Gotta Try and Shake Off This Creeping Malaise

I’m continuing to feel apathetically lackluster. There’s certainly a number of factors at play including weather, workload, yadda yadda yadda, but for some reason I’m just not excited about anything. A good friend wrote and asked if all was good, and I replied that all is ‘there’; not good, not bad, just ‘there’. I’m hoping for some down time on my TNL tomorrow to just immerse myself into some writing in progress and a good cup of coffee.

Meanwhile, the line “Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise” from the Pink Floyd song titled “Dogs” has been echoing in my head over the past week, so I’m going to post the lyrics here with the hope that doing so helps ‘exercise’ the senstations.

BTW, These are incredible lyrics. This is why the first CD I ever purchased was “Animals”. They’re brilliant and capture a vivid sense of competitive isolation, obligation, and complacency. And no…. don’t feel compelled to associate these too literally to my own state of mind, and don’t call the suicide prevention hotline either. I’m fine. :-)

You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you’re on the street
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.

And after a while, you can work on points for style
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake
A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you
You’ll get the chance to put the knife in.

You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder
You know it’s going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older
And in the end you’ll pack up, fly down south
Hide your head in the sand
Just another sad old man
All alone and dying of cancer.

And when you loose control, you’ll reap the harvest that you’ve sown
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone
And it’s too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around
So have a good drown, as you go down, alone
Dragged down by the stone.

I gotta admit that I’m a little bit confused
Sometimes it seems to me as if I’m just being used
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise
If I don’t stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?

Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone’s expendable and no-one has a real friend
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everythings done under the sun
And you believe at heart, everyone’s a killer.

Who was born in a house full of pain
Who was trained not to spit in the fan
Who was told what to do by the man
Who was broken by trained personnel
Who was fitted with collar and chain
Who was given a pat on the back
Who was breaking away from the pack
Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone,


Written by gsm

02/07/2007 at 10:57 am

Posted in  Journal 

One Response

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  1. Dude,

    I don’t know if you even read comments posted to old entries of yours, but for what it’s worth, (I think) I know exactly what you mean. It’s hard to get enthused about doing stuff, when you don’t find anything really worth doing at all.

    And re:Animals. You’re absolutely right. It is a brilliant, inspired album. Pink Floyd is famous for their more “pop” stuff (if you can call The Wall “pop”), but their place in history is assured by these more unknown albums. I mean, those guys wrote actual poetry, not only in words but also in sounds. In guitar solos. In synthesizer ambience. In such awesome poetry as the one you quoted.

    And I stumbled upon this site because I am, too, trying to find a way to shake off this creeping malaise.


    02/21/2007 at 11:37 am

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