Best Song of the Year
Synecdoche, New York isn't for everybody (it lost me toward the end), but it did include enough good bits to keep me watching. For those who may not make it to the finish, here is one of the better bits, a eulogy delivered by a priest that builds almost as if it were a song:
Everything is more complicated than you think
You only see a tenth of what is true
There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make
You can destroy your life every time you choose
But maybe you won't know for twenty years
And you may never ever trace it to its source
And you only get one chance to play it out
Just try and figure out your own divorce
And they say there is no fate, but there is
It's what you create
And even though the world goes on for eons and eons
You are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second
Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born
But while alive you wait in vain
Wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look
From someone or something to make it all right
And it never comes
Or it seems to, but it doesn't really
So you spend your time in vague regret
Or vaguer hope that something good will come along
Something that will make you feel connected
Something to make you feel whole
Something to make you feel loved
And the truth is
I feel so angry
And the truth is
I feel so fucking sad
And the truth is
I felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long
And for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK
Just to get along
Just for...I don't know why
Maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery
Because they have their own
Fuck everybody
Amen
Everything is more complicated than you think
You only see a tenth of what is true
There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make
You can destroy your life every time you choose
But maybe you won't know for twenty years
And you may never ever trace it to its source
And you only get one chance to play it out
Just try and figure out your own divorce
And they say there is no fate, but there is
It's what you create
And even though the world goes on for eons and eons
You are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second
Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born
But while alive you wait in vain
Wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look
From someone or something to make it all right
And it never comes
Or it seems to, but it doesn't really
So you spend your time in vague regret
Or vaguer hope that something good will come along
Something that will make you feel connected
Something to make you feel whole
Something to make you feel loved
And the truth is
I feel so angry
And the truth is
I feel so fucking sad
And the truth is
I felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long
And for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK
Just to get along
Just for...I don't know why
Maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery
Because they have their own
Fuck everybody
Amen
posted by BayonneMike at 6:42 AM
4 Comments:
That's a great bit to read on Monday morning while you're trying to gear yourself up for another work week.
another 'glass half empty' priest in need of a dab of testosterone cream-
My mom mentioned to me yesterday that every priest she ever met took offense to her for some reason or another. She shares her first experience:
"I was about 9, walking though the court yard at school and Father was walking by. I greeted him in my best cheerful voice
'Good Morning, Father!' and he answered gruffly,"WHAT'S SO GOOD about it?"
I told her not to take it personally but she wonders.
That's a downer, but I couldn't have said it better myself.
Healthy POV.
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