Elliott Smith: Love Songs, (Los) Angeles and Suicide?

"i can make you satisfied in everything you do"

Elliott Smith died on October 21, 2003, at the age of 34. It was my understanding that he committed suicide. He died from two stab wounds to the chest. Reading his wikipedia article, I was surprised to learn that there is at least some doubt about whether or not it was suicide. The Los Angeles police declared the autopsy inconclusive. The case remains open. In reading the article, it's hard to believe Elliott Smith did not commit suicide. He had a long history of extreme depression, anxiety, paranoia and drug addiction. My quick internet search me convinced he died by his own hands. Of course, I could be wrong.

Like many others, but not all, I was introduced to Elliott Smith's music through Good Will Hunting, the movie and soundtrack that featured five of his songs, including the song Angeles. Angeles hurts to listen, it soaks blood, it leaves readers in a universe of tension between the luck of the draw and the scientific skill involved in the quest for love.

For all the lonely, shy geniuses out there playing music on a stage that fills you with horrific fear, my wish for you is only that you find peace. On or off stage. Your music may be beautiful. But your life is more valuable.

Sometimes the pain is so deep and terrible, there is only one end. Inevitable, we who can bare our lives watch as our loved ones, whether they be far or near, choose to end things on their terms, even if the terms, the words, the phrases, the decisions are impossible to make sense of, irrational, delusional. They make the decision. We suffer. They suffered.

My heart is open, delusional and feeling the pain as I listen to this ghost song on repeat. Angeles. As in, Los Angeles? I don't know. The city of angels takes another addict into a heaven that only exists in the music that remains.

"and be forever with my poison arms around you"

with love for all that is done to prevent suicide (1-800-273-8255 - national suicide prevention hotline),
Anthony

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=La8Y6n0oqz0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMSU4QDbdew

someone's always coming around here trailing some new kill
says i seen your picture on a hundred dollar bill
what's a game of chance to you, to him is one of real skill
so glad to meet you
angeles
picking up the ticket shows there's money to be made
go on and lose the gamble that's the history of the trade
did you add up all the cards left to play to zero
and sign up with evil
angeles
don't start me trying now
cos i'm all over it
angeles
i could make you satisfied in everything you do
all your 'secret wishes' could right now be coming true
and be forever with my poison arms around you
no one's gonna fool around with us
no one's gonna fool around with us
so glad to meet you
angeles

(Lyrics courtesy of http://www.sweetadeline.net/langeles.html)

White Male Privilege; White Male Grief

"How many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn't see." - Bob Dylan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CwS60ykM8s

I encourage you to watch this TEDxTalk by Professor at SFSU (my alma mader) and High School Teacher in East Oakland, Jeff Duncan-Andrade. My thoughts below are inspired and contextualized in part by this TEDxTalk.

===================

There are many great white men who have throughout History done amazing things to help oppressed people. Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, Tim Wise, Subcomandante Marcos, my friend Guthrie Brown Fleischman come immediately to mind. So too do the unnamed white men who walked with black men and women side by side during the Civil Rights Movement, white men who faced the violence of other white men, police with batons and guns. Some of these white men, just a few, died acting on their convictions. John Brown's name is often thrown around, but from my limited knowledge of his history, he seemed a bit looney. But that is the History of white men in the United States: lunacy, insanity, horrific decision making that led, that continues to lead, to the tragic deaths of people of color in this wonderful, sparkling country of ours. Unlike John Brown, 99.999% of the white male lunacy in the History of this country caused harm to people of color, and did not attempt to provide them greater freedom. As Marc Anthony sang this week, God Bless America.

But tonight I'm not here to judge or yell at white men for being stupid or evil. I want to reach out to my living white brothers whose hearts are broken just for being white. On one side of the coin, whiteness is a wretched thing. White men inherit a History of the slave trade; slavery; lynchings; the Klu Klux Klan; the systematic policies of US and US State governments extermination of Native Americans: the definition of genocide; the multitude of white men, many representatives of the US Government, who have taken land, killed in mass numbers and continue to dehumanize Latinos; the white masters who brutally worked so many Chinese immigrants to their deaths while building the train tracks that would help propel this nation into its current place of wealth and power.

There are white men across this nation, young men, children, who now feel the wretchedness of their white skin. That white men across this nation now feel pain for being white is the victory of people of color and their struggles for justice and equality. The Civil Rights Movement can claim a piece of that victory. More and more white people are beginning to understand that white isn't the "norm". Whiteness is slowly becoming visible.

To you white men whose hearts are broken because of the History of whiteness, allow yourself the space to feel this sadness, this tragedy of History. This takes a great deal of strength and courage. You must allow yourself to exist outside the hyper-masculine stereotype of a man that destroys your right to shed tears. You must be allowed to feel, to feel this pain and wretchedness. In this process, you will need love and support. I certainly did. It is not you. You are not to blame. Black people know all too well what it means to be born into History with a certain skin color and what that skin color means today. Black people are not the racist black stereotypes that remain ubiquitous in our society. And young white man, you are not to blame once you come to realize the horrific significance of being white in this country.

I empathize. I went through this process myself, am still going through it. I send my love and support to you in your grief.

Simultaneously, I must demand that you do NOT take this sadness and do nothing. On the other side of the same coin mentioned above, whiteness: having white skin and being identified by others as white in this country, brings with it great privilege, one that people of color do not share. If we white men do nothing, we perpetuate the status quo. The current status quo leads to the unnecessary murders of innocent black children. The nationally televised examples are Oscar Grant and Trayvon Martin. But there are examples of these senseless murders every day. Recently, here in Oakland, Alaysha Carradine, an eight-year-old African-American little girl nicknamed "Butterfly", was shot multiple times when she went to answer the door during a sleep over with two of her little friends. Alaysha was a human being, eight years old, African-American, innocent and now dead.

For those of you white folk still not sold on this idea of white male privilege, those skeptics among you, let me provide a basic, personal example, nothing as serious as homicide, but possibly something you can see:

I am a white male. When I go to a Subway Restaurant, the first thing I do is grab a bag of Sun Chips, open it and start eating it in the store. I'm waiting in line. I'm usually wearing a "professional" button down shirt and khakis. The employees at Subway, and I have been to various Subway restaurants hundreds of times in my life, have never once asked me to pay for that bag of chips first, before eating it. They have never once stared at me with a look of distrust, worried that I might just eat the bag of chips and leave. Now imagine an African-American male teenager in a hoodie walking into a Subway Restaurant and opening a bag of chips before paying for it. Would the Subway employees or store owner allow this young black man to continue to eat the Sun Chips? Would they smile at the black man? I believe the answer to these two questions is no. Would they stare, worried, and demand that the young black man pay for the chips before opening them? From my observations and experience, the answer is yes.

This is one small but critical example of white male privilege.  Professor Duncan-Andrade, in his TedxTalk, discusses a more serious, life and death example of white male privilege. White males and their children who live in Oakland are extremely unlikely to be victims of homicide. Homicide in the City of Oakland and the Island of Piedmont is a tragedy that radically and disproportionately kills mostly young African-Americans and Latinos. The percentage of white victims of homicide over the last three years in Oakland is roughly 3%, probably lower. (This statistic is based on my web research. I couldn't find any website, report or article that gave the exact percentage.)

The sadness that we feel, even momentarily, for being born white must be freed and expressed. This is when the personal healing begins, when we acknowledge the powerful privilege of whiteness in this country, when we begin to call attention to it, when we begin to work humbly with people of color, to listen, to take responsibility for our privilege and we begin to do something to give it up. By giving up our privilege, we take steps toward equality. If we do nothing, as I said, but it bears repeating, we perpetuate the status quo and the killings of innocent people of color continue.

with love for the expression of sadness and the tenacity to fundamentally change the meaning of being white,
Anthony

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWwgrjjIMXA - Blowin' In The Wind

My irrational fear of Black men (because I grew up in the United States and I'm white and it's also my fault)

Frank Somerville, Channel 2 news man, and frequent facebook poster, recently posted a photo of a group of younger black men having a BBQ and playing dominos on Telegraph Ave., in Oakland, I believe.  Frank, being the charming guy that he is, decided to stop his car and chat with the young African-American men. In his post with the photo of the guys, Frank says something like "this is what the 4th of July is all about. Friends getting together to BBQ and enjoy the day." It was the 4th of July, so that part made perfect sense.

My first response was one of utter happiness.  I was so impressed that this white, extremely clean-cut (he's a newscaster) guy would stop his car and get out and chat with the Black guys.  I felt like that was something that I would want to do, but wouldn't do out of fear.  What if the guys are thugs?  But that thinking, "What if the guys are thugs?" is produced in part by my experience growing up in an upper-middle class neighborhood predominately populated by white people with just a few Black people, and the fact that the US/California/Bay Area is still extremely racist (here I'm mainly referring to structural racism, the kind that keeps disproportionate numbers of Black men, women and children in neighborhoods with greater crime, less access to quality education, healthcare and job opportunity). I must emphatically point out that this stereotype of the "scary black male" that has infected me, is in my experience, absolutely wrong.  I will discuss more below.

In any case, I was impressed with Frank, first of all, for stopping on his way to work for anything other than an emergency.  Who does this?! I guess you have to be a reporter to do this.  And more importantly, he stopped in a "sketchy" neighborhood, got out of a car and was like, "Hello young Black BBQers!".

This made me emotional.  I felt like, "Go Frank!" because he confirmed my beliefs that these young black "thugs" (my word choice - from the fear mentioned above) were actually really nice, cool dudes, just relaxing having a BBQ, playing dominos, enjoying a beautiful day off.

This is something that eats me inside: the knowledge that black men who appear scary to me are in almost all cases decent, kind people.  They're human. With families, a desire to do better for themselves and their loved ones.  It hurts that I am afraid of certain Black men I don't know. This, of course, depends so much on context. There are so many Black men who I am not afraid of and who I know to be loving caring human beings. It hurts that I have to actually write that Black men are Human.  But it is my belief that in the United States Black men are still not considered 100% human by the majority or people in this country.  Black men were invited to participate in this country as 3/5 of a person, and they are struggling, still, to get to 100%.  Let me be clear again, Black men are 100% Human. Their not being viewed as such is the continued historical product of a the white majority's inability enact laws that protect their humanity and participate in business practices that help their humanity flourish and even do what Frank did (even though I have issues with what Frank did, which I will get to below), make a personal effort to connect on an equal basis.  I wish I would do what Frank did more often.  I have a desire to connect with scary black men, and see first hand what is so evident to me from a distance: their inherent humanity and love.  It makes me feel critically wounded and hellof sad.

(Art courtesy of the brilliant Kara Walker - http://learn.walkerart.org/karawalker)

Frank posted a couple days later that he got a lot of feedback from the BBQ post, and he said like 99% of it was positive.  But some astute (my word) people mentioned that the post was a tad bit insulting (as I'm sure some people will find my posting).  Frank quoted some posts where people were like, "Frank you stopped and realized Black people are nice.  Good for you." That was me paraphrasing.  This is me continuing to paraphrase, "Frankie the white man, shows up and the Black guys are like "Here are some ribs! Come play dominos with us Frank!" Frank has a quick, 15 minute interaction and he's back to his life free from all the perils of living where these black men live"""" (These extra quotation marks are just there because it got to be hellof quotes and it was annoying me.)  These people are right.  Frank, the well-to-do white guy, stops his nice car, doesn't get car jacked and feels compelled to post about it.  But as a fellow well-to-do white guy, Frank's actions are actually important and inspirational to me.  Even if it was naive, Frank made an effort to connect that so many white folks don't make.

Unfortunately, Frank in his response to the "negative" responses was all like "I look forward to the day when it's not about colour."(British usage on purpose to give impression of greater intelligence and to honor Andy Murray on his Wimbledon win).  Frank.  Frank. Shit's gonna be about color for a long, long time. It's been about color for a long fucking time and shit like that doesn't just stop.  SCOTUS, if you are reading, and you should be reading The Existential Porcupine, that bright-line when Affirmative Action is no longer necessary isn't here yet, we're not even close.  We need lots and lots of Affirmative Action, the same kind that his wiseness, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. championed during his lifetime (google "Operation Breadbasket", if you're not familiar).  The goals of equality, justice and respect still remain and still remain unfulfilled. Oh and SCOTUS, gutting the voting rights act didn't help.  Yes, I believe that things have improved greatly for African-Americans in this country from the time they were slaves.  But we, I emphasize the we, all of us, have a lot more work to do.  A LOT more work to do.  And thank you to all of you who spend everyday doing this work.

But back to Frank.  I love you Frank. I love that you stopped your car and got out and made an effort to  connect with those young men.  At the end of the day, I got nothing but love for you Frank and for those young men.  It serves as another reminder that I must continue to be willing to feel uncomfortable, recognize my white privilege in all its manifestations.  I need to continue to reach out to young Black men especially when my first reaction is one of fear.  I need to do my part in the continued effort to mitigate the great damage history left to us, i.e. work towards ending racial inequality, and work towards eradicating the false stereotype of the scary black man.

with love for Frank and the Black Men he posted about,
Anthony

So Here We Are

(For much more eloquent writings on these and other related topics, please check out Michael Eric Dyson and Time Wise.  Their links are on the main page, to the right.)

melancholia

boys and girls have been running away together for a long time.

melancholy innocence

they don't know each other, but there's a spark, and they run.  and they run and run and the sadness permeates everything.  khaki shorts, skirts, t-shirts.

handsome men and gorgeous dolls, falling.  spin back around. the sand storm cometh.

separation anxiety

and the whole time it's not fun. no fun. moments of extreme discomfort and moments of most blissful sexual misconduct.

spectral waves

misbehaves. logic like a sage.  penetrate the unforgiven lips, part the flower, open the hearts. of. desire.

spiritual bankruptcy

often attended to by lounges and bar tenders.  she lays on the bed, naked, half covered by an expensive hotel linen sheet.  so expensive. so holy. so barren. so tender. so tender

sensitivity proclivities

hop on the bus. time to go home alone through the pouring rain. take I95 from D.C. to N.YC. windshield wipers, back and forth, squish squish.

from a place of deep sadness,
Anthony

The Dragon

A mid-sized, friendly dragon walks through the door to my office pod.  I call it an office pod because the door opens into a large room with four individual offices and two large spaces for cubicles. I sit in a cubicle.  But love has won the day. And the dragon is walking in the door.  He coughs and a bit of fire comes out. He is a salesman dragon, and he has come to sell us expensive watches.  After trying for a bit, it's clear we're not buying, and he's not really here to sell watches to me and my co-worker Natalie.  He's gay.  And he wants to party.  We're like cool, been playing dance music all day in the office, anyway.  So I MOG some Michael Jackson Billie Jean, and Natalie me and the dragon start to boogie.  The mid-sized dragon sheds his blue suit coat, white dress shirt and CK plaid tie with golden accents.  Underneath is a superman t-shirt.  I click on some Rhianna, and the dragon is just in a frenzy, jumping on desks, dancing with loose, short dragon arms flailing about. He torches the ceiling a couple times, and Natalie and I shriek with joy. We can't get enough of his flame-throwing capabilities.  We got the new Daft Punk song and the dancing continues to stay wild.  During a slowed down part of the song the dragon picks up his clothing and starts trotting, double-stepping towards the door. He screams I LOVE YOU ALL and the wall bursts into diaphanous flames.

justice, equality, love
Anthony

Dublin

The scorched earth policy might apply to my mind.  Naw.  Really it's just love, ambition and chaos in my gut.  Wanting things like to be a great writer, to be wealthy beyond all comprehension, to create racial equality, to tour as a rock star (with The Gaslight Anthem opening for me).  The american dream. That kind of thing.

If I failed you, it was my fault. I don't deny it. Not with Joyce outside my modern, sliding-glass door window, looking out onto an empty glass mall, barren retail space .  To let, to let, to let you back into my heart -- the oceans come for us all -- blurred lines, watching a freshly poured pint of Guinness fall majestically to the bottom.  Swept into the misery by song.  Swept into the beautiful by melody.  I can't think enough for Sancho Panza and his dreaming dreamer.  Swept into the gilded gutter by the Irish.  Swept into sleep cause it's far past my bedtime back home.

I want to build a family crest that amplifies my emotions.  A structural invention.  An object of American ingenuity. Sonar, vibrating out in expanding, trembling circles.  I want to think of you in this pattern.  You are the distance and the closeness between the trembling circles. If love is an object of despair, let the wealthy sweep their yards with Mexican gardeners.  I hope, I hope things turn out well in the swell of the belly: Jonah and the Whale. But what if Jonah was the Whale and he grew so big that he swallowed himself and destruction of political fortune cast with golden bows freed us from ourselves and our language.  A Slovene philosopher sleeps well tonight in Dublin, knowing something I don't.

With love,
Anthony  

She Loves You

water

Zero Dark Thirty and the NEW United States of America

SPOILER ALERT: I DISCUSS IMPORTANT PARTS OF THE MOVIE INCLUDING THE END.

I saw Zero Dark Thirty over the weekend, and it changed my thinking about the United States of America, henceforth, the "US".  The movie centers around a female character, Maya.  She is a young CIA agent, and she has been obsessively tracking Usama Bin Laden since 9/11/2001.  More specifically, she is obsessively following her lead, her theory, in the effort to find Bin Laden.  She plays the role with limited emotion, extreme focus, and timely outbursts of rage aimed at her superiors that help her get her way and continue to fund her efforts to capture "UBL".  We all know how the story ends.  Turns out her theory was right, and she finds Bin Laden, which leads to the team of Navy Seals and their helicopter journey into Pakistan to assassinate Bin Laden.

Maya's character is alone.  She has no close friends.  No family is shown in the movie.  She spends 11 years desperately tracking a man that many thought was dead or gone or simply impossible to find.  But in the end, the real deal Usama motherfucking Bin Laden is shot and killed by the best of the best of our US soldiers.  What could be a happier ending.  Except at the end of the movie, Maya boards a jumbo military plane. She is the only passenger.  She sits alone in the pit of the whale, and the friendly pilot comes out to pay her a visit.  He says, "you're the only passenger. you must be important." then he asks, "where do you want to go?"  She cannot speak.  Her face is distressed. She has just accomplished this amazing personal achievement.  But the movie ends with a shot of her blank face. She cannot answer the question where she wants to go.  In my head, I was thinking she would say "home" or "Washington" or "Hawaii" or somewhere completely disconnected with her life like "Zimbabwe".  But the movie ends without her saying anything, looking desperate, lost and alone.

Maya has traveled to so many "countries" (almost always to a US military base or secret outpost of some kind).  She has no home.  Maya, metaphorically, represents the United States of America.  Maya, or the US, has no home because she/it is so spread-out.  She's seen so much violence, so much pain.  It dawned on me, and forgive me if I'm just slow and it's taken me a while to realize this, but all of these military bases, consulates, secret locations where the US detains and interrogates and tortures captured "enemies", are part of the US.  We typically think of the US as the 50 states, the 48 contiguous states, Hawaii and Alaska.  But in reality, the US extends to all corners of the globe, including Guantanamo Bay, which is "in" CUBA.  We have a military base "in" CUBA.  US Citizens can't even travel to Cuba legally.  How do you make sense of that?  So you say fine, we have a base in Cuba, and in Germany, and in Korea and in Japan.  So what?  They're just military bases.  But what the movie shows is that the US sets up shop wherever it wants: Afghanistan, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Somalia, and all the secret locations in countries around the world.  For me, this was an epiphany.  The US is not that geographic map we see on google earth.  The US is in pockets and spaces across the globe, bringing guns, violence, aid, food, medical care, intelligence officers, tortures/Ph.D.'s, doctors, business men, and apple pie to the globe.

I believe the US Navy's slogan is, "A Global Force for Good".  I'm thinking that the United States of America is a global entity.  It is no longer just the corn fields in Iowa and the big buildings in Manhattan.  It hasn't been for a long time. The US occupies space around the world, and directly shapes the space in and around the areas it occupies.  This power, this influence has a fancy name: geopolitical hegemony.  Noam Chomsky has been writing about this for decades.  I'm sure this is not news to Pentagon Officials, Intellectuals, CIA Agents, the FBI and probably you.  But it sure was an epiphany to me.  What are the repercussions of this concept of the US?  What are our responsibilities?  What are the moral questions this situation poses?  These are questions for another blog post.

With great heaps of geopolitical love,
Anthony