My Acolyte Journey: 2014.14

The Hymn of Acxiom
Vienna Teng. I liked her before. She's a killer vocalist with a unique approach to songwriting. I love it. She's so mellow, though, that she'll never gain the fame of an Adele or Noah and the Whale or The Hush Sound (those are just songs I like, not good examples of mellow). I "found" her when Stephen gave me Inland Territory. I love that album.

But this song gained depth as I listened to it, as I did about seven times in a row, I think. It was twice while I did things and then twice where I tried to listen, then the video she recorded live, then I listened again a few times. Let me tell you: after a few times through this song, my initial euphoria broke into smaller pieces and in those cracks I could hear the synthesized matter of her faux voice leaking through. I still love the sound of the song and I could listen to it as large as life and loud, too, but . . . I need a choir to sing it, or else it's now mildly off-putting.
Without reading the lyrics, I knew the point. What. Now that I have read them, I'm terrified of Teng for the monstrosity of her genius. With the sound alone, she communicates the message of her piece. At first, the song feels utterly comforting. "Somebody hears you; you know that" is reassuring, certainly. How often have I posted on this blog to find no comments? Lonely. But that's okay, because "here, [I'm] known." There is so much to remind us that we'll leave the world alone and naked, but now you can "leave your life open; you don't have to hide." Oh, it's so nice to think that I'm important to somebody.
Turn: "now we possess you." Stop. Hold up. This crept up without me knowing or asking, and that's exactly the point. Insidious: her vocals finally break down my loving adoration and I become creeped out by the synthetic nature of them. Insidious: the lyrics have been building an unnatural cage and I didn't even know.

Let our formulas find your soul. . . . (our machines will) to design you a perfect love. Now we possess you.

I have a confession to make. I have had Google location data tracking me since the first iPhone I ever owned. I went to Austria. I uploaded photographs from New York and Norway. I recorded my commute to and from school and work every day for eight years. I never take the location data off my pictures before I upload them. I have five passwords, each with three variations, but my email and my bank's passwords aren't different enough. I actually got coupons on my phone because it knew I was in a particular store and offered them to me. In short, I am a terrible netizen.
I rely on the technology I use to make my life easier and to anticipate my needs. I beg the websites I love to pick up my breadcrumbs and to hold onto them forever, slowly building a perfect world. It's terrifying that I don't seem to care.

(reach in your pocket) embrace you for all you're worth.

Thanks, Teng. You've really outdone yourself.

I have read and watched a lot of articles and books and videos about the use of data by companies and the government. It's all terrifying. Did you know that the government put off reviewing the practices in the NSA for a decade? Did you know that it's such a non-issue for most people that I can't even find an article corroborating that fact? I just don't know the search terms I would even need. Did you know that Google can track influenza outbreaks by using algorithms to sort people's aggregate searches? Did you know that I can tell you exactly where I was on July 4, 2011? Did you know that Google knows I haven't closed this tab for six weeks? I've just been refreshing it every two days.

I love this song, though. Man, is it good. I would buy it, then forget that it's about something totally wack that I should be freaking out about every day, then just go about my life as normal.

Sidebar: I'm really proud of my research. This is the best link in the post.
Sidebar 2.0: I found this while trying to find out how far I had gone towards the moon. It's irrelevant but weird.
Sidebar 3.0: It took me two and a half hours to write this post. That's why I don't do this as often; they're becoming monstrous. I share good company: WaitButWhy and CGP Grey.

3.25

In the old days, when magic was used for curses and hate, there was a man known only as Manure Mouth. His name was well-earned because he spattered manure from his mouth with each word. His life was lonely. His world stank. The only hope he held out was for a kiss from true love, which would--as he believed--revert the curse and save him. The woman, though. His Lady Love, a woman of surpassing grace and empathy. She saw his heart through the curse and stayed with him as he talked. In his heart, the seed of love grew. He thought there was maybe a chance that this woman could be the first and only who would look past his affliction and release him from his curse. He was devoted to her. She didn't feel the same.

For years, he lived in her orbit, a secondary character in a would-be lover's life. He watched her grow old, and she invited him in as often as she could. Their conversations were always scarred by the manure that fell from his mouth every time he talked. She was close to him, but she kept a distance. For years, he held out hope, until: she passed away. The moment he heard of it, he rushed to her side and wept. When he clutched at her hand, he realized that he had truly come to love her for who she was, not for the chance she represented of his salvation. The seed he had so long nourished was now seared by the bitter cold frost of death. He clung to her corpse as his strength ebbed, until he, too, died. His body itself fell into manure.

There, on the spot where their corpses intermingled, a flower grew. It was fed by the manure of his curse and it grew to an enormous size and an inordinate beauty. People who never knew the couple of the flower came to see it. It became a point of pride for the city where they lived and the plant remained long after even the memory of Manure Mouth was lost into myth.

Even those who fail in life can have victory in death.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.15

Eternal Sunshine
Jhene Aiko. I have put this off, obviously, but now I put it off with the page actually open to it. I don't know why I seem to loathe this so much, but really I've just wasted eight of the last sixty hours. Maybe more like twenty. It feels like that, anyway. And that whole time, I've been teaching kids who don't act grateful and don't have an intellectual life and can't verbalize their thoughts: awful. So is it strange for me to say that if I were to die today, there's not a thing I would change? I've lived well. Maybe I have made mistakes and been through my fair share of pain, but all in all, it's been okay.
I've lived well.
And maybe that's why this song works so well for me: it fits into my narrative. Yesterday, I saw a picture of somebody sitting down doing largely nothing, but doing it outside. It looked amazing, and I realized I had nostalgia for summer. I hate summer. But, as the song points out, there's a strangely human tendency to focus on the good parts of life and the moments that we want to remember. We place these things into our personal narrative and create our own past (In case that link is confusing, it might help to know that Boswell was a total fawner and wrote pretty much just good stuff that Johnson told him).

The song's focus on "only the good things" hearkens to its namesake, The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I have seen this film. Disclaimer: I hate Jim Carrey's face because of some early childhood memories and I don't have any nostalgia for his insipid humor. I liked this movie but I wouldn't recommend it. If I recall correctly, it was incredibly pretentious without being incredibly enjoyable, and it beat the audience upside the head with a subtlety stick. Go for the Truman Show, or better yet read a book.

Listening to the song, I feel contemplative. It feels like the meaning of the words is lost on the enchanting slowness of the song. I'm loving the sound of it, and after listening to it, I feel Dear Esther. I feel Perks of Being a Wallflower. I feel slow and important. I feel like sleeping in and holding somebody I love.

I'm having trouble with this metric of "I would buy this." I've bought Mika and Pharrell and The Neighborhood, but I don't think I've bought anything else. I've at least thought about Roar? I really like this song, and Elton John from last year, and OctaHate, Extraordinary, and Hideaway. Never Catch Me is growing on me, but I just don't feel like buying them. That's wrong.

If I wanted a good song, I would buy this. I would put it with When September Ends and I Will Follow You into the Dark for rainy days when I want to feel some type of way. I'm not sure. I'm just not sure.

update
There's a video now. It's got Aiko floating very slowly up from an asphalt surface to reveal, beneath her and very far below now, herself: being dragged from a van that has crashed. In flashes, we see her family and the moments proceeding the crash.
Do I think the video helps the song? A little. There isn't much to the song (we only remember the good things because otherwise we find pain in our past), and there isn't much to the video. The video matches beautifully to the song and doesn't get in the way. I would say that as far as pairings go, it's nearly the best on the list so far, but . . . there's something about watching the video to a Jhene Aiko song that distracts me more than I'd like.
I think closing my eyes in a dark room and hitting play is better.

3.4

[A brief interlude for a sentence-building exercise of my own design.]

There once was a man. The man lived alone. His house was on the mountain. He owned very little. He owned a chicken. The chicken was his pride and joy. He loved the chicken. The chicken loved him. He would never eat his chicken. The chicken was like his daughter. The chicken sang. It sang every morning. The sun caused it to sing. Its song was beautiful. The song was loud. People could hear it. They could hear it in the valley. They could hear it on the mountain. People heard it in their homes. It woke people up. It was the first thing they heard. They heard it every morning. They liked the song. They thought it was beautiful. It was beautiful. Everyone loved it. The song was popular. People wanted to hear the song.

There was a woman. The woman lived alone. Her house was in the valley. She owned a lot. She was rich. She had gold. She had diamonds. She had a big house. She was mayor. She was mayor of the town. The town was small. She thought it could grow. She thought it could be rich. She thought it could be famous. She wanted to be famous. She had heard the chicken. The chicken was the man’s. She heard its song. The woman thought it was beautiful. She wanted the song. She had money. She walked up. She went to the mountain. She took money. She found the man. He would not sell. He loved his chicken. She was angry. She grabbed the chicken. She ran.

The man cried. The chicken cried. The woman laughed. She sent letters. She invited people. Rich people got her letters. Rich people came. They came to hear the chicken. The morning came. Everyone slept in. No one heard it. The chicken was silent. She ran to it. It was crying. It would not sing. She yelled. She screamed. She kicked. She wailed. The chicken would not sing. She ran. Up she went. She went to the man. She took the chicken. The chicken saw the man. The man saw the chicken. The woman let go. The chicken sang. People heard. They were rich. They thought it was beautiful. They built homes. They moved in. They listened to the chicken. The town became famous. The town became rich. The man owned very little. He owned a chicken.