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#361 :: Gel caps

February 10, 2005

Problems. Solve my problems with a thing. My problems are in my head, they’re in my life, I can’t touch them or put a dent in them or even make sense of them or time for them. But my problems run my head. And my head runs my time and my time runs my life. So I have a thing, a thing I can use to make them stop. Stop them with a thing. It’s a miracle. Father’s little helper. See how? I put this thing in my mouth and in a little while, my problems aren’t problems any more. A dull roar, nothing more. I have more things now. One for each problem. But sometimes they can’t stop them. And I can’t think.

I’ve never been one to use this kind of drug. My back acts up or a toothache starts murdering me and I’ll pop aspirin to sleep, maybe a really big painkiller for a day or so post-surgery. But it’s a cycle. Like all artificial chemicals (and half the real ones) sooner or later, the cure goes away, and the hurt returns, twice as bad.

I’m in a peaceful space now, having just come through a hard time in my professional life. I’ve found some clarity: I’m able to look back, see what happened, see where I am, and realize that everything’s going to be all right. So, in this playful head suddenly there’s room for the bogus lyric above, and the real ones below. And this little pile of gel caps – left over from a futile, months-long attempt to cure my daughter’s horrible eczema with nightly doses of weird naturopathic chemicals after modern medicine seemed to have failed (we’ve since found the real allergen and gotten a grip on it) – put two lyrics into my suddenly copascetic mind:

From David Byrne and Brian Eno’s glittering “My Life in the Bush of Ghosts,” (scroll down there for soundclips) a snippet of found-radio preaching by a raving clergyman:It’s no BIG thing, it’s a SMALL THING …What … people … THINK …

He’s so HIGH, you can’t get over him!
He’s so LOW you can’t get under him!
He’s so WIDE you can’t get around him!
If you MAKE your bed in HEAVEN, He’s there
If you MAKE your bed in HELL, He’s there,


HELP me somebody…

HELP me somebody …

Iiiii IKNOW!

From Courtney Love’s glorious, elegiac mess, “Sunset Strip“:

They’re for real life
They tried to steal my soul
I’ve got pills when Famous
I got pills when you’re old
I’ve got pills cause I’m bored
I’ve got pills cause you’re dead
I’ve got cause I am the worst and best dressed
I’ve got pills cause I feel more than twentyone
Got pills cause I know, baby, you’re not the one
I’ve got pills for my coochie
Cause baby, I’m sore
I’ve got pills cause you’re mad
I’ve got pills cause I’m bored
Cruising down the Sunset Strip
And there is nothing that’s not,
That’s not within my grip
Oh tonight, I got it right
Just one time

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