I hate getting called out for stupid shit. My favorite piece of stupid shit is when they call me rebel. Problem child. Confused. Going through a phase. Finding her way. Anger issues. Uncivilized.
It’s an insult. It’s all one big damn insult. The problem isn’t me. The problem is them. They can’t solve the variable in their perfect little equation. So they try soft ways of convincing me that I’ll come around. They sit there and remind me that I’ve got a box waiting for me. That I’ll love my box. That my box is the home I’ve always wanted.
I feed the insufferable pricks some Mamaleek. Whole boxes of Mamaleek. Like “Nothing But Loss.” Here’s a heaping fucking helping of jazz drowning in black metal screams. Here’s Arabic strings boiling in psychedelic electronica. This song takes the hearts of genres and chars them. It’s parody and homage. Saluting your murdered victim. Respecting the dedication of a serial arsonist. This kind of music that happens when you lock people in a box. Your childhood home half burnt to the ground.
You can’t dismiss this stop. You just can’t. I don’t mean “shouldn’t”. I mean cannot. You might flee from it. I wouldn’t blame you. Actually that’s a lie. I would blame you. For being a coward. A sycophant. For marching along to your next designated stop. Those of you with a backbone can’t just walk away from this either. You hear what you love in this. You’re a little afraid of how it’s treated. Because this song is treating it better than you ever did.
The sad part is I can hear some of them trying to ignore this. Chalking up my opinion to the ignorance of youth. All I have to say to them now is that they can’t blame me when the boxes start tumbling and make a big fucking mess.