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kleenexwomanFun quiz: Name the songs I used lines from! [Extra credit: Find the cameo appearance!]
time is just a cumular limit, which but one glimpse can overcome
Jimmy Page wrote those lyrics, didn't he? Or it may have been someone else that I'm sure was never in the Yardbirds. But when I pick up my copy of "Little Games" there's another name on there, and I can’t tell which one it is. I don’t remember who was the missing fifth member of the Beatles. I’m not even sure if Kurt Cobain is supposed to be dead.
they tell me times are changing, but I just don't know
I know there are others out there like me, who can sense a timeline change and know exactly when it occurred and what happened to change it and what the effects of that change are. They sail through each changing universe, perfectly at home in realities they entered only moments before.
I'm not as talented as they are. The changes still scare me. I can tell that something's changed but I don't know what and I go crazy trying to look for anything that's out of place. I'd give anything not to know the difference.
every scratch, every click, every heartbeat
I met one; she had red hair and there was a rat sitting on her shoulder. She told me that she could tell because of the music. "I can remember each song perfectly," she said. "Any false note in a recording is a clue." I couldn't tell if she was trying to be metaphorical or not, and I hope she was because if she wasn't I'd be too jealous of her. I couldn't live with that.
(I'm the one that knows music. I should be able to tell. Her favorite band was They Might Be Giants, for Pete's sake. I hope she finds a world where John Linnell's parents never met.)
the time of our time has come and gone
Music would be the logical place to start with time travel, wouldn’t it? You associate a song with a place, a time, an event. It takes you back. You hear “Power of Love” and you’re a teenager again, late for school and hitching a ride on the back of a truck. You hear “Mr. Sandman” and you’re walking hand in hand toward the malt shop with your sweetheart who’s now 60 years old and the malt shop has been torn down to make room for an aerobics studio.
(On the other hand, you hear “Enter Sandman” and you’re lying in the dark trying not to go to sleep because if you go to sleep you won’t know what’s changed when you wake up.)
and you may find yourself in another part of the world
When time shifts, where do I go? There must be another one of me that’s been shafted out from my rightful place. It can’t just be my memories. My body’s no help as a guide; I can never remember if I had that scar before or if my eyes were quite that color.
Hold two mirrors up to each other and you’ll see yous stretching away until they disappear from your line of sight. I imagine myself in the middle of those mirrors. Every time the world changes around me, everyone moves one to the right or one to the left. Or maybe I’m the only one of me who does this, and I flip each over once in turn.
get back to where you once belong
I don’t remember anymore where I started from. I don’t remember whether I had parents or not. I don’t remember whether I was born or not. I must have been, somewhere, otherwise I wouldn’t exist.
I have to keep telling myself that I have a past, somewhere. That I’m only out of place. But I know that all of these are the right pasts and I’m the wrong person for each of them.
I’ve missed it, somehow. I’m growing older without ever having grown in the first place. I have no origin—maybe there was nothing there in the first place.
But I’m not fading.
There’s nothing left to fade into.
Is there?
can overcome
can overcome
can overcome...
time is just a cumular limit, which but one glimpse can overcome
Jimmy Page wrote those lyrics, didn't he? Or it may have been someone else that I'm sure was never in the Yardbirds. But when I pick up my copy of "Little Games" there's another name on there, and I can’t tell which one it is. I don’t remember who was the missing fifth member of the Beatles. I’m not even sure if Kurt Cobain is supposed to be dead.
they tell me times are changing, but I just don't know
I know there are others out there like me, who can sense a timeline change and know exactly when it occurred and what happened to change it and what the effects of that change are. They sail through each changing universe, perfectly at home in realities they entered only moments before.
I'm not as talented as they are. The changes still scare me. I can tell that something's changed but I don't know what and I go crazy trying to look for anything that's out of place. I'd give anything not to know the difference.
every scratch, every click, every heartbeat
I met one; she had red hair and there was a rat sitting on her shoulder. She told me that she could tell because of the music. "I can remember each song perfectly," she said. "Any false note in a recording is a clue." I couldn't tell if she was trying to be metaphorical or not, and I hope she was because if she wasn't I'd be too jealous of her. I couldn't live with that.
(I'm the one that knows music. I should be able to tell. Her favorite band was They Might Be Giants, for Pete's sake. I hope she finds a world where John Linnell's parents never met.)
the time of our time has come and gone
Music would be the logical place to start with time travel, wouldn’t it? You associate a song with a place, a time, an event. It takes you back. You hear “Power of Love” and you’re a teenager again, late for school and hitching a ride on the back of a truck. You hear “Mr. Sandman” and you’re walking hand in hand toward the malt shop with your sweetheart who’s now 60 years old and the malt shop has been torn down to make room for an aerobics studio.
(On the other hand, you hear “Enter Sandman” and you’re lying in the dark trying not to go to sleep because if you go to sleep you won’t know what’s changed when you wake up.)
and you may find yourself in another part of the world
When time shifts, where do I go? There must be another one of me that’s been shafted out from my rightful place. It can’t just be my memories. My body’s no help as a guide; I can never remember if I had that scar before or if my eyes were quite that color.
Hold two mirrors up to each other and you’ll see yous stretching away until they disappear from your line of sight. I imagine myself in the middle of those mirrors. Every time the world changes around me, everyone moves one to the right or one to the left. Or maybe I’m the only one of me who does this, and I flip each over once in turn.
get back to where you once belong
I don’t remember anymore where I started from. I don’t remember whether I had parents or not. I don’t remember whether I was born or not. I must have been, somewhere, otherwise I wouldn’t exist.
I have to keep telling myself that I have a past, somewhere. That I’m only out of place. But I know that all of these are the right pasts and I’m the wrong person for each of them.
I’ve missed it, somehow. I’m growing older without ever having grown in the first place. I have no origin—maybe there was nothing there in the first place.
But I’m not fading.
There’s nothing left to fade into.
Is there?
can overcome
can overcome
can overcome...