#Weird echoey voice its hard understanding sometimes

[rateatinginsulation]

I finally got to the episode where Kayne is introduced in malevolent and he's super fun and silly but I would react to what Arthur and John say like I usually do and multiple times Kayne said the exact thing after me and I just sat there like

[pointlesspoetryy-blog]

Driving Lessons (fiction)

A fictional story about a teenage girl’s final process of moving on from a tragic event. I wanted to capture the feeling or idea of “driving” away from something, a traumatic event, something you haven’t let go of. 2693 words. It’s a long one. 

Driving Lessons

”My mum and little sister died when I was eleven and I killed... no… I did… please...don’t give me excuses”.

And that’s all I remember from my session today. In fact, that’s all I remember saying all day. I remember Dad taking me to the cafe across the street from the therapist’s and eating a sandwich that was far too chewy to be worth its twelve dollar price tag. Then I remember taking the train home with him and going to my room and staring at my math homework. I think I cried because of the 2010 family picture on my wall, but that could have been yesterday.

I haven’t been in a car since the accident. I’ve been told it was an accident but I still don’t think it was. That’s why I had therapy today. I’ve been fighting with my Dad because I don’t want some idiot with a degree telling me why I killed half my family. He broke down and said he’s so sorry he didn’t help me sooner, for not being there for me. I eventually agreed in the heat of the moment.

Most people think it’s weird that I haven’t been in a car for five years, but it’s not all that hard. If I do something on the weekend it has to be by the train, but usually, I’m just in my room. My room is where it’s safe and I feel safe and I can’t hurt anyone. I’ve been told I have some sort of complex, but then again not many people have caused what I’ve caused. A month ago, I took and passed the computerised driving test, for the hell of it and to make Dad happy. My L plates now sit in my drawer, untouched and hated. Now, all of my friends are starting to drive, being sixteen and all, but I know I could never set foot on a brake, turn a key, start an engine; roll down the windows, blast music, drive my friends home from a party; sing along to a song while I drive, the way my mother would always do, her sweet voice in tune with a cassette tape. When I was six and she’d take me home from dance lessons, she would put in a nursery rhymes CD and we’d yell the lyrics to Humpty Dumpty on the Princes Highway, windows down and wind in my face.

I remember the song that was playing right before the accident. Sometimes I lie awake in the dead of night and the music will crawl into my brain from some deep dark corner and my chest seizes up and I can’t breathe. I hear cars zooming down my neighbourhood from outside my window and I want to stand up and yell at them to stop, to please save themselves, but I am frozen and sweating under my covers. I flashback to the moment, the suspension of air and time and then the crushing sensation of the ground. All I can hear is the CD player scratching and the lyrics breaking over and over and over again as I lie there and eventually the disc machine gives up and the scratchy song stops; and then, silence. The song is so ironic that many times in these panic attacks I’ll burst out laughing- God really does have a sense of humour. “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees.

I got given pills at thirteen, some chemical compacted into a tablet that was supposed to make me forget. I tried to take them but they made me numb, oblivious to the world with a layer of rose glass glazed over everything. It was as if you took your depression and put a barbie bandaid on it. I started flushing the stupid things down the toilet, and the panic attacks came back. It was better than forgetting my mum and little sister ever existed.

It’s Sunday and I wake up at 5 am. This is normal for me, don’t worry. I check my phone and drink some water, and do my usual routine of lying awake for two hours, mind blank. Early morning is the only time I feel okay; I can picture my little sister snoring in the room next to me in her tiny pink barbie bed. I used to jump into it every morning, waking her up and blowing raspberries on her face. She would cling to me as I piggybacked her to the kitchen and made us Weetbix for breakfast. Mum would pad down the stairs in her dressing gown and make tea- she wouldn’t drink coffee because of the baby- and my Dad would follow, letting the dogs in and making everyone pancakes on the days he wasn’t working. Mum would hug us goodbye and take Milly to kindergarten as I walked to the bus stop. Now, my Dad will wake up early and come into my room, every day, probably to check that I’m still alive.

I startle as he knocks on my door at 7 am. My body is tired, a familiar throb that wakes up with me. I pretend to be asleep as Dad sits at the foot of my bed. “B?”. He uses the same tone every morning when he says my nickname, apprehensive and tense. I breathe loudly and can instantly sense his relief. He pats my shoulder.

“I have to tell you something sweetheart”, he says, and I can tell from his voice that it’s not going to be okay.

“Promise me you’ll be okay with this”

“What is it, Dad”

“I… I booked you a driving lesson for this afternoon”

And my whole world goes black.

I wake up again around 9 am and at first, I can’t remember what’s wrong. I climb out of bed and sweep my hair off my forehead, realising I’ve been sweating. I find myself going to my sisters' room; it’s been untouched for five years, a thin layer of grime covering her Barbie dolls and toys. I sit on her bed and it creaks. I often do this, lying under her pink covers and crying. “I miss you, Mills. I’m so sorry. You would have been ten today, baby”.

I pace into the kitchen and sit at the table with my Dad, a full cup of coffee at my seat. Dad looks empty. “It’s…”

“Yeah, it’s Mill’s birthday” I interject. There’s no reason to beat around the bush. I rarely reveal my emotions to people, no-one needs to know how I sit in my sisters' room and cry, or talk to my mum in my sleep. “I thought this would be a good day to move on, Brea. For you to learn how to drive”. There’s a long pause. Dad’s tone is slow and tired. I am silent, but not by choice, but because instead of words I have tears bubbling up. “We just. Need to move on. You have to move on B, this isn’t healthy” he’s saying, but all I am hearing is “forget about their suffering and drive without them”.

“Dad, I can’t. You know that” I choke out. “What if I’m responsible for someone else’s death again? There’s just too much to handle”. Dad lowers his head to the table. His tone is gruff.  “It wasn’t your fault Brea, Jesus Christ. Your lesson is at four o'clock this afternoon, understand? Don’t you see how I suffer too, watching you waste your life and blame yourself for this bloody mess? You were eleven years old, Breanna. It was dumb bad luck”. I am silent.

10 am fades into the afternoon, which melts into 3 pm. I’ve switched between lying in my bed, staring at my math homework, ignoring my friend’s messages. Dad appears at my door. “Breanna, it’s time. Get dressed”. I feel pretty numb, along with knowing there’s no way I’m getting in the instructors' car. “How are we getting there?”, “we’re driving” Dad responds in a muted tone. “Nuh-uh. No way.” I try, tears prickling. “You can sit in the back. It’s happening, Brea” is the response I get, no sympathy, no recognition of my fear. I swallow and sidle into the back seat. Dad’s face softens and his tone changes. “I’ll drive real slowly, the place is only six kilometres away”. I curl up inside my seatbelt, trying to cure the unfamiliar feeling.

My eyes remain shut the entire long trip, although only long because Dad drives slowly. Still, every speed bump, jolt and close-passing car makes me panic. At some point, I press my hand up to the window, a light rain misting the view. I didn’t want to look outside anyway.

All of a sudden I am standing outside the instructors' car, his face frowning back at me. Rain tickles my scalp, and I can’t tell if the wetness on my cheeks is rain or tears.

“I’ll be in the back seat, B. You got this” I hear Dad say, distantly. The instructor stands in front of me. “As this is your first time driving, we will only be driving around one street. However, I will first teach you the basics of the clutch and wheel etc…”

His voice fades into the air for me. I want to run away, but there are cars that will chase me: in other words, I’m trapped.

It’s time for me to enter the car. I’m almost dissociating from reality but there is nothing I can do. The instructor shows me how to use the clutch and pedal, but his words are bullshit to me. He places a key in my trembling hands, expecting me to know what to do with it. “Is she okay?” the guy is asking my Dad, his words sounding distant and echoey in my drumming brain. “She’s fine… just experiencing some drivers anxiety…” I bite my lip so hard that I feel the capillaries burst; I can hear them pop… not normal… focus. I turn the key and the engine starts, abruptly. And I am plunged into somewhere else.

It is February 2013, a warm day in Sydney. My little sister and I play fight and wrestle as we make our way through the parking lot. Mum tells us to cut it out, and cut it out quick! But she is laughing. Sugar from my popsicle lingers on my lips, sticky in the sun. Milly has her arms wrapped around my waist and I’m forced to drag her, groaning and panting, I lock my fingers into hers and twist them back. “OWWWW” she exclaims and starts to cry. “No! SHH, Mills! No crying allowed on your birthday!” I yell-whisper, cautious of  Mum in the near distance, knowing I’ll get in trouble for making Milly cry. I pick her up and carry her as I walk. “Stupid face!” I grin, and she grins back. Sugar has gotten to her head and she wriggles out of my arms and runs across the parking lot. “Mills, come back!” I yell at her, knowing I’m partly responsible for her safety. Mum gets her. I smile. Luna Park was just what Milly needs on her fifth birthday, and it was kinda fun too, even when I’m as old as eleven.

“Push over, loser” I playfully shove Mills off my favourite back seat. “Honey, you sit in the front today” My mum smiles behind her Ray Bans. Her lipstick is cherry coloured and teeth straight and white, eyes so kind as they peer over the top of her glasses. I scowl as I climb into the front, wondering why I didn’t get the good genes. Milly has the same kind eyes; I know she’ll be beautiful by my age. Oh! “Milllllls, it’s time for your birthday present!” I grin and look behind me at her excitement. I throw back my handmade paper card with a stick figure drawing and a stuffed animal full of candy. Mum scowls lightly and starts the car, the sudden sound of the engine abrupt. We roll out of the parking lot into Sydney traffic. Mum lets me choose the CD for the car trip, Mills doesn’t seem too fussed, even though I know she’d like some Britney Spears; I hate Britney Spears. I choose an Old Hits CD and ignore Milly’s protests.

It’s been about half an hour and we’re on a busy-looking highway. Mum’s letting me go on her phone and Milly’s fast asleep in the back, sugar crash no doubt. “I can’t wait ‘til Mill is older and I’m super old like twenty-three and we can be adults together” I happily tell Mum as she pretends to listen; I notice but I keep rambling anyway. “Will we still go to Luna Park when we’re older? Mums?”

“Sorry, darling, I’m a bit tired… love, just let me focus”. I always forget that Mum’s pregnant, because her bump is still small, but she somehow already knows it’s gonna be a boy. Science is cool. I heard Mum and Dad talking about names just last night, it’s gonna be Jamie or Sam or most likely Tye. I think Tye sounds stupid, like the hair tie on my wrist.

My favourite song from the CD comes on- “Stayin Alive” by the Bee Gees. Anticipation lulls away and I rest my head on the windowsill.

I hear Milly wake up before I see her because she stops her annoying snoring, finally. “Where’s my stuffy!” she whines, rubbing her eyes.

“Are we nearly there, Mummy?”

“Not yet baby”

“Where’s my stuffy? I want candy” “I don’t know love, go back to sleep”

Out the corner of my eye, I see Milly reach for my present, having rolled to the opposite side of the back seat, under Mum’s. “Can’t… reach..” she mutters; I’m singing along to the chorus of Stayin Alive. Mum quietly curses at a car as it overtakes her. “Reckless people” she mutters. “Mum, you okay,” I ask. “Yes darling, can you check on your sister?”

The barely audible click of a seatbelt unfastening reaches my ears. “Mills… Mills! Get back!” I whisper.

“My stuffyyyy”, Milly is crawling to the other side of the backseat. Mum sees her in the rearview mirror. “Milly...Camilla!”

Mills has gotten herself wedged in between the back seat and the front seat, reaching for her stuffed toy. I roll my eyes. “You’re gonna get in trou-ble” I tease. “Don’t you unclip your belt, Brea”, Mum warns me sternly. “Milly darling please, get back to your seat, I can’t pull over here”, a worried expression on Mum’s face, hand on her bumpy stomach. Milly rustles her stuffed animal free from under the front seat and prepares to climb back up. I lay my head back on the windowsill. I hear a scream.

“SPIDER!”

Mum jerks her head around to the back in a startle. She knocks the steering wheel with her left elbow as I watch in confusement. In the lane beside us, approaches a truck.

It only takes a split second.

Passengers in the backseat are 46 percent more likely to die in a car crash than front seat passengers and drivers.

For some reason, this processed Wikipedia sentence repeats over and over in my head as I sit at the driver’s seat, fingers on the turned, rumbling engine, standstill; back to reality. Two pairs of eyes watch me in concernment as I shake, breathing, in, out, in.

“Um.. so… you have to push your foot on the pedal and…” The instructor.

I’m not listening.

I’m crying, and I look to Dad for comfort, but he’s not there. Instead, it’s young Mills and Mum and her baby bump. “Hey guys” I smile. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I gave Milly her present in the car… I should have waited like you told me too, Mum”. I silently cry, hoping the instructor can’t see. “I should have let us have the life you deserve, with me and Mill and Tye”; Mum and Mill smile sadly at me. “Happy birthday Milly baby” I whisper. “What do you want for your birthday? You can have anything”.

“I want you to drive me home, big sis”.

So I do.

[boobdolan]

a review of melodrama (2017) by lorde

hey what’s up it’s your boy b-dawg. the b is for boobs as in breasts. this post is a track-by-track review of melodrama, the grammy-nominated sophomore studio album by ella yelich-o’ connor (aka lorde), a new zealand singer-songwriter who likes to dance funny and eat onions. her first album was pure heroine which was pretty big bc i think people (angsty teens) related to her songs about being an angsty teen.

i’m gonna keep it real with you chief. when i first heard green light (the lead single from the album) i thought it was pretty ass. but you know what. i’m an ass man despite my username. so eventually by some karmic circumstance i was reintroduced to the album and i realised: “hey! this is pretty dope! 😎” and then i ended up writing a 4000-word extended essay on it for the IB. but that’s another story.

green light is also the first track on the album, and it’s a hella effective one. with its intro bringing listeners acapella ella™️ over sparse piano chords, it kicks open the door to the sound of melodrama and immediately subverts any expectations for a pure heroine 2.0. as the song progresses we get additional elements of new and old - the boom-bap drums recall the hip-hop influences that permeated pure heroine, while her high-pitched backing vocals in the chorus introduce listeners to new vocal stylings from a singer who was previously known for being a Cool Bean who was Too Cool for all that stuff.

as the maximalist bop green light ends, listeners are thrown even further away from the sound of pure heroine with sober. personal note: sober was the song i most liked on the album upon first listen. and I can see why. it’s because i’ve got good taste! from the spacey uber-processed backing vocals to the bongo beat to the horns in the chorus, the song’s really unlike much else in the pop scene today. i especially like the “night, midnight, lose my mind” intro because when i first heard it i was like “wtf???? cool 🤠” anyway, point is, ella and her bf did well on this track.

at this point one might think, “this girl has a thing for acapella intros to her songs”. and she does! homemade dynamite starts, like an action movie, in situ, with its musings about top gun and the house party that the album is conceptually based around. one thing i love about the song is its synths. the 80s inspiration is obvious, with the synth pad emulating the iconic Fairlight sound on kate bush’s running up that hill. however, the moodiness of the synth pad is contrasted with a sprightly riff that comes in every now and then, emphasising that Potent Teenage Mix of Emotions™️ that the album is focused around. lorde also uses contrast in her lyrics, pairing wordy, literary, stream-of-consciousness style verses with almost childish phrases like “know I think you’re awesome, right???” it’s things like this that really encapsulate the state of being teenaged to me - that uncertain transitional period between adolescence and adulthood.

the following song starts with a very indie-sounding guitar, which is an unconventional sound for a lorde song. but the louvre is so typically lordey in that it shows off one of her greatest skills - the ability to create memorable, quotable lines with unique phrasing. who else would think of stammering the line “i overthink your punctuation use”?? who else would think of using a spoken “broadcast the boom boom boom boom and make ‘em all dance to it” as a hook??? another thing of note in this song is its extended U2-esque instrumental outro, courtesy of jack antonoff. sometimes when i listen to it, i understand why ella is banging him.

jack then mumbles the intro to the next song and starts playing the piano. after a few bars, ella joins him and her voice basically has sex with his tinkling on the ivories. liability is objectively great. lyrically, she reaches mind-bending extremes that many of her contemporaries can only dream of achieving. there’s a verse where she goes “home, into the arms of the girl that [she] loves” which is very interestingly constructed - it hits listeners with the initial shock of “oh wait is ella coming out” and just Leaves It for a few lines. and theN BOOM!!!! she’s actually talking about herself. that’s pretty cool. one other thing is her rhyme scheme in the line “the truth is, i am a toy that people enjoy ‘til all of their tricks don’t work anymore” which has a devastating effect that always gets me, even though it greatly takes advantage of her bananies voice.

now the listener is halfway through the album, and at this point they’re likely as hard as the feelings in the title of the next song. hard feelings/loveless brings us back into the world of electronic drums and synths after the minimalism of liability, and it does so excellently, providing an ambient atmosphere with its muffled beat and echoey distorted guitar. this song used to be one of my least favourites on the album because I thought the L O V E L E S S chant in the second part sounded kinda dumb and edgy. but then i watched lorde’s performance of the song for VEVO and ?????? WtF????? it really shines with a small choir and a boombox. fantastic. i also appreciate the little paul simon sample that bridges the two parts together - it’s a rare example of lorde wearing her influences on her sleeve for this album. also paul simon is one cool mf. i pop my pussy to graceland 24/7. 😎👌

taking a note from jack antonoff’s albums, the next song is a reprise, which have been used by many artists after the beatles to say “hey look my album is cohesive!” even though the only reason why it’s cohesive is because it’s cohesively shit. that’s not the case with sober II (melodrama), which functions as a response to the first sober. the parent song’s repeated calls of “can you feel it?” are immediately countered in sober II’s first line: “you asked if i was feeling it, i’m psycho high”. that’s cool because it reinforces the house party concept of the album. however, while i think the strings and trap drums combo sounds cool on paper, this production choice is the album’s first misstep because it sounds like jack put together 2 apple loops on garageband that didn’t quite fit.

luckily, before lorde turns into one of the migos, we’re treated with another piano song - writer in the dark. a word about lorde’s vocal performance in this song: WOW!!!!!!!!!! 😃😃😃 good stuff! in the verses, her raspy, imperfect voice highlights the intimacy and personal nature of the lyrics. in the chorus, she double tracks her voice and sings with a more round tone, which gives the eerie effect of sounding a bit like kate bush. it’s ok. i’m a bush man too. jack does a little production trick in the outro where ella sings the hook progressively louder as he fades out her vocal and lets the song be overtaken by strings. while it’s cool, i feel like he quite obviously snagged it from the outro of david bowie’s “heroes”, where a similar trick was achieved by the production god brian eno. jack then did it again on the song slow disco by st. vincent later in the year. side note: i’m still kinda pissed about what he did to st. vincent’s masseduction. more on that another time.

the next song, which should’ve been a single, features the metaphor of a supercut. i’m not sure how i feel about that because, on one hand, the term feels very millennial, like a better-written version of katy perry’s save as draft. you know what i mean? like those songs that aged fast - crazy in love with its pager reference, and payphone with its..... payphone reference. on the other hand, a supercut is pretty timeless, as montages have been used in cinema since the french first figured out how to make moving pictures. and the word sounds cool, so it’s ok i guess. but that’s beside the point. the song’s really nice, with some very interesting moments. one notable instance is lorde’s phrasing and the instrumentation in the prechorus - “in your car, the radio on”. the instrumentation just stops for a beat after ella sings the line, in a genius move that makes the song Even More Boppable!!. another moment is how the beat changes during the final choruses - from mellow, with her voice sounding like it’s coming out of a cassette player, to full, regaining all the instrumentation of the original choruses. then the song ends with a weird echoey vocal outro that’s a fantastic moment for me, especially after the intensity of the final choruses. boner time!!!!! 😃 one last cool thing about the song is that i feel the line “so I fall into continents and cars” is an Excessively paul simon thing to say. it’s one of those abstract things that just sounds GREAT, like “fat charlie the archangel sloped into the room” from his song crazy love, part II.

speaking of part twos, the end of supercut transitions into the bassy, atmospheric synths of liability (reprise). unfortunately, i still haven’t gotten round to fully appreciating this song. to me, it’s the biggest misstep on melodrama. don’t get me wrong - it’s a nice enough song, it’s really chill, but it feels slight because of its association to the majestic, melodic liability. apart from their lyrics, there’s not much that links the two. i feel that liability needed no reprise; it’s a work that stands on its own. i felt the same way about yandhi when kanye west announced it. yeezus doesn’t need another album associated to it! it’s perfection by itself. also, someone pointed out that the drums on liability (reprise) are the same as those on taylor swift’s call it what you want, and the last time taylor and jack screwed up a great indie artist’s work was fast slow disco, which we don’t talk about in this house.

finally, we come to the end of lorde’s house party with perfect places. and what a brilliant ending it is. there’s something so stirring about the drum beat, with its crunchy, decisive snare. there’s something equally moving about the synths and chord progression in the chorus, which give me chills like loud organs echoing in a church. when put together, they sound industrial, menacing, as if they move into your soul and alienate you from your own body. but at the same time, they’re an emotional release, a source of comfort like bruce springsteen’s cathartic 70s and 80s albums. another cathartic element - the use of the word “fuck” in the chorus. i could write a whole essay on it tbh. to me, it represents an intensely freeing release of the bad vibes and negativity in one’s life - for lorde, perhaps, her failed relationship and the state of the world in 2016. you know how studies have shown that when you shout “FUCK!!!!😡😡” after hitting your toe on furniture, it helps ease the pain? it’s like that. so while saying something taboo on the record is such an edgy angsty teenage thing to do, but also reflects lorde’s release from her pain. or maybe i’m reading too much into it.

the album ends as it begins, with ella’s bare vocals, reminding us that she is once again the Queen of Indie Pop. overall, melodrama gets a

9/10

for being really cool. peace out bitches. 🤠