listening to Nirvana's "Something in the Way"
and i am -now- just realizing how ******* good this song is.

i mean, the mood cuts right to the bone:

underneath the bridge
tarp has sprung a leak
and the animals I've trapped
have all become my pets
and I'm living off of grass
and the drippings from the ceiiiilinggg
it's ok to eat fish 'cause they don't have any feeeeeelingsssssss

something in the way
mmmmmmmm
something in the way (yeah)
mmmmmmmhmmm

it's jus kurt on the geetar alone till the chorus, doing a simple chord,
and, thing is, he isn't so much singing as he is speaking in loose meter;
and it's almost as if between the words he is saying,
".. well how the **** could song survive this thing i am talking about
yuhknow? i am giving you my guts."

you finally get some lilt and rhyme that might be considered song
toward the end of the verse, but this is immediately undercut with,
of all things,
given what preceded it,
a joke ---- it's okay to eat fish 'cause they don't have any feelings

holyfuckingshitdoesthiscapturetheabsurdityofthings

an­d i don't mean a joke as in hahafunny but rather
what. else. can. i. do. but laugh, else i'll cry; and I can't cry anymore 'cause
i'm all outta tears. why??
because this abyss
called "existence" - that history, heh, tells us is imbued
with rational purpose or intent, or whatever -
bats its pretty little eyes at me like a big fuckyou..

i think
kurt is, suggesting, here:
laugh back.

it's like Camus' Sisyphus:

i
dare
you

to roll that same rock called "life" up the same hill everyday all day
and summon (somehow) a smile,

------ or at least a    s m  i      R    k

and watch as beauty bolts through your dead fecund heart
removing that
thing
in your way

Tιѕ, тнere'ѕ an oaѕιѕ; on тнe rιgнт oғ нer ѕιde
Tιѕ, ѕoмe wιlт calleтн тнιѕ oaѕιѕ Aѕιan,
Tιѕ, I calleтн Jane paradιѕe.



©Brandon Nagley
©Loneѕoмe poeтѕ poeтry
©Earl Jane nagley dedιcaтιon ( Fιlιpιno roѕe)

ɨ.

Tօɖaʏ, օռ tɦɨs ռɨռtɦ ɖaʏ
Oʄ Jaռʊaʀʏ;

ɨɨ.

Maʀҡ's օʊʀռ ʄɨʄtɦ
Eaʀtɦʟʏ ʍօռtɦ;
As աɨʟt ɛʋɛʀʏ ċօʍɨռɢ
Etɛʀռɨtʏ.

ɨɨɨ.

Fօʀ tɦօʊ, I աas ɮօʀռ
Tօ ɮɛ, ɖɛstɨռɛɖ ɮʏ tɦɛ
Nɛɛɖ; օʄ tօʊċɦɨռɢ tɦօʊ
Oռċɛ aɢaɨռ.

ɨʋ.

Oʄ ɦօʟɖɨռɢ tɦʏ ռaʀʀօա
Hɨք's ɨռ ʍɨռɛ ɦaռɖ's;
Aռɖ sաaʏɨռɢ tօ ċօʊռtʟɛss
Tʊռɛs, as I'ʟʟ ɮɛ tɦʏ ɢʊaʀɖɨaռ
Iռ աɦɨtɛ, a քʀɨʋatɛ օռʟʏ ɨռʋɨtɛ,
Wɦɛʀɛɨռ աɛ ʍatċɦɛtɦ ċʀօառ's
Oռ ʍօʊռɖ's օʄ ɛռtɦʀaʟʟɨռɢ ɨɢռɨtɛ.

ʋ.

O' ɦօա ċօռtɛռtɛɖ I aʍ
Kռօաɨռɢ աɨtɦ tɦɛɛ, tɦɛʀɛ's
Nօռɛ ɦօʊʀɢʟass աɨtɦ saռɖ;
Oռʟʏ staɨʀաaʏ's tɦat aաaɨtɛtɦ
Gʀaռɖ, ɨռtօ aռ ɛռtʀaռċɛ ɮɛtաɨxt
Oʊʀռ ċʀɨʍsօռ aʍʊʟɛt's, aռɖ tɦɛ
Aռċɨɛռt's զʊɛst, O' tɨs tɦɨs ɮɛatɛʀ
Pօʊռɖ's ɨռsɨɖɛ ʍɨռɛ ċɦɛst, ҡռօաɨռɢ
Hօա ʟɨʄɛ ɨs ʄaɨʀ aռɖ ʊռɖʀɛssɛɖ-
Uռċʟaɖ, ɨռ քօɛtɨċ ʝʊstɨċɛ.

ʋɨ.

Tօɖaʏ, օռ tɦɨs ռɨռtɦ ɖaʏ
Oʄ Jaռʊaʀʏ: I tɦɨռҡɛst ɦօա
At օռɛ tɨʍɛ ʍɨռɛ զʊɨɖɖɨtʏ
Sɦօʊʟɖst ɦatɦ ɮɛɛռ ɨռ a
ʍօʀtʊaʀʏ, tօ ɢօɛtɦ ɮaċҡ ɨռtօ
Tɦɛ ɖɨʀt, ʀօʟʟɨռɢ ɨռ ʍɨռɛ քaɨռ,
As tɦɛ ɖʊst sɦօʊʟɖst ɦaɖst ċɦօҡɛɖ ʍɛ,
Iռtօ tɦɛ ʟօռɛsօʍɛռɛss I ċօʍքɨʟɛɖ աɨtɦ tɦɛ asɦɛs օʄ ɦʊʀt.

ʋɨɨ.

Tɦօʊɢɦ, tɦɛ ʟօʀɖ քʊsɦɛɖ aաaʏ
Tɦɛ ɖɛʍօռ's, ɦɛ աʀօʊɢɦt ʍɛ
Fʀօʍ tɦɨռɛ sҡɨʀt, ɮɛċaʊsɛ
Hɛ ҡռɛաɛtɦ I ɦʊռɢɛʀɛɖ ʄօʀ ʍɨռɛ sօʊʟʍatɛ,
Mɨռɛ ʟօʋɛʀ ʄօʀ tɦɛɛ I ɖɨɖst tɦɨʀst.

ʋɨɨɨ.

Tօɖaʏ, օռ tɦɨs ռɨռtɦ ɖaʏ
Aռɖ ʄɨʀst ʍօռtɦ օʄ tɦɨs
Nɛաɛst ʏɛaʀ, ʍɨռɛ ɢօɖ
Aռsաɛʀɛɖ ʍɛ աɨtɦ an
Aʍaʀaռtɦɨռɛ ʏɛʟʟօա
Rօsɛ, ɦɛ ɮʀօʊɢɦt tɦօʊ
Tօ ʍɛ, ʄօʀ tɦɛɛ զʊɛɛռ
Jaռɛ tօ ɮɛ ɦɛʀɛ.

ɨx.

Sօ ʍaռʏ a ʍօʀɛ
Yɛaʀ's աɨʟt I ċɦɛʀɨsɦ tɦɛɛ ʍɨռɛ ɢatɛաaʏ tօ Gօɖ's tɦʀօռɛ;
I'ʋɛ ʀɛaʟɨʐɛɖ օռċɛ aɢaɨռ, ɨռsɨɖɛ tɦɨռɛ ɛʏɛ's I ɖɨʋɛ ɖɛɛք աɨtɦɨռ,
I ʀɛʍɛʍɮɛʀ օռ tɦɨs ռɨռtɦ ɖaʏ,
Oʊʀռ ʄɨʄtɦ aռռɨʋɛʀsaʀʏ
I aʍ ɦօʍɛ.

Let me fall back into your heart,
And lie besides you
On this purple, diamond sea.

Let me unpeel your skin from your bones
And find again the love within you,
Running blue against your wrists.

Let me still visit like an old friend,
There to protect you
From those burning sienna skies.

Let me take from you the bottle, the dagger too,
For I will not let you
Lose yourself on these frothy, hemlock waves.

Let me, though I am dead, still beat in your heart,
For I will not leave you,
Until you too are ready depart.

L - is for the light she gives chasing away darkness.
O - is for her oversized heart that cares for all.
V - is for her vast knowledge.
E - is for her warming embrace that heals the world.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum