Two Minutes Hate

Hateful songs are some of my favorite. "Idiot Wind" by Bob Dylan is one of the meanest, most disrespectful pieces I've ever heard--and it was all inspired by a girl.

The "Two Minutes Hate"--as relating to Orwell's 1984 is a period where every person shouts at a flashing screen of images. The images are the focus of an entire country's hatred. Everything is redirected towards a single entity--and the subject must accept that hatred whether it is legitimately earned or not. In this case--it really wasn't.

I've written two hate songs in the past two days. I don't feel all of the emotions that I put into them--but it sure as fuck helps flush out my system. It also feels weird that the words come so easily.

With a Little Help From My Friends

I have this strange feeling sometimes. Like I'm supposed to write a specific song. Usually, the song produces itself through normal methods--such as brainstorming or just flat-out inspiration. But, for the longest time, I've felt like there was a song in me that I could never get to come out.

In fourth grade, I had a close friend named Bobby Fisher. He was an unbelievable kid. He drew and painted like no one I'd ever seen. Granted--we were only nine years old, but I looked up to him as a best friend and confidant. We were practically polar opposites when it came to art. He could visualize and then create anything he wanted--and I was always the aural counterpart. We had a lot of great memories; my mom and his were even friends in college.

On a cold day in April, Bobby didn't come to school. At recess, we saw smoke rising from his neighborhood. At our baseball game that night, he wasn't there.

I returned home after a night of fun to a news report. An emotionless news anchor delivered the words like a stone--sinking deep into my heart.

Robert Fisher, Bobby's father, had waited until his family had fallen asleep. He then collected his hunting knife, lighter fluid, and camping supplies. He piled the supplies into his truck, lit the house on fire and then drove away--but not before waking each member of the household just long enough to slit their throats.

Bobby was awake when his own father killed him.

After reading a friend's entry on losing someone close, I felt that she and I had a lot of the same common feelings. So, I have to give her credit for this song. It doesn't have a title yet--she hasn't gotten back to me--but I'd like to think of this as Bobby's song.

Untitled

As the train rattled past the quiet house
Muffled by a heavy sigh
I read the letters that he wrote that night
Signed his name one last time

The walk by the River, the mass that night
Moon reflecting in his eyes
Watched my brother break down
Slipping back through endless life

[Chorus]
He would have been the one to end it all
Caught me right before the fall
We all knew where he was going
Just didn't know where he had gone

Clouds in your heart drew words of love
Silence choked the air
Rolling boulders to the top of Hell
Just to have them roll back down

[Chorus]

[Bridge]
Didn't deserve it, didn't even know
Still has the music buried in the snow
Didn't deserve it, didn't even know
Buried that music deep in my soul

We haven't seen or heard from him
Since he traveled on
Watched the smoke rise up again
Write another sad song and move on
Write another sad song and move on

[Chorus]
He would have been the one to end it all
Caught me right before the fall
We all knew where he was going
Just didn't know where he had gone

© Casey Reed, 2009

A big thank you to Lauren for finally dragging this song out of me.