There's a cat in my alleyway.
Six words, and in my head I instantly finish the tune, the song, the album. It's the voice, I think -- the plaintive tone, and the vaguely tragic image of that poor tabby lying denied of its only reason to rise and face the day, that gets to me. I know this feeling, I know it from before -- the resigned pessimism of "You're a Big Girl Now", the harmonica weeping as Nick Cave farewells "Lucy", Lou Reed's sad embrace of the night on "After Hours" -- I remember the time when these sounds and words built up a fantastical inner world, with reams of lyrics and lines saved up for the occasion I would need them. (Knowing what I do, now I wish only that I had collected even more.)
I won't say all that time spent in devotion to song was right and proper. But I liked those silent times spent in thought. I also won't claim they signify a depth of feeling forbidden to others. But I can say that they signify a sustained intensity of feeling that I haven't seen put on display by anyone else. So while I'm not against opening up, doing so all at once might be something the world is not ready for. All I can do is drop hints, leave a trail that leads to the secret life I have been living for so long, and ask those I know: is this really a door you want opened? What you'll find is no enlightenment, nor particular insight into my world or person. But if purity of feeling is worth as much as purity of thought, I have something wondrous to show you.
Six words, and in my head I instantly finish the tune, the song, the album. It's the voice, I think -- the plaintive tone, and the vaguely tragic image of that poor tabby lying denied of its only reason to rise and face the day, that gets to me. I know this feeling, I know it from before -- the resigned pessimism of "You're a Big Girl Now", the harmonica weeping as Nick Cave farewells "Lucy", Lou Reed's sad embrace of the night on "After Hours" -- I remember the time when these sounds and words built up a fantastical inner world, with reams of lyrics and lines saved up for the occasion I would need them. (Knowing what I do, now I wish only that I had collected even more.)
I won't say all that time spent in devotion to song was right and proper. But I liked those silent times spent in thought. I also won't claim they signify a depth of feeling forbidden to others. But I can say that they signify a sustained intensity of feeling that I haven't seen put on display by anyone else. So while I'm not against opening up, doing so all at once might be something the world is not ready for. All I can do is drop hints, leave a trail that leads to the secret life I have been living for so long, and ask those I know: is this really a door you want opened? What you'll find is no enlightenment, nor particular insight into my world or person. But if purity of feeling is worth as much as purity of thought, I have something wondrous to show you.
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