a sort of soundtrack

[bryiarrose]

someone over in elliottsmith just posted a link to margaret cho's blog where she talks about elliott smith. i think that she's captured some very specific kinds of truth... i don't know how else to explain.

A handful of times I saw you in New York, walking fast in the East Village, but it was like you were surrounded by a light that held you up above the street and you didn't touch the ground but floated up above just an inch or so that you were there but not there. I could see you but you couldn't see me.

and

One time I was in Portland on tour, an early morning before I was about to leave for home and I walked into a bagel shop. You were there, not in person, but your record was playing. The sleepy, baby cute hippie kid behind the counter was singing along to you, quiet just like you, and he knew every word. There was another raggedy girl cleaning up tables behind me, and she was singing too. Then this other kid came into the shop, and waited in line, and he was singing - as if on cue, a little off key, but almost in harmony. Pretty soon, so was I. But we were all in our own private worlds, our voices barely audible, singing only for ourselves. Were you singing for yourself? I hope so. I hope that you could love your music like it was loved by everyone else.

Comments

[jupiterjuniper.livejournal.com]

i just read the whole entry. i found this:

But maybe your unhappiness was what we loved about you, so that our love was a constant reminder of how much unhappiness you had. I understand. We were selfish then, and for that I am angry for you. Mad for you. Sad for you.

it stood out to me as so true...