I never knew I had hands until the day I used them. The first moment they, fat and new they, squeezed a finger they exploded into being. I don’t believe there ever were arms that hung down my sides, invisible and empty until they moved my hands up and out, exploring the space I found myself in. My legs were invisible and never really existed until the day I stood and took a few shaky steps into my future. Has this voice always been here, was it born when I was born or did it spark into reality the first time my lips fumbled towards loose sounds that somehow resembled words; if only to the well trained and unconditional ears of my mother, if only to the proud, without knowing why or where from or even how, ears strapped to the sides of my fathers head, not yet hinting at gray? So too with these eyes. Never had they filled the gaping holes in this skull until the first color and light and shadow and motion decided to grace them with their presence and stay for awhile. When that day comes, and come it will, that the light no longer dances the color no longer bleeds the shadows fall flat and the beautiful motion fades into stillness once more, will these eyes cease to be? I first became aware, suddenly and acutely of the lungs that fill my chest, these trees turned sideways and sharing a single root, when they filled to capacity only to be emptied when all breath was stolen and stolen by something bigger and better and so much More than myself. Perhaps it’s the using that gives weight and shape and substance, color and texture and presence to the pieces that decorate these bodies. Perhaps it’s the using that lets us believe in the having and when use stops having stops and we slide back into whatever came before we were we and these hands and legs and voices and eyes and lungs worked in concert to make us tangible. Make us real. Perhaps. But one thing I can say without a perhaps or an if without the need for a maybe or a who knows. One thing I can say with certainty and the proud affirmation despite the sadness in the connotation: I never ever ever ever (three times for emphasis so you cannot choose any option of disbelief) knew that a heart beat or pulsed, thumped or sang inside this cage of ribs until you. Until these hands touched your skin, these arms held you while you laughed and tighter when you cried. Until these legs ran this tired soul towards you and these feet wrapped around yours in the perfect quiet beneath those sheets. Until this voice, shaking and terrified but confident in the truths they had waited so long to shout out, instead whispered three words that would set fire to every reason to remain silent and change the course of life forever. Until these eyes, my love, these lucky eyes finally found home inside the colors of yours and the light that always seems to land in your hair. Until the shadow of your face eclipsed slowly across the surface of mine, like an event that somewhere else people with special glasses and cardboard machines to protect their perfect retinas would crane their necks to witness. Until you. Until you were the something better and so much More that reached into my lungs and with both hands stole every last drop of air, pausing only to hold them before me and cast them back to the world like an offering, a smokeless incense to carry away your own wishes, your own prayers. Maybe it is the using that gives credence to the actual possessing and owning and having and holding. If so, if this is how and why it is how it is then I know, now, and have always known This heart started it’s beating and pulsing, thumping and singing the instant, the very instant, I found you.
If you saw Alex’s tweet and somehow weren’t curious enough to do a google search, I’ve done it for you! Now all you have to do is read. There’s also this article, a bit more recent, which spawns an interesting quote, “It was reported that his label didn’t feel he [Lupe Fiasco] had a ‘single-worthy’ song.”
When I was 14, my anxiety problems hit an all-time high. I was suffering from regular panic attacks that left me sleeping maybe three hours a night. My lack of sleep and fear of my own mind affected everything in my life: relationships with family and friends, school performance, and general desire to leave my house at all. One day it got too bad for me to safely handle anymore. For the first and only time, I cut my wrist in a misguided attempt to feel something that wasn’t fear. For a week I hid it from my family and friends. Then I just couldn’t take it any more and I impulsively trusted a friend with that part of me.
The next day The Black Parade Is Dead was released. I went over to a friend’s house to watch it. I walked in as Famous Last Words began to play. I heard “I am not afraid to keep on living. I am not afraid to walk this world alone.”
I hid from my friend how much it affected me. I completely broke down inside. I finally had put my finger on what I was so afraid of. I was scared of the darker parts of life. I was afraid of being alone. It was not the first time I’d heard the song, but it was the first time the words hit me.
I still deal with panic attacks and anxiety, and sometimes I get afraid I’m going to relapse. That’s when I listen to Famous Last Words and remember that I am alive for a reason.
Last night I had a dream that Gerard Way was holding me and telling me I was strong. The vision of the person who indirectly influenced me to save my own life telling me that I was tough enough to carry on by myself has given me the biggest release of tension I’ve ever experienced.
I hope others who read this can be inspired to find something to cling to that gives them life.
I posted this on musicreplacesrazorblades, which is a self-harm prevention project. This is the short version of my story, but it hits all the main points.
I kind of wanted to post it on my personal blog too because I want people to see that it does get better. Also, I talk a little more about that dream I had two nights ago.
I’m trying to put it into words properly, but the gist of it is I know I’m strong enough. I don’t need a saviour so much anymore, but I had the best one in the world when I needed him. I might still be a kid with a panic problem but I’m also a young woman who can overcome what her own head throws at her. I’m always going to have the words I need to bring me back to reality, and the man who wrote them told me in a dream that I am fine.
“As I trail off, I hear them making one another laugh - not the words exactly, but the cadence, the rising and falling pitches of banter. I like just listening, just loafing on the grass. And I decide that if we get there on time but don’t find her, that’s what we’ll do: we’ll drive around the Catskills and find a place to sit around and hang out, loafing on the grass, talking, telling jokes. Maybe the sure knowledge that she is alive makes all of that possible again - even if I never see proof of it. I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her go, to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again.”—Quentin Jacobsen, Paper Towns (via -kingscross)
“Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.” - SS/PS, CH. 12
OH MY GOD. I NEVER FIGURED OUT THAT’S WHAT THIS MEANT.
I know well what I am. The exoskeleton of an insult. A full chalice of innocence. Toasting to our lives with open hands. But this fabrication of most indelible intention. Is merely that which itself describes. Many a fool throw their coins at me. Into the elaborate fountain of supposed experience. Unanimously expecting a wishing well. The words that leave the lips of men. Never have halted the nausea I still palpitate. No inscense could burn with such a odor. As to mask the permanent foulness in my nostrils. Hearing these untruths and exaggerations. Prolongs the purgatory I feel here on earth. The hellish inferno that taunts my feet. I constantly process calculations of probability. In desperate attempts at a relapse of ignorance. And each time I press my ear to the walls. I hear only oceans of purposelessness. Languages written by no one living being. But I am fully fluent in the dialect of pain. And I can not accurately express. How naive they are. -EJH
50 Japanese nuclear engineers are staying behind at the Fukushima Power Plant to try and prevent a nuclear meltdown. They are getting the same amount of radiation per hour that a nuclear engineer receives in his/her ENTIRE career. Get these heroes on the front page.
It’s a stellar album. I was a little afraid it wouldn’t be very good, considering they lost their primary songwriter. Luckily I was very wrong. This is Panic’s best recording.
I really love that the lyrics don’t focus on the split. I mean, there are certainly references to the confusion that I’m sure surrounded the decision, but it’s not overwhelming. I actually quite like these songs in that I can relate to them quickly instead of wading through heavy metaphors and lines packed full of words.
It’s definitely a return to Fever’s style musically, but it’s a lot more self-assured. I think AP.com said that you get the feeling that this is the album they would have made in place of Fever if they had more musical knowledge. I like that description.All in all, the songs are simply gorgeous and the band hasn’t suffered any real losses in that department.
Top five songs:
Trade Mistakes - Vocals are stunning and the chorus lyrics pull at my heart.
Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)- Hypnotic, strange, almost reminds me of Danny Elfman….I love it.
The Calendar - Again, the vocals really grabbed me and I related to the lyrics.
Hurricane - I’m obsessed with the concept of hurricanes and the song is catchy as hell.
The Ballad of Mona Lisa - I still haven’t grown tired of the lead single, which is a first.