Firstly, I regret nothing.
Sometimes I tell people I didn't learn to talk until I was 34.
It's a block off High Street where it used to be. Television and deadbeats out in front and free. Blowin’ down hallways of marching dust where the money never runs out and you don't know who to trust.
That glass ceiling 's so damned appealing. I don't recall feeling bloodlust in the coming down…you learn to fight a frown with a psychic bust of yourself and just and leave it undiscussed. That glass ceiling is so damned appealing. I don't recall feeling bloodlust in the coming down.
A lot of rock and roll and hip hop and country music and folk even is about fronting and flexing and showing off.
There's music edging all of those genres that touches me because it's people laying their errored souls out to be observed, to invite whatever part of humanity that is within earshot to see, and holding itself up as humane and identifyable and fine even if it's fucked up. Art is a safe place to be a freak or a fool or different or broken and for beauty to be observed there with or there from or therefore or therein- sad and sweet.
You get to sidle up to mistakes or tribulations without having to suffer the blows, like dreaming of falling from a great height.
Cocaine gets you really high, but the overwhelmingly time consuming and under reported effect is that it makes you sad or depressed or joy challenged or however you choose to describe it. I'm not a doctor. I was just around a bunch of cocaine for a number of years and I got to know what it smells like.
People I know have done way more and handled it better. I don't need to learn the kind of mental strength to be ok on that kind of hangover. I like waking up not devastated.
High Street is five or six blocks from here.
Cocaine won't kill you, but it helps.
Clever and sad is what I was after. I could feel my life slipping away from me and had to just keep getting up and going to work. The band was essentially done. It's dramatic, but really it's a normal part of a normal regular human world. I hope you don't find yourself clutching your pearls. I've been standing here the whole time, same as you.
Hard to hold onto, cuz it's a magic bus and it’s better to burn out than it is to rust. Heart of rock lost punching the clock to keep the dollar down; it's a bust. It's a bust. That glass ceiling 's so damned appealing. I don't recall feeling bloodlust in the coming down.
That glass ceiling is so damned appealing. I don't recall feeling bloodlust in the coming down.
It's inverted reality. The glass is in front of you, below you. The volumes are all distorted. You can't feel. It's dreamy and a little psychedelic and exhausted and dissonant. But it's human. It's humane like how people treat each other and I have never been told “I love you, man.” more heartfelt and often than by a room full of dudes doing coke.
I believed it every time. I still do.
Here's the video:
Here's the link to the record on Bandcamp
https://samknutson.bandcamp.com/album/splendor-3
I love you.
