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Lyric Paint. I Am Asking. In the dead of night. (Patreon)

Published:
2023-10-22 04:14:08
Imported:
2023-10

Content

My loves.

Here we go. I love these nights.

I just posted this to socials as well, buried deep in the Saturday night algorithm, but I have the feeling you all will have some goddamn gold, because you always do.

So; Lyrics. Help me paint.

I have this fresh new batch of dresden dolls songs in the cooker, and I need to paint them with human detail. The architecture is there, but I need some paint. Keep it short. The worst, please. Covid, Lockdown, Grief, Betrayal, Divorce, whatever. (I’m Amanda Palmer and I am not afraid).

Stay in the dark. I don’t want hear about your good day.

You can veil with poetry if you gotta.

“He held a knife to my thigh” works, but I’m also talking “I found out about her affair because she left the used condom in the trash where I could see it” kinda level.

By the way; this is not a drill. I really do use this stuff. And I love it.

“He took himself to the hospital the day our baby turned one. I was angry and busy and sad and I didn’t give him a ride and, even though he tried, it wasn’t enough. His body was found when our baby was fourteen months old. I was afraid nothing would ever be right again and I was right.”

That last line is a fucking keeper.

But it’s the DETAIL that makes it. General isn’t great for lyrics. “He died and I was sad” takes us nowhere.

These. Fuck me. Just screenshotted from FB.





Hit me. (Here in comments, or it it’s very private, message me here on Patreon and I’ll scroll through what I can - though don’t expect a response since I’ll be a little flooded.).

Boom!!!

Hit records about extreme sadness and trauma await us.

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Comments

Tanja Nieminen

My sister told me I have depression and drove four hours to be with me, talked me into seeing a doctor, was happy when I was hospitalized. I loved her for doing that. I bounced back, it was merely a reactive response to burn out... Two and half years later I didn't make it in time to see my sister still awake in hospital, I was there when she drew her last breath but I didn't understand in time that she was going. The cancer had come back, she had a bad reaction to chemo and we lost her too fast. I wasn't there for her. Fuck, she was there for me, and I wasn't there for her.

Anonymous

It's been 2 years of back and forth with a terrible step-ex. And a helpless step-son in between. And I'm still figuring myself out - he's older. We're in love but it's a struggle cause we handle problems very differently but there's been nothing but problems. Leaks in the house, visa struggles, custody struggles, money going to lawyers instead of our happiness. Sometimes I feel I'm too young to be bearing it. Sometimes I think about leaving. But I couldnt. We just have to get through this dark patch. Everything will be fine eventually. I hope

Noam Preil

I decided not to kill myself, when I was fourteen. I deserved to suffer for as long as possible, I figured. I still sometimes wonder if I made the wrong choice.

Ryan Stuck
>>121161642

I can't say that I've had the same experience, but I've been there. I had it in my head that I wouldn't live to see 30. At 29 I fell into deep depression and was significantly suicidal up to my birthday and beyond. The only thing that prevented me from killing myself was the idea that my fiancee would find my body and I didn't want her to deal with that. The inconvenience of my body was the best reason I had. Not that someone loved me, or I had potential, or any bullshit like that, but that my body would be depressing to see. That same excuse saved me an additional 3 times. I was battling quite a few things at the time (chronic pain, opioid dependence, depression, crappy job, etc.), but I managed to not kill myself. All the physical and emotional pain or suffering has become something that I ponder intently, but for the most part I don't let it get to suicidal ideation. I've taken to Buddhism where suffering and the cessation thereof are primary focuses. Might be enlightening, might be a crock, we will see.

Taylor

It took me 3 years to realize I was raped. That, by definition, when someone keeps fucking you after you told them to stop, when they don’t let you up when you try to move away, you have experienced rape. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t scream. Or if you didn’t struggle much. He was your boyfriend, his friends could have heard you (don’t want them involved), he was on coke and c’mon, he was soooo close That was rape. But not a “real” rape, don’t worry. That gross, crawl out of your skin don’t touch me feeling that’s still there 10 yrs later is just being over dramatic

Syntaria

He was coughing up blood and shaking, my sister was begging him not to leave, my brother sobbing at his back, and I will never know if the last time I held his hand, if that was him responding to my grip or just his body seizing one last time.