Wednesday, March 21, 2007

The body, the blood, the betrayal

Hopeless Case - The Happy Couple

This is how words betray the body. I don't love you, they say. Not at all! they declare. (Except that it's more like this: Idon'tloveyouIdon'tloveyouatall. Fast, but not fast enough.) And yet the body's heart pounds six inches off its chest like an infatuated cartoon beast's and its cheeks flush a dense coral reef. And it folds one foot under the other knee to stop its reflexive fidget from flinging a shoe across the room. These are what are called tells. And this is how the body betrays words back.

Yawns - Frightened Rabbit

This is how the body betrays itself. How she's really very fond of him, how she adores him, but when she looks straight into his eyes she ... yawns
. And how he returns her yawn with dread, his own awake-all-night worst fears confirmed: She's just not, as the book says, that into him. Ancient-vinyl crackle, deep ticking time bomb throb and uneasy funeral procession tambourine promise it's only a matter of time; this relationship's hanging by fine threads. But it's just as possible to imagine some listless Sartrean hell where the unhappy couple are doomed to live out eternity in one another's bored, yawning presence.

Favorite Movie - BASIC

And this is how the body comes undone. BASIC asks you to pogo. Yes, jump up and down, with heels and calves and ass and torso, shoulders, elbows, chin bobbing. Pogo til your ears buzz with flies, your eyes swim with minnows, til your teeth rattle clear of your mouth and litter the floor. Til you're grinding them to a fine, white paste under your shoes. Oh sure, your gums are bleeding. Probably profusely. But you're grinning, and trying to follow that other BASIC request, trying to form the words, one by one, of your favorite movie: Rules of the Game, maybe (on aesthetic principle), or Rear Window, possibly (for its lost Greenwich Village and its Edith Head dresses), To Kill a Mockingbird (in a rainy autumn afternoon mood).

Fools in Love EP, The Happy Couple.
Sings the Greys, Frightened Rabbit.


Anonymous courtney said...

this post is lovely. that is all.

7:32 PM  
Anonymous Neil said...

Brilliant writing, Amy. There aren't many websites I read where it's worth my while to read something three times so I can get something different out of it every time, but it's like good poetry here: read your words and imagine what the music will sound like, read while the song plays and see how the words resonate, read again after the song ends and get another drop or two out of it.

For my part, the Frightened Rabbit song filled me with anticipation--when was it finally going to open up? Well, there went the chorus, such as it is, and that wasn't much different. But then, right around the point at which I'd given up hope and started to imagine that it was a song to admire (but not love) for the way the sound of it matched the lyrical content so well, the cymbal work started in and then more and more instruments were added until the sound was fuller than I would've hoped for back when I was still hoping for things from this song.


12:14 AM  
Blogger Amy said...

Thanks, Courtney!

And Neil,you're too nice! Though it makes me a little nervous to think of anyone reading what I write that carefully (can I hire you as a proofreader?). I encourage you to check out the Frightened Rabbit album. It's just packed with good ideas, well executed. An all-around pleasure.

2:13 PM  

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