"No one's laughing at God in a hospital / No one laughs at God in a war."
I don't think one has to be a particularly religious person to agree that if -- in fact, there *is* a God -- then The Almighty probably has a funny sense of humor. After all, this world is full of all sorts of crazy stuff that just doesn't quite make any logical sense -- almost to the point where it seems, at times, that certain things have been specifically designed for the sole purpose of making people laugh.
Take, for example...
Exibit A: The Duck-Billed Platypus But when we're not chuckling from the sidelines at waddling punchlines, humans tend to do a whole lot of laughing at other things, too. Stuff like random coincidences, happenstance meetings, other people's misfortunes (e.g. "fat man fall down go boom"), and the rest of the crazy curveballs that life tends to throw our way at any given time.
And every now and again? We can't help but find ourselves laughing at God Himself ("Herself?" "Itself?") -- which is precisely where Regina Spektor's song picks up. I mean seriously -- how can you *not* laugh at God from time to time, especially in those moments where life makes virtually ZERO sence and yet God is (as she says):
"Presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini / Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus"
After all: when what we see unfolding in front of us is just so silly and senseless at times, it can seem kind of far-fetched to surrender to the notion of some bigger, broader, higher organizing power who's supposedly floating out there above the clouds and making sense of this crazy mess that we call life.
Voltaire would agree:
"If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him."
Long story short: life is silly, and we don't always do so great a job of appreciating the bigger picture. To that end (so says Voltaire), we can't help but think that there's simply GOT to be something larger than ourselves watching over this whole crazy charade in order to keep things running as they should. Otherwise, what meaning could our lives possibly have?
As far as Regina Spektor is concerned -- not much.
With this in mind, Spektor notes how it's mighty suspicious that all of this laughing at God nonsense seems to screech to a halt whenever something legitimately bad seems to be lurking just around the corner. And for all of our big, blustery cracks at The Big Man's expense -- the jokes do tend to fall off in short order when things get serious.
In a hospital...
In a war...
When the doctor calls after some routine tests...
Dr. Nick: Hi, everybody! Well ok, maybe we're still laughing when the doctor calls... but only if it's Doctor Nick.
And even then, we're probably just doing like Regina Spektor sings and "laughing with God" -- not at Him.
(Because let's face it, even God would agree that Dr. Nick is pretty freakin' funny).
"I can hear 'em sayin' / Keep on dreamin' even if it breaks your heart"
Last week, I had the opportunity to sneak on over to Washington D.C.'s famed 9:30 Club and catch a live performance by the phenomenally talented Will Hoge (picture a young Tom Petty. Yup, that's about it). I've been a fan of Will's music for a while, now -- but it wasn't until I had the chance to see him perform in front of a live audience that I actually managed to appreciate just how raw, honest, and introspective a songwriter the guy really is.
Will Hoge:A "working-man's Jason Mraz," if you will.
The centerpiece of Will's latest album? An intensely personal, uptempo track called "Even If It Breaks Your Heart," which recounts the story of a young boy growing up in Memphis, a burgeoning fascination with rock and roll music, and a crazy dream to take a shot at superstardom in spite of the staggering odds that might stand in his way.
Here, I'll let him tell you:
"Way back on the radio dial Fire got lit inside a bright eyed child Every note just wrapped around his soul From steel guitar to Memphis all the way to rock and roll"
From an early age, our songwriter seems to have developed a pretty special place in his heart for this crazy bidnizz we like to call "rock and roll." And as the song rolls onward, Hoge makes it pretty clear that once the seeds of his rock and roll dreams began to take root, there wasn't really much that could be done to shake the fact that he knew he'd just have to buck up and try this whole "musician" thing for a living.
... even if it breaks his heart.
Again, as he says:
"Some dreams stay with you forever Drag you around and lead you back to where you were Some dreams keep on gettin' better Gotta' keep believing if you wanna' know for sure"
In short (and as the chorus echoes)? "Keep on dreamin' even if it breaks your heart." Or as our favorite Sweet Transvestite might say:
Dr. Frank N' Furter:"Don't dream it, BE it."
Hoge's message is clear: dreams aren't merely passing distractions from the day-to-day grind of everyday existence. Instead, they stick with you, and they hurt for a reason -- because they challenge us to strive for the really good stuff that might just be waiting around the bend if only we're brave enough to take the shot and chase them.
(Even if it breaks our hearts).
Since we're on the subject of heartbreak and dreams, however -- betcha' didn't know that American Gothic uber-genius Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) actually devoted a whole lot of his poetry to precisely such a topic, now didja'?
Yes, *that* Edgar Allan Poe (as in "That Guy Who Wrote 'The Raven'").
It's true: his "nightmare" stories are the ones that eventually earned Poe his reputation. But when he wasn't yammering away about pits, pendulums, tell-tale hearts, and unopened casks of Amontillado -- the nineteenth century Baltimore balladeer actually spent a pretty sizable chunk of his canon musing on the simple and happy stuff that we call dreams.
Here's a sample:
A Dream In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted. Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream - that holy dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star?
Translation:
Dreams are like "lonely spirit[s]" -- they are "purely bright," but often as elusive as they are beautiful. And our inability to capture them is precisely the sort of thing that can leave a man "broken-hearted." But this isn't a reason to give up on them. For as Poe suggests, dreams can still lead us "throu[gh] storm and night" so as to draw us closer to bigger and better things in the long run.
In the end? Perhaps it's best to stick to the advice of our buddy Will Hoge:
"Fifteen there's still time for you... Time to buy and time to lose yourself within a morning star." "Carpe diem," kiddies. That's Latin for "seize the freakin' day."
Horace (65 B.C. - 8 B.C.): "Hey - I never said 'freakin'"...
(Quiet, you).
The ancient fella's advice is as sound as it is age-old: you've only got a finite amount of time on this planet. So don't just let life happen to you -- take a chance, roll the dice, and savor each new opportunity wherever it may be.
Coincidentally, that's also the theme of John Ondrasik's "100 Years," and it just so happens to be one of the most powerful and recurrent messages in the entire canon of Western literature. Heck, the metaphysical poets (John Donne and his ilk) created an entire sub genre dedicated to this motif waaaaay back in the 1500's -- and thus the literary world ended up with a boatload of "DO IT NOW!" poems, plays, and stories popping up all throughout the Elizabethan era and beyond.
Ahhhnold:"GET TO THE CHOPPA!!! DO IT NOW!!!"
(Oh come on -- you never saw Predator?)
Anyhow -- the "carpe diem" tradition continued well into the modern era. And for well over 2000 years, writers and thinkers of all walks of life simply couldn't help but implore their audiences to take hold of whatever moments the world might present them in order to live our finite lives to their fullest potential. Need a contemporary example? Why just ask the ridiculously talented (though recently deceased) Saul Bellow:
(Doesn't get much clearer than *that*, now does it?)
But let's get back to the song:
"100 Years" tells the story of a man looking intently at different flash points of his life (past, present, and future) and recounting how -- at each of these given moments -- the problems of the world seemed to be just so gosh-darned important and all-encompassing that he simply couldn't help but get lost in the thick of things. In short: life moves so fast that his brain can't quite ever seem to catch up. And since he's either looking ahead or looking back, it's a perpetual challenge to make sense of things as they happen.
At "fifteen?" The songwriter is "caught in-between ten and twenty," but dreaming his life away.
Taylor Swift:"Cuz' when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you / You're gonna' believe them..." *(True story: the chorus to Taylor's "Fifteen" sounds a whole lot like Five For Fighting's "100 Years." Crazy, huh?)
At twenty two? The balladeer is "on fire," falling in love, and wondering what the future might hold.
At thirty three? He's got "a kid on the way" and "a family on [his] mind."
At forty five? He's "heading through a crisis / chasing the years of [his] life."
And so on, and so on...
Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855):"Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forward."
On and on the cycle continues until the protagonist ends up at "ninety nine, for a moment" -- and finds himself (what else?!) DREAMING his life away all over again. Except this time? He's dreaming *backwards* -- making sense of the events that brought him to that point and "dyin' for just another moment" (or more specifically, the chance to go back and enjoy each of those moments simply in their own time and for what they were).
As he says:
"Fifteen, there's never a wish better than this... When you've only got a hundred years to live."
It's a classic paradox of human existence: young folks dream of what life will be like when they're old, and old folks reflect on the missed opportunities of their youth. In the end, we see that life is really no more than a series of moments along the way, and thus we're implored to "seize the day" as each new wrinkle arises.
In other words:
"Carpe freakin' diem."
Hmmm -- this sounds oddly reminiscent of a fellow American balladeer by the name of Robert Frost:
Robert Frost (1874 - 1963): Only had just shy of a hundred years to live.
Robert Frost is likely as beloved, influential, and ballyhooed an American poet as you're likely to find. And in the (not quite) hundred years or so of the man's long and storied career, he wrote a heckuva' lot of material about making the most of life and seizing each new day as it came along. Case in point:
"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."
Moral of the story?
Don't sweat the small stuff, and do your best to appreciate every moment simply for what it is. But as Frost writes elsewhere -- this sort of thing is much easier said than done:
"Age saw two quiet children Go loving by at twilight, He knew not whether homeward, Or outward from the village, Or (chimes were ringing) churchward, He waited, (they were strangers) Till they were out of hearing To bid them both be happy. "Be happy, happy, happy, And seize the day of pleasure." The age-long theme is Age's. 'Twas Age imposed on poems Their gather-roses burden To warn against the danger That overtaken lovers From being overflooded With happiness should have it. And yet not know they have it. But bid life seize the present? It lives less in the present Than in the future always, And less in both together Than in the past. The present Is too much for the senses, Too crowding, too confusing- Too present to imagine."
Translation: Age bids us all to "seize the present." But there's just no getting around the fact that each new moment in life sure can be an awful lot to process when we're right there going through it.
Incidentally -- the name of this poem?
"Carpe Diem," of course.
Because when it comes right down to it, there really never was a wish better than this. After all:
"Just a slob like one of us / Just a stranger on the bus... tryin' to make his way home"
In March of 1995, few people on this planet were more controversial than Kentucky-born singer/songwriter Joan Osborne. See, in addition to playing Lilith Fair and serving as an outspoken advocate for the ever-polarizing folks at Planned Parenthood, Miss Osborne had the nerve -- nay, the audacity! -- to flip the pop music world on its head with these seven little words:
"What if God was one of us?"
Needless to say, this kinda' talk was practically blasphemous to conventionally religious folks like William A. Donohue of The Catholic League (whose sole mission in life, it seems, is simply to exist for the sake of being offended whenever a mainstream entertainer dares to broach the subject of organized religion). Isn't that right, Bill?
The Catholic League's Bill Donohue: "Get behind me, Satan."
Anyhow --
Being a devout Catholic and a firm believer that Jesus was indeed fully divine AND fully human for a good thirty-some-odd years or so way back in the day, Donohue took offense to Osborne's lyrics (though in Joan's defense, the song was actually written by Eric Bazilian -- formerly of "The Hooters," and probably best known for the awesomely-melodica-heavy 1986 single, "And We Danced").
(side note: Melodicas? Freakin' amazing).
But regardless of who actually wrote the song --
Donohue got bent out of shape at Joan Osborne's idea of a radio-ready pop ballad that presented a God who was incarnate in such a flawed way that it might cause people's faith to be shaken. After all, the Almighty is essentially perfect, right? So how could He *ever* possibly be reduced to anything along the lines of a "slob like one of us" or a mere "stranger on the bus?"
Definitely a tough question. And to that end, "One Of Us" managed to provide many a soul-searching pilgrim with a beautiful mystery and one killer headache all at once.
But if Joan Osborne's God talk makes you reach for the Bible (or worse, the Aspirin), then perhaps I should go ahead and caution you outright against ever picking up The Sound and The Fury by this man:
William Faulkner (1897-1962): Nobel Prize-winning Author, genius.
Because for as frustrating as it may well indeed be, at least Joan Osborne's question ("What if God was one of us?") was simple.
But in Faulkner's master work? Not so much.
In The Sound and The Fury, readers are presented with the story of Benjamin ("Benjy") Compson -- a moaning, speechless, 33-year-old manchild with severe mental retardation. In Shakespeare's words (from which the novel's title finds its origins)? Benjy's story is little else besides "a tale... [t]old by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing."
As Joan Osborne might say: Benjy's "just a slob like one of us."
Far from being glorious or redemptive, Faulkner's protagonist becomes a total inversion of the Christ figure and thus morphs into something of an ironic commentary on the fallen state of man. Here, the author challenges his readers to ponder how the modern world might receive The Almighty were He to somehow find Himself utterly helpless to (in Osborne's words) "make his way home."
To wit: The Sound and The Fury's question is right along the same lines as "One Of Us," but Faulkner's is clearly more nuanced and complex. His "God" isn't just a slob on public transit -- he's a full-blown "idiot" on the proverbial short-bus of life.
(Guess that means the Faulkner Estate should probably be expecting the a nice deluge of hate mail from Bill Donahue in 3...2...)
"We live in drama but we'll die in a comedy" True story: turns out that The Verve Pipe (of "The Freshman" fame) actually wrote more than just one song. Bonus true story? Turns out some of those other songs are actually quite good. Crazy, right?
Double bonus true story: The Verve Pipe's lead singer (Brian Vander Ark) also just so happened to star as the singing, dancing, zombie narrator in one of my favorite direct-to-DVD schlock horror movies of all time:
Portia De Rossi (a.k.a. "Lindsay Bluth" from Arrested Development was in the film, too). You can't make this stuff up.
But getting back to the subject at hand: one of The Verve Pipe's lesser-known (but equally impressive) tracks is the song "Colorful," which hit the airwaves way back in 2001 -- some six years after they'd all but disappeared from the national eye after witnessing the chart-topping success of their Villains album and it's ubiquitous single, "The Freshman." So in a way, the band had seen all sorts of highs and lows by the time this new record dropped. You might even say that they'd played more than a few parts in the five years between their two albums.
And thus it seems kinda' fitting that we're making our inroads to this afternoon's blog entry by way of such a long winded dramatic tangent. After all (as Shakespeare says):
"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts" - As You Like It (Act II, scene vii)
This lesson seems to be well-learned by The Verve Pipe in "Colorful," a poignant retrospective wherein the balladeer recounts all of the crowds he's played in front of and waxes nostalgic as he plans to face a life away from the stage and spotlight. In a Frank Sinatra-esque "My Way" reflection, Vander Ark suggests his band's retirement is just around the bend and that their best days have come and gone. Heck, he says as much the song begins:
"The show is over close the story book There will be no encore And all the random hands that I have shook Are reaching for the door"
Kinda like a big deal, no?
What's really great about this song, however, is just how beautifully it manages to convey a broader sense of wisdom. Like Shakespeare's As You Like It, "Colorful" makes it clear that life is really little else besides a grand stage -- and every player has been given a unique and particular role to play in their relatively fleeting time upon it. In other words? You only get one life to live, and regardless of how that life goes -- when "the show is over... there will be no encore."
Or as the venerable Thomas Hobbes might say: "life in the state of nature is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."
(But this is probably why Thomas Hobbes had no friends.)
But The Verve Pipe isn't going as far as to suggest that our lives are predetermined to be so downright awful at the outset, mind you. True, they do mention the fact that we "stay for drama though [we] paid for a comedy." But by the time the song reaches its crescendo and swells into the final chorus? Vander Ark and company have backed off on such a claim, arguing instead that:
"We live in drama though we'll die in a comedy."
In layman's terms:
Some days we're "colorful." And some days we're "gray." But when everything's said and done, in spite of all the rough patches that we may encounter, it's kind of hard to look back on your life (or your band, or your career, or what have you) without some broader sense of comfort, peace, and abiding wisdom. After all -- if you've done it properly? You will probably have learned a few tricks along the way. And if you're *really* lucky? You might just end up leaving one chapter behind with something (or someone) who "will love [you] either way" for you who you've become as a direct result of your efforts.
The Verve Pipe:"'Nasty, brutish, and short'" my ear."
"Remember when I moved in you? / And the holy dove was moving too / And every breath we drew was Hallelujah"
True story: Christians aren't really supposed to say the word "Hallelujah" during the 40 days of Lent. Needless to say, I've been looking forward to writing this particular entry for quite some time. After all, Jeff Buckley's version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" is arguably one of the greatest cover songs in the history of pop music.
And as an added bonus? It's all about sex.
Do you know how hard it is to find a family-friendly image when Googling the word "sex?"
But wait a minute here -- the song's called "Hallelujah," no? So isn't it all about -- oh I dunno -- biblical stuff? Well yeah. Kinda. Except for the fact that there's a whole lotta' sex in the Bible too, ya' know.
Exibit A:
"You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you"
Biblical reference? Bathsheba (the onetime wife of Uriah) who was bathing on a roof one day and caught the eye of a young King David. And since David was the king (and kings can pretty much do whatever they darned well please), he decided to have Uriah killed so as to steal the beautiful lady for his own.
You stay classy, King David.
Crazy the lengths even a religious man will go to for some sweet, sweet biblical lovin', eh? Sometimes, it gets even kinkier. Take for example, Exhibit B:
"She tied you to her kitchen chair She broke your throne and she cut your hair"
Yowzers. That'd be the age-old story of Samson and Delilah: he of superhuman strength, and she of hair-cutting infamy. Turns out The Big Man Upstairs wasn't quite down with their whole freaky-naughty S&M nonsense. And giving it up to a biblical temptress (wink) ended up costing Samson a lot more than his luscious and flowing locks.
"Guys you know you'd better watch out / Some girls, some girls are only about..."
So once again, we see faith and sex getting awful friendly with one another, no? But let's get back to the Jeff Buckley source material. Exhibit C:
"But remember when I moved in you And the holy dove was moving too And every breath we drew was hallelujah"
Whoah there, pal -- "remember when I moved in you?" Now we're just being filthy. Clearly, the religious imagery is giving way to something a heckuvalot more (ahem) "primal," if you will -- and sex has now moved to the forefront of our balladeer's mind. In other words: Jeff Buckley's hallelujah is actually quite suggestive, when it comes right down to it.
Kinda' reminds me of...
Saint Theresa of Avila (1515-1582):Poster Girl of the "Divine 'O' Face"
Like most holy rollers, Saint Theresa (bless her heart) kinda' had a thing for Jesus. But she didn't just have "a thing" for Jesus -- I mean she had a THING for Jesus. Her particular brand of spirituality was such that she actually found herself "slain in the spirit" with visions of the Savior that bordered on the ecstatic (read: "orgasmic," though she wouldn't quite put it so bluntly).
In her own words, here's Saint Theresa of Avila's cold and broken hallelujah:
"I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it..."
Hey wait a second -- spears? Thrusting? Piercing? Moaning? (not to mention "sweetness" and "love"). Why if I didn't know better, I'd say that sounds a lot like a biblical bow-chicka-wow-wow. So for as sensual as Jeff Buckley's rendition of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" might well indeed be, it turns out he's hardly the first to compare sex to spirituality. In fact, this whole "carnal knowlege meets faith" tradition actually dates waaaaaay back into the 16th century. And that includes such luminaries as our beloved St. Theresa of Avila, and this guy: John Donne (1572-1631): Jacobean jiggolo (Well ok, not really). To put it bluntly: John Donne spent a good chunk of his life breakin' young girls hearts and getting all sorts of action (proof once again that chicks totally dig poetry). But about halfway through his sex-fueled youth, the guy found Jeebus and decided to make the jump to full-on religiousity (yeah, I can make up words, too).
And since the best frame of reference the guy had was a lifetime of skirt chasing? His "holy sonnets" actually ended up sounding a heckuvalot like good old-fashioned sex stories (kinda' like Jeff Buckley, as a matter of fact).
Here's his most famous work (for your viewing pleasure, I've bolded the pertinent-and-sexy part):
Batter My HeartBatter my heart, three-person'd God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurp'd town to'another due, Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end; Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain, But am betroth'd unto your enemy; Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me
"I'll keep doing my own thing / Walkin' tall against the rain"
Hip hop is a funny thing. At its best, the genre speaks to a rich, complex, and storied cultural identity -- and manages to soar as one of the purest forms of self-expression in all of modern music. At its worst? The integrity of the verse collapses under the weight of nothing more than an inarticulate mess thug rap and gimmicks, and hip hop ends up becoming as mass-produced and disposable a commodity as you're likely to find.
More often than not, the genre seems to strike a fine balance between these two extremes: so a decent chunk of hip hop songs are equal parts inspiring and absurd, essentially raw yet inexplicably transcendent, and simultaneously powered by social upheaval and plagued self-parody. In short, there's a lotta' stuff going on in these little ditties.
Or as good old Charles Dickens might say:
Charles Dickens: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." A Tale of Two Cities (1859)
Today, we'll give Dickens a tale of two cities of our own (well okay, more like "two boroughs") -- namely, Brooklyn and Harlem.
For starters? We're headed to Brooklyn (STAND UP!):
"Run This Town" (2009) is born of a convention that is as old as the rap game itself. At its most basic level, the song is a statement track: a chance for the Brooklyn-born artist to represent his roots, rattle off his accomplishments, and announce his presence as king of the industry -- all while offering up a throwdown for any other sucka MCs who might dare to stand in his way.
Time and again, the refrain asks the question "who's gonna' run this town tonight?" And in emphatic fashion, the ridiculously talented J-Hova and his crew steps up to the plate and says:
"We are, yeah I say that we are." But Jay-Z and company aren't just representing their 'hood -- they're forming a "Roc Nation:" a worldwide collective of like-minded soldiers who can "get [their] fatigues on" while "walkin' tall against the rain" regardless of the curveballs life might happen to throw their way. Their struggle is universal, and their battlefield extends far beyond the edge of the five boroughs. To that end, they are single-minded, battle-tested, and ready to confront whatever obstacles might lie ahead.
In other words: "they're not in Brooklyn anymore, Toto."
Kinda' like this guy:
Langston Hughes (1902-1067): Poet, activist, and voice of the Harlem Renaissance
Hova may well indeed be the Greatest Rapper Alive (just ask him), but the Brooklyn Boy from the Marcy Projects would barely be a blip on the radar were it not for the earlier efforts of game-changing poets like Langston Hughes and his Harlem Renaissance ilk.
Regardless of whether or not he actually lived in Harlem (hint: not so much), Langston Hughes certainly found a way to speak to the world in a way that summed up so many an urban American's experiences during this particular chapter of United States history.
Simply put, the guy knew what it felt like to be different.
He was black, he was poor, his critics called him a communist, and he was (in his own words) "queer" and "effeminate." But rather than caving to societal pressures and quietly fading into obscurity, Hughes stepped right up and churned out his own version of a "statement" track in the form of volume after volume of some of the greatest poetry in all of 20th century literature -- often times, using his poems as a vehicle to speak to the simple, broader human experience about just how it meant to feel and be different.
Here's my personal favorite Hughes poem of all time:
Still Here "I been scarred and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz' me Sun has baked me. Looks like between 'em, they done Tried to make me Stop laughin, stop lovin', stop livin' -- But i don't care! I'm still here!"
The message is clear: life gets hard and throws a lot of crap your way, but you soldier on in spite of the setbacks and frustration. And going back to the second chorus of "Run This Town?" This Hughes poem sounds mighty familiar:
"Life's a game but it's not fair I break the rules so I don't care I keep doin' my own thing Walkin' tall against the rain. Can't be scared when it goes down Got a problem? Tell me now. Only thing that's on my mind Is who's gonna' run this town tonight"
Exibit A: The Duck-Billed Platypus
