Chapter one: He adored a girl, but
no matter what he did to secure their loving relationship ,he couldn't prevent
it from ending - little pushy. Chapter one: He adored a girl,
though in his messed up delusional state of depression and philophobia, he lost
her - not quite accurate enough. Chapter one: He adored girls, in their saran
wrap Max Factor and 'naturalistic' personable beauty, his mind left his body in
search of something more physical than relationship with TV. He's always reminded
by nostalgia, quotes, and broken pasts; that's the non-buzzfeeed way of
saying memes - you know how you're always
trying to get things to come out perfect in art because it's real difficult in
life.
But he adored the idea of her, and if it wasn't
for her then why would he exist. His being reduced down to the simplicity of
feeling over thought. Remind me not to write again in this harsh, ill-lit room,
waiting to be hovered, dusted, cleaned, something put off at every chance. Have
you ever had a broken heart? Do you know what it feels like to be cold on a
summers day? Do you realise how your actions hurt others? Do you know what
procrastinating does to your mind???
He loved the feeling of her affection, but why
wouldn't he? In his inner circle he balanced the anxieties of being alone, and
having someone to cling on to, and be clung to. But there's never really a
balance because that feeling of total achievement and happiness will never be
achieved. Sometimes there's the feeling of ecstasy, though that only tends to
happen during sex. You can't cling on to that feeling of sexual happiness,
because all the arguments, all the I love you’s become meaningless drivel; they
only act as a remembrance that you exist. Without those three words, without
pissing her off and her shitting on you there's no way of really telling how
alive you are without physical pain.
His actions help her give him content; it's funny
how we don't realise how helpful the little things in life are. It's all him
him him, but that's what he needs. If it wasn't then the results would be laughably
poor, so he works, he dives deep down in to his own psyche trying to work out
why the world around him is so beautiful yet he's life's shit. Why his self-obsessive
compulsiveness causes him to successfully rhyme distractions and interactions.
It's Shakespeare's unwritten play about the closet unloved hermit owning the
London Evening Standard. His voice has ripped apart more souls than Jack the
Ripper. His words have permanently tainted more skin than Saddam Hussein. His
emotions have been reciprocated, and his feelings have been shared. And because
he says there's more beauty in what is usually ignored, we act like special
kids discovering porn. For what? So we can tell him Castle Irwell is the D.I.Y Pet Sounds? You can't tell someone who writes
about his deepest thoughts and emotions that 'he's good,' it just doesn't do
justice to the energy created in putting finger to keyboard on a saved Word
Document titled 'Future Sad Songs for Sad People of the Future'.
You know how you're always trying to get things
to come out perfect in art because it's real difficult in life? No matter what
he does, what he writes, thinks, sings, his peons will lap it up. Jan De Bont
didn't stop to think about ethics when he directed Speed 2 after Keanu Reeves
helped bring in $300,000,000 profit. New music brings new listeners, old fans
and (whether you like it or not,) friends and family paying close attention to
the detail of one’s life. Can he handle the pressure of delivering a product to
an audience hungrier than Call of Duty junkies? Well if the evidence is to go
by with Don't Piss On Me, I'm Already Dead, then sure,
he can. But, we can't say for sure whether he feels complete with his product,
and we know his output may never feel complete because
that's the beauty of self-release, it gives you the freedom to do whatever the
hell you want, give it to whoever you want, and record whatever comes to mind;
and he's done that yet again.
We've heard before in the repeating of three chorded sad music on "I'm a Cliché" that he's
aware of his slow, popular, demise because he rose like a fucking Charizard out
of Ash. It shouldn't be used to keep him down, because it's unfair. What he
gives us on Don't Piss On Me, I'm Already Dead is something more than... boy
meets girl, boy has heart broken, boy is sad. No, this strikes a completely
different chord, this is the attack on himself we've heard before, but a much sharper wound. This has the odd break-up, inspired songs,
but that's not what he's been writing about. He's writing about the break-up of
his mind, his own life and the acrimonious feeling of wanting to please so many
people without knowing what he needs to do to achieve it. The listener, perhaps
unaware of his progressing psyche still thinks this is the sound of a broken
hearted 18 year old, oblivious to the lack of "girl". Though the
common trait through all of his releases up till now (current year: 2016), nothing has quite come
out as sophisticated and intelligent as the music and lyrics presented here.
And though the feeling is somewhat strained to the emotion so many hold close
to them at night in 2010, there's still something sinister, borderline erotic
about Don't Piss On Me, I'm Already Dead.
Ed Gibson
