My Acolyte Journey: 2014.22

Stranger
Skrillex. It's time for a few personal revelations, none of which I think have anything to do with this song or this artist. Sometimes, I get an enormous craving for french fries. These are impossible to control or predict. The last one lasted for a week and a half and only stopped when I dragged Delight to a Five Guys at nine on our way to a Shakespeare's pizza place. This may seem out-of-context, but I assure you: any time you find a tee-totaller in a bar at eleven, there's got to be an explanation. Mine is part restlessness, part salt, oil, and starch. In case you're wondering, Billiard's guest wifi password is 1burgers.
So now that I've scraped the last fry from the tray like Alfrid scraping gold into his bustle, I'm clearly ready to deal with this song. Now, there are two ways I can see this song's story. First, as a break up song. He (Skrillex is probably writing his perspective?) thinks that life without his significant other is hell. That's boring, and everybody sings about that. The second, more interesting idea hinges upon the religious terminology and the probable religious reasoning for its placement in the 40. I hope I'm not giving anything away when I say that I'm a Christian. I won't speak for you. Maybe you, like the narrator, are in the dark, looking at the picture of God you found in the dark. You think it's the truth; you're having a religious experience. Your heart is arrhythmatic. You suddenly can't feel the pain. You see a two-dimensional God and you're suddenly free from responsibility. God doesn't exist. He's a picture drawn by a devil to trap mankind. You're not stupid. You know you're in hell, but if God is an outline on a wall, he can't get you here. You'll forget his name and he'll become a stranger.
Or maybe it's just a good-sounding song about a breakup. You decide.

["I'm trusting you on this, Tyler." "I know. Take my hand. That's it. Descent." "I don't think I can fit in there." "It's worth it. Just -- go!" "It hurts." "It will, until you're through, and then it won't. Look, are you through yet?" A scream rips the chamber apart. "I think my arm is stuck! Tyler, pull me up!" "Najra, you'll just have to get through. Now shut up. You're not even hurt." "You shut up. I'm turning this way. I think I can -- oh!" "You fell through. Are you okay?" "Oh, wow." "I asked are you okay?" "Tyler, you have to see this." "I have. Did you forget? That's why I brought you here." "It's like I can't even breathe, looking at all of them. Where did they come from? Did they grow here, or, really, how?" "Look out, I'm dropping in." "It's so beautiful." "Yeah." Their breathing falls into sync.]
I really don't think I like all conversation stories. I'm better with metaphor and picture construction, and it's impossible with dialogue unless you're in a play. I think I'm okay with this one, though.

My mood: The scream in my story is when the music blew up. The Oh, wow is when the music turns and slows down. I matched the music with my writing, but I don't and can't match the mood of the music or the way it makes me feel. It's biting and aggressive, like it doesn't really think music is for enjoying or uplifting, but for pushing instead. This song shoves me roughly. If I were already unhappy, this song would wash over me and I would dance, sweaty, ugly thoughts, afraid. Instead, I tilt back like a creepy clown toy.

I wouldn't buy this.