Wordsmith Wednesday: Stephen King’s IT

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Today’s Wordsmith Wednesday is from Stephen King​’s “It.”

The passage reads:

“The energy you drew on so extravagantly when you were a kid, the energy you thought would never exhaust itself—that slipped away somewhere between eighteen and twenty-four, to be replaced by something much duller, something as bogus as a coke high: purpose, maybe, or goals, or whatever rah-rah Junior Chamber of Commerce word you wanted to use. It was no big deal; it didn’t go all at once, with a bang. And maybe that’s the scary part. How you don’t stop being a kid all at once, with a big explosive bang, like one of that clown’s trick balloons with the Burma-Shave slogans on the sides. The kid in you just leaked out, like the air out of a tire. And one day you looked in the mirror and there was a grownup looking back at you. You could go on wearing bluejeans, you could keep going to Springsteen and Seger concerts, you could dye your hair, but that was a grownup’s face in the mirror just the same. It all happened while you were asleep, maybe, like a visit from the Tooth Fairy.”

Known in pop culture as a master of modern horror, King’s ability to evoke the magical, endless quality of childhood relationships and events may be his true gift. His ability to make tangible the formless, vibrant feeling of growing up naturally builds characters you invest in because you can see yourself and your life in those experiences, regardless of the setting. Children and characters with mental abnormalities often occupy a role connecting the rigid adult world and the supernatural in King’s stories precisely because they have not been boxed in by the cold comfort of dead logic, but rather view logic as just one tool in conquering fear in all its forms.

I’m currently past the backend of King’s aforementioned transition period and, thus, lie squarely in early adulthood. Reading this passage gave words to something that’s been happening in front of my mind for the last few years. I’ve felt the air leaving my wheels, in morning commutes, pointless meetings, endless deadend job applications. However, I feel fortunate in that I at least have known there’s a hole to be patched, with friends, art, learning, love. I know the kid in me will keep leaking out, slow and steady, but I’m going to keep rolling as long as I can.

– NR

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Wordsmith Wednesday: Girlpool “Before The World Was Big”

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Our words this week are from Girlpool’s eponymous “Before The World Was Big” off their 2015 album on Wichita Records.

The words are:

“My brain is like a rolling snowball, I’m a firetruck,
Trying not to think of all the ways my mind has changed
Mom and Dad, I love you,
Do I show it enough?”

Harmony Tividad and Cleo Tucker’s co-writing/co-singing approach seems to reach towards something simple/elemental/childlike in me, something indivisible. Blending bright imagery with introspection brings out that emotion that sometimes fills me in the middle of the night when I feel what it was like to hide behind my elementary school at sundown, push against the weight of all my daily responsibilities, and realize that my parents are going to die, all at the same time. This feeling can be overwhelming and comforting simultaneously because it’s undoubtedly my own to process, to project or repress. It’s a thoughtful break by the reservoir, grass on your neck and bike next to you on the bank. These are the words that go through your head just before you dose off for a nap, hidden from the world but not yourself.

– NR

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Wordsmith Wednesday: Cloud Nothings’ “Wasted Days”

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Our words this week come from Cloud Nothings’ song “Wasted Days” off their 2012 album Attack on Memory.

The lyrics are:

“I thought/
I would/
Be more/
Than this”

The simplicity and directness of Dylan Baldi’s words (and delivery) always force me to stare them in the face. Repeated with increasing intensity in the song, these words creep in and wrap themselves around your face, pushing in parts of your skull you thought were solid but still have some infantile give to them. I feel these words in the words and eyes of the people around me at work, at shows, in the grocery store. I’ve looked out my kitchen window many times in the past couple of years with these words spinning in my mind, both in my own voice and Baldi’s. Complacency has always scared me. I’m ever unsatisfied, often unable to take pleasure in any present personal crest because I’m standing in the shadow of the next summit. While I’m disappointed or depressed some days, it’s usually not of any tangible failure, but rather a nagging need to do more, to be more. This mindset may burn me out or it may keep me trudging forward in search of new fixes of fulfillment. Either way, I’m sure I have many more hours standing in front of windows with these words winding around in my head.

– NR

cloudnothings

Wordsmith Wednesday: Quarterbacks’ “Center”

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In anticipation of his forthcoming essays in Issue 4, we are proud to have our words this week provided by David Bersell.

For Wordsmith Wednesday, I’m looking at “Center,” from Quarterbacks’ self-titled album.

An excerpt:

“The night I first met you
We were dancing in the living room
And we kissed in front of everyone
I had waited two years to talk to you
I helped you move to your new house
We left handprints in the closet before we moved you out
I’m looking up at that room now
So I’m hoping that you come down

Because there’s such relief in coincidence
A universe that finally works out the way you always suspected
With yourself near the center”

After reading Amos Barshad’s fantastic profile of the band, I started listening to Quarterbacks songs before bed.

Like much of their work, “Center” describes a coming of age romance, balancing detail and brevity. It’s a story I’ve lived, have written too many times, am walking further away from the older I get—my first kiss was while slow dancing at a birthday party; I helped a girl pack and leave home every August until we weren’t kids anymore.

I listen for my favorite lines, after the narrative. “A universe that finally works out the way you’ve always suspected/with yourself near the center.” It’s a young hopeful thought that the speaker can’t resist. I hear the lyrics as a sustained note, a positive reflection of the Yeats lines Didion references in Slouching Towards Bethlehem: “Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.”

Before The Fader published Barshad’s article, Quarterbacks broke up. The band knew it would happen eventually. The bass player wanted to live with his girlfriend and play his own songs. The drummer’s anxiety made touring unbearable. The frontman was ready for a change, moved to Brooklyn, is looking for a teaching job, pays his bills delivering booze. There’s something beautiful about that, too.

– DB

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