Actually listen, with full thought and attention. I hear everything, every sound, of every quiver, of every vowel, of every consonant, of every lyric. I, or whomever, is able to understand the meaning behind her music. What it wants me, or whomever, to feel, or think, or connect to. She tells me her stories and I'm right there with her on the same boat... or couch. Couch boat? yes.
Stranded, I float towards this island, but I know why I am going there. There is purpose, and there is most definitely willingness. As breathing starts to slow, calm like that of a mornings summer wind, it carries me deeper into my mind, pushing my couch boat closer to this place of just me. Smooth sailing, I slip over my thoughts like water, gliding over them, trying to escape faster to my island. What to name it? Every secret island has a cool secret name, right? Perhaps Regina should get some recognition. She shows me the way, so it seems it would be appropriate, to dub this place of awesomeness, Spektor Island. A place of Hope. Yes, That listens right.
The seas are rough tonight. Her screaming fierce, crashing against my vessel. How much more it could take before falling to pieces? I don't know anymore. But I have hope. The, what seemed to be relentlessly demonized, waves are actually pushing me closer to my destination. I can almost see the shores of Spektor Island. The sand glows with sunlit grains of serenity and trees sway to my tunes. So close. I take hold, gripping tightly onto the ropes of this world inside my head. The wind picks up, it howls in my ear, "Clean your F*cking room!!!" my grasp slips for a moment as I'm whipped up against the tides, dazed, but not broken, I dive back in. It begins to pour. Words of hate, rain down on my head, beating against me. I'm so deep into my world now though, that the beating is just a drum, keeping the rhythm. It begins the symphony of my journey, the heart of it all. Thump, thump...thump,thump. The piano kicks in, the violins wind up and swing at their intro. Bruised by the sounds, they're so loud and powerful, but I learn to like it. Almost their now, the tides have left me alone, the wind only a faint breeze now, Regina's bright voice breaks through the clouds, and beams of light shine down on my place, all mine.
I take my first steps onto the beach, as Regina sings to me, "if I kiss you where it's sore, if i kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?" Her breaths and earthly tones do, in fact, sooth me. Her words begin to peel off the scars, my vessel is pure again, clean of hurt. "Better" still plays as I explore the land, finding nothing in particular. Completely deserted. Yes. See, most would be in a state of shock, maybe panic in a situation like this. Being alone, all alone, by yourself, on an island far from any other being, can drive a person mad. Not me, not now. I take it in, the solitude, and give it the biggest most welcoming hug. Sigh. I take a seat in the sand, looking out from whence I came. Smiling, I lay back and let Regina warm my whole body. Each nerve in my body tingles from the light. On each side of me I grab a handful of sand and throw it into the air. The wind catches it, hovers it over me, and spells out, "come into my world.." Looking down I find myself, too, hovering there above the ground where I lad not seconds ago been laying, weightless.
UGH! But of course! It's not too long before the album has been played through. Now I have to get up and restart it. Hmmmmm. I press play. The screen to my Ipod begins to shutter, shaking back and forth as my mind configures itself, trying to see my world again. And I'm back! Back to my wonderland. Spektor Island.
An hour can seem like minutes. I suppose it's the same as when minutes can seem like hours, well, in a place you don't really want to be. I have come to realize something as I come out of my island coma. I see that listening to songs with the words "you", "he", "us", can make a girl lonely. So, as much as I love my solitude, I'm thinking when I'm hurting, it might be best to be with someone. I may have to test this theory.
Regina still plays in the background. Her precise and years of piano skills keeping me slightly in sync with my inner world despite being in reality now. "beneath the paper lies my truth" My brain whirls again, I think of how true that is. Her voice flows, "the history books forgot about us.." They have and they will, unless you can rise up to some great dictatorship, then your chances of being remembered and read about in a book are slim. If you sit, waste your life trying to escape it, and not live to the fullest, you are amounting to nothing. And no one wants to remember nothing. "This is how it works.." Yes, it is. How life works.
Stranded, I float towards this island, but I know why I am going there. There is purpose, and there is most definitely willingness. As breathing starts to slow, calm like that of a mornings summer wind, it carries me deeper into my mind, pushing my couch boat closer to this place of just me. Smooth sailing, I slip over my thoughts like water, gliding over them, trying to escape faster to my island. What to name it? Every secret island has a cool secret name, right? Perhaps Regina should get some recognition. She shows me the way, so it seems it would be appropriate, to dub this place of awesomeness, Spektor Island. A place of Hope. Yes, That listens right.
The seas are rough tonight. Her screaming fierce, crashing against my vessel. How much more it could take before falling to pieces? I don't know anymore. But I have hope. The, what seemed to be relentlessly demonized, waves are actually pushing me closer to my destination. I can almost see the shores of Spektor Island. The sand glows with sunlit grains of serenity and trees sway to my tunes. So close. I take hold, gripping tightly onto the ropes of this world inside my head. The wind picks up, it howls in my ear, "Clean your F*cking room!!!" my grasp slips for a moment as I'm whipped up against the tides, dazed, but not broken, I dive back in. It begins to pour. Words of hate, rain down on my head, beating against me. I'm so deep into my world now though, that the beating is just a drum, keeping the rhythm. It begins the symphony of my journey, the heart of it all. Thump, thump...thump,thump. The piano kicks in, the violins wind up and swing at their intro. Bruised by the sounds, they're so loud and powerful, but I learn to like it. Almost their now, the tides have left me alone, the wind only a faint breeze now, Regina's bright voice breaks through the clouds, and beams of light shine down on my place, all mine.
I take my first steps onto the beach, as Regina sings to me, "if I kiss you where it's sore, if i kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?" Her breaths and earthly tones do, in fact, sooth me. Her words begin to peel off the scars, my vessel is pure again, clean of hurt. "Better" still plays as I explore the land, finding nothing in particular. Completely deserted. Yes. See, most would be in a state of shock, maybe panic in a situation like this. Being alone, all alone, by yourself, on an island far from any other being, can drive a person mad. Not me, not now. I take it in, the solitude, and give it the biggest most welcoming hug. Sigh. I take a seat in the sand, looking out from whence I came. Smiling, I lay back and let Regina warm my whole body. Each nerve in my body tingles from the light. On each side of me I grab a handful of sand and throw it into the air. The wind catches it, hovers it over me, and spells out, "come into my world.." Looking down I find myself, too, hovering there above the ground where I lad not seconds ago been laying, weightless.
UGH! But of course! It's not too long before the album has been played through. Now I have to get up and restart it. Hmmmmm. I press play. The screen to my Ipod begins to shutter, shaking back and forth as my mind configures itself, trying to see my world again. And I'm back! Back to my wonderland. Spektor Island.
An hour can seem like minutes. I suppose it's the same as when minutes can seem like hours, well, in a place you don't really want to be. I have come to realize something as I come out of my island coma. I see that listening to songs with the words "you", "he", "us", can make a girl lonely. So, as much as I love my solitude, I'm thinking when I'm hurting, it might be best to be with someone. I may have to test this theory.
Regina still plays in the background. Her precise and years of piano skills keeping me slightly in sync with my inner world despite being in reality now. "beneath the paper lies my truth" My brain whirls again, I think of how true that is. Her voice flows, "the history books forgot about us.." They have and they will, unless you can rise up to some great dictatorship, then your chances of being remembered and read about in a book are slim. If you sit, waste your life trying to escape it, and not live to the fullest, you are amounting to nothing. And no one wants to remember nothing. "This is how it works.." Yes, it is. How life works.
"This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
Your cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath"
The first time I head this, when I was on my island. I didn't see or understand how important these words are. I took them for granted because I was only thinking of myself. But here, in reality, these lyrics take on a whole new meaning. They man more because I'm now aware of my life, my living breathing self. This is real.
I suppose though everyone is entitled to picking there own side. Like Ariel Swartly, author of the article "The Wild, The Innocent and The E Street Shuffle" says " Your picked a side and made a stand.." And if by picking a side you are thinking between living and not, that is not what I mean. Whether you want to live your life, every second of it to the fullest, good or bad, and just take it all. Or, if you want to choose the path of hiding from it all. I will admit, at first that is the way I was sailing, I thought it was the easier way, and maybe it is. However, easy sailing won't always provide the greater adventure. It is those who are able to face obstacles, and fears and conquer them that are the true explorers and finders of life.
And so, Regina Spektor my dear, although your have a most beautiful voice, soothing, calm, very indie and fresh. I must say, your words are inspiring, and they have helped me realize how much time I've wasted, however I can not risk listening to your whole album over and over again, it makes me drift. No longer do I wish to do so, for there is so much happening in reality that I do not want to miss. Thanks.
