Filter ~ Take A Picture
(written: 19 March 2004)
That last song (Sunshower) could have been mine. And it is. But seeing as how it is kind of flavourless to write about the same song twice in a row... I'll have to do it one better in my musical memory food chain.
Besides, the memories for 'Sunshower' are more ones that I keep close to me... the memories for this song I can generalize enough for the world to see.
'could you take my picture?'
The initial droning makes way for the acoustic...:
And what about that, hmm? How is it that a few wordless strummings can somehow snowball into... well... a true love that could have been?
I apologize, for I attempt to write this entry without coming across as bitter, lovelorn, lonely, heartbroken, remorseful, pitiable, or anything a guy can be when he writes about love that didn't last... The fact of the matter is that I do feel a certain adjective about a certain situation, but that's just not something I am going to clarify in ratpony for christ sakes.
But for the purposes of this entry, let's pretend that adjective is...: vague.
If quiet guitar riffing were to cuckoo me on every fourth hour once again, I would be a happy man, despite my having to regain naivete, an '88 Dodge, and white Levis in my regular wardrobe.
If the acoustic strumming were to begin as the falling snows commence drifting once again, I would be a happy man, despite my lack of a warm enough jacket or unwillingness to make light of a bruised tailbone and a soggy bottom.
But verse, chorus and verse are hook enough for us to forget that Filter is not a great match for this style of song...:
One hell of a great song to lovingly (dirty) dance to, too, a perfect closing song for abstract motions and nights with gin in plastic glasses.
When you're in love, you reap the world like bandits, grabbing all the colours and light into your hands, and moulding them like celestial playdough into shapes that are only shapes to you. They become much like your own spiritual children, but you get divorced when they could never stop wetting the bed.
The bridge soars...:
My God, you and I, we had gone too high.
Always climax while screaming; blaming our parents...:
I have a friend now who loves this song because she feels it causes me indescribable pain. I must take issue with that: it causes me nothing negative, if anything, it just takes a shoebox full of snapshots out from under the bed in my mind, and lays them out on the coffee table in front of an episode of Survivor: Africa.
And if it weren't for those snapshots that I've carefully stored, then I would have forgot a lot in my self... and how to deal with the nuances of daily life, and the things in my own which one can shout at God for being supposedly undeserved. Stuff that I couldn't handle before...
Fade out like any other song...:
And all these wonderful things are fresh in my mind as memories, where they belong. All that remains in the present is just one single tear in each passing year.
'cause i won't remember...'
photos by kam