Sequestered In My Room

So I have this silver skull sitting on my desk in front of me. I think I've got a bunch of tacks in it (the top comes off, ye'see). Well, it's kinda silver-ish now, as the paint is all chipping off.

It is an interesting thing, looking around my space and taking in all of the crap I've bought or made. Not really crap - at the time each thing was a moment of some sort of emotional attachment. Take this skull, for example. The thing is very obviously a very shoddy piece of ultra-kitsch manufacture. The paint is in a terrible state of repair, being as I have never done so. Where did it come from? I've never had a 'Goth' stage, and I know if I had I certainly wouldn't have ever bought something as low-quality as a shitty piece of plastic from San-Diego. And yet, of all the things in this space, this one has been with me perhaps longer than any other. I even named it - Elroy the car scull.

Memories really make emotions worth while, because otherwise they really would be just the ethereal firing of the synapses in our brains. How can you describe angry without a memory to tie it to? You really can't.

Anything that helps a memory surface is a very special thing indeed. Take Elroy here. He came along for just about every adventure I had in my old 1990 Acurra Integra, and although that car been passed on to a new owner I still have Elroy to share the memories with.

what's the moral? Don't be haten' Elroy. He's old school funk.


and now some lyrics, cus' all the cool kids are doing it....


Get straight and wait here while I try to find the exit sign
When will you stop asking strangers, no one wants what we want
Keep one eye on the door, keep one eye on the bag
Never expect to be sure who you're working for

You're working for the police and the private, the pilots and the pirates
Fingerprinted waiting for the train
The doctor, the writer, the hairdresser,
Felt up and fingerprinted waiting for the train

Lord lord mother we are all losing love
Lord listen lover we are all missing mama
Lord lord mother we are all losing love
Lord listen lover we are all missing something I don't got

There's a place that ends here I know
When they close the gates I'll cry
So tired of never sleeping
The whole world wants what we're on

Didn't make this up I learned, I learned it from a friend
My friend is coming clean, she told me
Keep one eye on the bed, keep one eye on the door
Never expect to be sure who you're working for

You're working for the police and the private, the pilots and the pirates
Fingerprinted waiting for the train
The doctor, the writer, the garbage collector
Felt up and fingerprinted waiting for the train

Lord lord mother we are all losing love
Lord listen lover we are all missing mama
Lord lord mother we are all losing love
Lord listen lover we are all missing love
Got to get out
Got to get to you, the orphanage is closing in an hour

- Metric, The Police & The Private