Mad Prankster

I can’t stop listening to this song. Maybe I should do what it says and just “blame it on the A.D.D”

I posted this song a couple of days ago on here and said I had created a mental video for it, which I would share if anyone asked. Well, no one asked, but I wanted to write about it anyways. The Setup Before the song starts, we see the small apartment of an older woman through her eyes. She looks back, toward her bed where you see a ragged old doll with a bald head laying against her large goose down pillows. The image flashes a bit as the elderly woman begins blinking. The camera sways from side as she becomes dizzy. Suddenly, the woman falls to the ground, looking back toward the doll as though to say I’m sorry. The Music Begins From the sideways perspective of the woman on the floor, you begin to see the doll come to life. It looks around for the woman and finds her lying on the floor. “I’m helplessly needless…” The doll slides down the blankets hanging from the side of the bed and rushes toward her friend.“I’m helplessly needless…” The doll studies the woman by pressing her hand against the cold, pale lips of the woman, then ventures closer, peering deeply into the woman’s eyes in search of a reaction. The camera pulls back and begins to lift, focusing on the window, and an image forming in the distant field outside. “Well I’d wade ten thousand kicks…” You see two boys fighting over the doll, each pulling and tugging at an end, one grasping the feet while the other one clutches long locks of golden hair. A girl, a younger image of the lifeless woman on the floor, fights against the cruelty being inflicted upon doll with furious slaps and hits against one of the boys backs. Finally the hair gives way allowing the victor to punt the hairless doll into the distance.“Well I’d pull ten times the weight…” Some time has passed now, and the faithful doll has begun taking apart the table and a few chairs, and fashioned some rope from torn bits of fabric. The camera pans from left to right, showing photos on the walls of the woman’s entire life, from youth, to last Christmas’s pictures posing with her grandchildren. The camera continues past the woman, who has been hoisted into the air by a pulleyed contraption. As the woman’s body hangs fully suspended, only a few feet above, and to the left of, the bed, the doll grabs the rope holding the woman in the air between it’s teeth, and begins pulling another rope, causing the large hinged arm holding the pulley, to swing the woman directly over her bed. “You lie helplessly still…” The woman is now settled snugly in her bed as the doll waits for her to wake up. Unaware of the existence of death, the doll gently prods the woman as though she’s innocently caught in a deep sleep, ““You lie helplessly still…” The image of the doll fades from one spot and reappears in another. Time lapses as the woman begins to decay: her face changing, her hair seeming to grow. The doll notices these changes and worries about the woman it cares for. It glances over to the nightstand to see a picture of itself and the woman, when they were much younger. “With wax and wire…” The doll jumps into action, rummaging through old boxes of toys and kitchen drawers for pots, candles and matches.“With wax and wire…” After a few quick snips the doll returns the woman’s head back to a more comfortable position before rushing back to the kitchen counter. “Well I can make…” The doll begins kneading the cooling mound of wax, careful to scrape all traces from the scratches and gouges that have formed on its arms over the years.“Well I can make…” Slowly, and cautiously the doll lowers the mask over the wrinkled and withered face of the woman. She, like the doll, has become timeless. Her face cast in wax, showing the same smile and innocence as in the youthful picture beside her bed the mold was cast to display.“La la la…” The doll nestles into the space between the woman’s left arm and left side, wrapping itself in a cold, gentile caress. “La la la…” The camera pans away as the doll settles in happily for eternity.*** I know this isn’t the end of the song, but after here it takes a turn that I don’t like. The video continues, as does the song, but the first half is really the only part that twists my thoughts in circles to run around in my head. If you really want to know how I envision the end of the song then let me know, otherwise I’m just going to leave it at this. Also, if you liked this post, let me know. I create mental videos for songs all the time, and I would be happy to share them with you.

Just took the little song I wrote, broke it down, then used Aviary’s Audio Editor to create this. Let me know what you think

The Maccabees - “Bag of Bones” Maybe the obstacles in life aren’t always meant to be overcome, but instead, turn you to your dreams. During a recent state of depression in my life I decided to turn to music as a source of finding the right tone to reflect my feelings. I scrolled through the familiar dronings of Radiohead, became lost in the melodious voice of Cat Power’s and her macabre song Hate, and justified my sadness to the somber overtones of Beethoven’s Allegretto from Symphony No. 7. As I sat and listened to Bag of Bones, my mind began twisting the words—as it often does—to create lyrics that are more meaningful to me then the original ones. The third line, Wrinkles on a trophy one, sound suspiciously like, Wrinkles on a trophy wife. This line conjures one of the most powerful images I’ve ever imagined. I envision the terrified look of a woman, who’s entire life revolves around her beauty, finding that first unmistakable wrinkle, and knowing that her usefulness is ending. This ties in perfectly with the next line of the song which reassures hope by saying you “could think of this as showing us the way.” The chorus (again misheard) repeats: Bag of bones Beautiful old bag of bones So much more besides To me the last line sounds more like So much more to say, and reminds me of the old ritualistic practice of reading chicken bones. Divining the will of gods is often open for interpretation, and maybe the way I’ve been looking at things is a little muddled. So maybe the doors that aren’t opening for me are staying closed in order to force me back to my dream of being a writer, and I should think of this as showing me the way? And… maybe the way I see my life isn’t the only way to interpret it, and the pieces I’m judging it on have so much more to say? The past few days have been tough for me: I’ve had difficulties at work, I’ve missed my wife, and I’m saddened by my failure at another blog attempt. Whenever I listen to this song I’m reminded that these issues aren’t problems, they’re showing me the way.