How am I to do it again
If I can’t recall how it was in the beginning?
I was over there, now I’m over here
Easy for you, I’m still adjustingOkay, they say it will be okay~ Miya Folick ~
music
Music Monday | hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have – but I have it – Lana Del Rey (Aaron Darc Remix)
Six days ago, Lana Del Rey released her newest song.
I’ve been tearing around in my fucking night gown 2/47 Sylvia Plath
It’s a sheer, luminous ballad with her perfect voice echoing in a wash over barely-there piano chords.
Writing in blood on the walls ’cause the ink in my pen don’t work in my notepad
The sparse, elegiac lyrics pierce the hard shell I require in place in order to function at the moment.
Don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not but at best I can say I’m not sad
But they can’t crack it.
‘Cause hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman with my past
A friend remixed it into a deeper orchestral version with a percussion beat. A feeling of foreboding in the verses is emphasised by the addition of cuts from Marilyn Monroe’s last interview. A repeating piano melody makes melancholy look good.
‘Cause I’ve got monsters still under my bed that I could never fight off
This is the most extreme depression I’ve battled in some years. I am empty.
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
But I have it
And yet, there is hope. Because history tells me it will pass.
If you want to listen to the original, here it is.
Music Monday | Nothing Breaks Like A Heart – Mark Ronson ft. Miley Cyrus
This world can hurt you
It cuts you deep and leaves a scar
Things fall apart, but nothing breaks like a heart
Songwriters: Clement Picard / Conor Syzmanski / Ilsey Juber / Mark Ronson / Maxime Picard / Miley Cyrus / Thomas Brenneck
Nothing Breaks Like a Heart lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, BMG Rights Management
Life is pretty rough right now.
Musicless
Many Mondays have passed without music. As have all the Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. There is little solace and much grief. I’m trapped inside a free-falling elevator plummeting to the bottom of the shaft and I don’t know when it is going to stop.
The heat of the day has been swept away by the storm. Light rain is spattering on the roof. And I am going to bed, again, to not sleep.
Music Monday | Meet Me in the Middle of the Air – Paul Kelly
I cannot find a reference for the following verse, so if anyone knows who to credit for the below words, please let me know. I’d appreciate it.
“The Measure of a Man”
Not “How did he die?” But “How did he live?”
Not “What did he gain?” But “What did he give?”
Not “What was his station?” But “Had he a heart?”
And “How did he play his God-given part?”
Not “What was his shrine?” Nor “What was his creed?”
But “Had he befriended those really in need?”
Not “What did the piece in the newspaper say?”
But “How many were sorry when he passed away?”
Was he ever ready with a word of good cheer, to bring back a smile, to banish a tear?
These are the units to measure the worth,
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.
Music Monday | Dinosaurs – Ruby Fields
I wasn’t afraid, I was brave and courageous with everything I did.
Ruby Fields
Music Monday | All That I See – Matt Corby
This wasn’t the song I had planned on posting tonight. But life changes irreversibly in fractions of seconds. Look after each other.
Music Monday | Save Yourself – Mane
Music Monday | My Manic and I – Laura Marling
On a Tuesday because I was at a concert last night. But. Nothing to see here.
Music Monday | Friends – Michael W. Smith
Suitcase wheels whir and grate as I haul the rollaboard along behind me, running for the train. Two minutes to departure. And I still have to make it up a level, over the bridge and down an escalator to platform 15A. A lyric pops into my head as my feet beat against the white polished concrete floor of the bus terminal.
And friends are friends forever.
Conversations play out in my head, both real, and imaginary. Constantly. Mostly, I let them create scenes of their own accord and don’t pay much attention. But as I run, I replay the discussions I had over the weekend. I’ve been in Newcastle and Sydney for four and a half days, and due to my recent engagement, most of my talks with friends have centred around relationships, dating and marriage.
A question I used to ask prospective dates, I said to the friend I grew up across the street from in high school, was “How many close friends do you have, and how long have you known them?”
The answer was often indicative of how well a person could create and maintain relational bonds and boundaries. How well they could manage a relationship over time and all the challenges that came with it. How good a friend they could be. No close friends was always a worry. Short-lived friendships were a worry. But not making new friends was a worry, too.
Of the people I connected with this weekend, the range of time for which I’ve known them is between eight and twenty-eight years (or my entire life, if you count my parents). Long-term friendships require work from both parties; they need trust, respect, vulnerability, kindness and love to flourish. And I’ve always found that if you can be a good friend, you can be a good partner. But most of us don’t consider what makes us a good friend, nor what makes a good friend to us in return.
Although I don’t resonate with all of this song anymore in the same way I used to, it’s the one that popped into my head as I ran and the message is still meaningful.
A lifetime’s not too long to live as friends.
And I’m exceedingly grateful for mine.
