https://instagram.com/p/BAkux4WwJSn/

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

being; wet cloud bent down, now of this form,
how will you ever know

the whispering splinter of youaresobeautiful
that has set down
under that identity; under that cult of them,
if you do not
alter it?

ascend into the being of hallowed mud:
you are pillar and pulse
and light is yours to have and hone

sometimes my wants lust too much and my feels turn thin as cardboard cutout

i feel like worm. i am crawler of light dim. i am
him
that guy
and it makes me ill worn out wasted

how does sea remember you?
the ebb recalls your flow

and also

your
toes

and how they
curl in the blue
matted sand and
twinkling saltwater foam

mother of this our Earth
enfolded beneath
we know her usual mossy haunts
but she has now been fitted with glinting wheeling prosthetic

and her body has no rejected it

we are being pulled toward her
at
the
end
of
t i  m    e

Gaian mechanism curving us inward
the birth of a new paradigm
where information is realized
in unison with beings bright

she was
after all
star
in the
beginning

and end

her pictures are blue
her fissures are too
her scissors are true
her 6:30 is late

but it
lays me down inside
the soon
mushroom tip bloom blown foam