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Kurt Cobain once said that “Just because you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after you.”
After so many months, and several incomplete Song of the Moment entries, it saddens me that I’ve finally been spurred into finishing one about such a disturbing composition. However, I’ve listened to this song more than 60 times today, and this is testament to the skill of Linkin Park in so accurately capturing that distinctive brand of claustrophobic, unhinged neurosis that is destroying my inner peace at the present time.
The staccato verse is as relentless as it is understated, building tension and anxiety, while the mash-up of archetypal images in the lyrics is nightmarish and unsettling. It also evokes, with great precision, a feeling more familiar than I would prefer to admit. Which is related to another topic that has vexed me in the past: to what extent should I censor my expressions of self online when I am gripped by negativity and torment?
On one hand, I would love to portray myself as some indomitable paragon of optimism and determination. To be sure, there is a compelling argument about presenting people with an image of greatness to which they can aspire, despite the truth -- whether it is known or not -- that the real person represented by that image is just as flawed as they are.
Speaking for myself, I don’t see any functional reason to document all my shortcomings down to the tiniest detail, but by the same token, my belief in honesty ultimately wins out. Therefore, if I feel terrible, I will say so. If I am afraid, I will admit it. If I make a stupid decision, I will not pretend that I haven't.
If you are incapable of being inspired or motivated by anything less than an infallible vision of heroism, I’m afraid you will not find that here. I consider it hypocritical and purpose-defeating to present myself as something I’m not; if anything, I personally think people who overcome their moments of downfall are far more admirable than those with such an iron will that they never fail in the first place.
The face beneath my skin may be pointing out all my mistakes to me, but at the end of the day, my collection of mistakes is what makes me human. And even though papercuts are much more unpleasant than their severity as an injury would suggest, they are not exactly life-threatening.
Once they are healed, I have some pretty fucking choice words in mind for that voice in the back of my head.
Check it out on youtube