KatieAtlas

What to Say by Born Ruffians

When I wake up I’m speaking slow. When I get drunk I’m speaking more. Get too drunk & I don’t speak at all. Get too close to you & I don’t know what to say. The only time I make sense is when I’m talking in my sleep. But there’s nobody around to write it down, So it gets lost on my books & pillows. The only time you made sense was when I was talking too. But we had to take turns, one at a time. & when it comes to mine I have no idea what to say. When I’m talking to you. What to say when I’m standing there talking to you.

Not long ago, I was left speechless after a night with an old friend.

I didn’t know how to react, or what to say, then. And even now, I still don’t know what to say.

I have a lot of things that I want to say, but part of me feels as if things are best left unsaid. Maybe this was just supposed to be the last straw, walk away, wait until a few months, or a few years from now, when we run into each other at the grocery store or a bar, smile awkwardly, admire each others eyes, reminisce, and walk away.

I am not sure how things are supposed to play out, and I would rather just let it be- wait until it happens. I don’t need to think about the future. I just need to think about my late night blogging, or questions on St. Augustine, or how I need to update my resume once and for all.

I like this song because I have always been able to relate to it. (And I am an outspoken, verbose, loquacious.) Even when we were closer, I didn’t know what was right to say and what was best left to silence. I write in my journal, and even though I am only talking to myself, I don’t know what I should or shouldn’t be recording. I can’t even collect my thoughts.

We met up under strange, tender conditions. I was uneasy. Much of my apprehension was out of not knowing what to say. We sat together in the car, in our old spot by the ocean, and I still did not know what to say. Even Sam Summer and music couldn’t coerce much out of me.

The pervasiveness of my speechlessness has always been an issue, whether I ever acknowledged it or not. I have no doubts about a little lack of honesty, a little lack of communication. Even as a fond letter writer, no one likes receiving half as many emails as they send.

I often feel as if I am only making sense when I am talking in my sleep, through my chaotic, twisted dreams. I’ve been told I say the most bizarre, out there things, but it doesn’t surprise me much. Often, these are thoughts I have had before. And while these contrived situations of my dreams are far from realistic, I still have been to these places before. I have thought about them in my waking hours- whether I know it or not.

Recently, my friend was in my dream. It was violent, and I woke up haunted, but unsure why. My roommates commented on me being particularly chatty that night. From some interpretive view point, perhaps this shows how uncertain, frightened, and speechless I am in the daytime. I don’t know how to confront it; I want to say something, but I cannot find the most perfect words, so instead, I remain silent.

It’s fine with me. Kind of.

(Aside from the lyrical value of this song, I am a big fan of Born Ruffians. I have featured some other stuff by them on KatieAtlas, and I think they are a talented bunch. Their music provides a unique, fresh perspective on music, life and culture.)

I think this post can be best summed up with one of my own midnight ramblings, as recorded by Rachel Socolow: “Oh fuck. Oh fuck…… OH FUCK.”