Whispers… One of the hardest songs I’ve ever had to write. Not because the lyrics are particularly enlightened, they’re not. It was difficult because it was the only way I could work through the conflict of sympathy and anger I felt when we lost a band mate to heroin. Conflict? What conflict? Aren’t drugs just evil? Well, as most things are, it’s more complicated than it seems… And this confession is the hardest to write because it’s the only one that doesn’t hide behind another person’s story. It’s about us, right here, living and working together. It names names.
Life isn’t easy for anyone. We all know that no matter how numb we make ourselves, how many concessions we make to avoid fights or responsibility, no matter how much we try not to give a fuck- life still sucks sometimes. Health issues find even the most emotionally detached of us, that’s why is better to try to maintain good health with supplements like Kratom Thai powder. Emotional pain strikes even the most financially successful of us. You can never take away all of the pain, no matter what. It doesn’t mean we won’t still try everything in our power to take the edge off once in a while. And even the noblest of us, those who do give a fuck and try so hard to face it all with dignity, fall short sometimes.
Artists seem to have it the worst. The nature of art requires those of us called to it to steer wide of pain avoidance. It asks us to remain tender, open, as vessels of the universal- to be spoken through means that we have to feel everything in all its gory glory. It comes at odd hours and in strange ways, so that we can never know when or where or how. There are very few nights that I can really sleep- the muse digs appearing at the moments when daily demands hush down. There is never enough money, people don’t like to pay for art- so those daily demands are harder to fill than they would be if we could just shut it off and do something more salable. But we can’t, we’re compelled by something bigger than us to be creative. Problem is, the only way out, it doesn’t end well for anyone.
Most of the artists I love the most and try to emulate are drunks, sex addicts, junkies, anarchists. They are the ones whose lives I want, theirs are the fantasies I indulge in, the dreams I most understand. I’ve never done heroin, never smoked crack, never even taken acid or ecstasy. Me! You’d think… but no. I’m no goodie two shoes, if you listen to my songs you already know that. I’m a coward. I’m completely paralyzed with fear when I think about giving over my consciousness to something I can’t control.
Everyone has heard the story. It’s a cliche. It happens in every scene, everywhere. Some kids start goofing off with drugs just to see what it’s like, to prove something to their friends or whatever the reason, and one or two of them can’t stop, and then one of them dies. But there’s a subplot among the ones that don’t die, there are the ones that keep doing it, and slowly lose themselves and everyone that loves them to it. The ones that don’t think they need help. Whispers is my cry of desperation to them- the cry of ‘i understand why you do this, but you have to stop. we love you too much to bury you.’
All your whispers in the dark, promises you’ll never keep
I saw you walking in the park in your sleepless reverie
And you know she’ll never love you like me
But those easy lies you’re seeking, she speaks
All your whispers in the dark tell me things that cannot be
Like the beating of a heart will never cease
And your words are ringing empty as me
While those easy lies you’re seeking, she speaks
There’s a fire in the sky, light that’s growing by the moment
And it’s time to say goodbye before I realize
That you got everything you came for from me
And those easy lies you’re seeking, she speaks