Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

indistinct verses

"Fletcher Honorama won't you rally 'round the man who's on a limb? Sing the songs that please him very softly while we jolt him with a hymn"
--Ron Mael

Now they even have websites for misheard song lyrics. Should I be comforted that some teen thought it was "in Bernie's van they lube the governor?" during "Sweet Home Alabama"? I am not sure. If I were a song lyric, I think I'd be a Cocteau Twins song, because I would be so very versatile. I would only mean what I want to mean. But aren't we all misheard lyrics, somehow?



I notice lately that I love the feel of lyrics even when I don't really know the words. I loved Santana's "Tunnel of Love" last year, but then I read the lyrics, and they did not work for me at all. Perhaps REM had the right idea back in the day when they mixed their lyrics ncomprehensibly. I'd go see them in concert roughly once a year (let's say from Reckoning for roughly three or four albums thereafter). The lyrics changed to key songs from year to year, which I thought was really cool. Now I can hear every word Michael Stipe says, and it's not the same.

I like the notion of continual revelation, like the Latter Day Saints have. One has a wrong notion, and then wham! The right inspiration sets in. It's not just a good idea--it's divine.

I love that feeling when a light bulb goes off in my head, and things come together and I see an idea with clarity. But isn't it curious to see someone one knows have the light bulb go off, and FLASH!, they've gotten completely the wrong insight about one? I suppose that's why I'm so wordy, because I always liked that song "oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood".

I remember the fellow in law school who set me up on a blind date. He thought his former student and I would be perfect for each other. She was a nice person, but somehow when I saw who he thought would be "perfect", I realized that this fellow I thought considered me a social equal actually thought me much less socially apt than even I thought myself. I'll not elaborate, as it seems ungentlepersonly, but I suddenly saw myself through my classmate's eyes, and I was, well, rather less impressive than I thought he thought me. A nice comeuppance, that was, and yet the person he fixed me up with was pleasant enough.

Blind dates--I did not do many of those. As an acquired taste, I never counted on such things as a way to make my bold mark in the great social tree. Now that I think about it, my initials have never been carved in wood.

I won a pizza once, in single days, for "Ad of the Week" in the Dallas Observer (local alt. paper) personal ad competition. I never picked up the pizza. How could I? "hi. I'm the guy with the weird personal ad which won "Ad of the Week!. I was too shy! The ad began "Down to earth erstwhile Christian surrealist seeks semi-cute paragon for mutual absurdity and fidelity". The ad did win a pizza. But it got no replies. Semi-cute paragons are in short supply. A more sedate ad drew more responses.

Maybe dating is the hallmark of misunderstanding. I can't say, because I rarely dated people that I had no already established some baseline bond with to begin with. But isn't it incredible how a casual stranger on a date can completely misread one? But it's not always that way.

Understanding is sometimes like the three day measles. What is it about those "I know you somehow" conversations. I do not believe in psychic connections, at least not in the new age senses, but I do remember being 22, and communicating utterly with a Canadian woman who went to community college with my roommate's soon-to-be-second wife. Nothing intimate, of course--it was a first meeting. But that sense, for one evening, of being understood. Perhaps there are pheronomes that say "We have met". She had a boyfriend, as I recall, who became her husband eventually. It was a meaningless evening, perhaps. I have not forgotten it. But was I understood? It felt that way, but perhaps that's just infatuation flypaper. I love the idea that infatuation, like a flea bite, strikes quickly, imparts all the wisdom of the world, and then departs. The whole thing is that it's so darn infectious.

Sometimes a teacher or professor just doesn't get one at all. Labels--an essential part of education. One is no longer a person--one is an attitude problem, or even an underachiever. I was usually in good shape with teacher, but I was rarely the pet--more like the loyal opposition. For every Rome, filled with lovers, there must be a Zurich, filled with correct business relationships. My goal in school was not to romance those stones who taught me, but only to figure out a way to learn and get a good grade while having a good experience.

It's rather like the job I didn't get as a safety engineer once. The boss guy passed to the word to the employment guy that I was "too technical". I had told him I liked sci fi and Doris Lessing. If only I'd panicked,and said Stephen King; or maybe made a better grade in Calculus 3, to at least earn my ignominy. If I am to be a "science nerd" type, as one woman in law school said, why am I so weak at advanced math?

But I'm rambling all over the lot, and not making myself better understood. Maybe I'm like that band Magma, that invented its own language. It takes time to communicate, when nobody speaks the language but its inventor. But I wish more people would assume it's something cool like French I'm saying, and not just pig latin.
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