TheHellmouths
What Did I Know About Love
This is a far less disturbing song than the circumstances that inspired it, though it is quite serious in it’s caution to men who choose to harass or abuse women. I believe women have the right to use deadly force against such men, and in some places, they are protected in that right by the law, not only in cases of self-defense, but in cases in which the abuser is not actually assaulting the woman at the time in which such “force” is used, as in the “diminished capacity” defence used to exonerate the woman who set fire to her husband while he was sleeping in the “Burning Bed” case made famous by Farrah Fawcett’s portrayal in the television movie that aired about twenty years ago for which the actress won an Emmy award. While it may be pointed out that the woman in the song uses a contract killer to solve her problem, men who choose to harass and abuse women should not be comforted by such a distinction with respect to the law, as the day may come in which a case comes to light in which such recourse is deemed reasonable. Ironically, this would be a case where the law would have already failed, for example where an abuser is serially violating restraining orders, which happens all the time. While it may be stretching it to allow that the law would permit hiring a contract killer to remedy the situation, it is not unlikely that an acquaintance of the woman be enlisted to confront the stalker, and that events be forced from that point to produce a desired result.
But this is all quite easy for me to say. From the time I was 14 to the time I succumbed to schizophrenia at the age of 21, I was obsessed with one girl throughout high school, and I caused a great deal of suffering for her and her family. While I was never violent, and far too cowardly to be even remotely assertive romantically to make it with any girl let alone the one I was supposedly in love with, I definitely took advantage of her good nature and the indulgence of her family to make assumptions about a future we might have had together despite her repeated assurances to the contrary. And wasn’t that essentially problem? Isn’t it always? For a long time I regarded myself as a pure victim of schizophrenia, and, for that matter, my father’s alcoholism, schoolyard bullying, society in general, my own self-presumed sexual inadequacy, even my individuality, the choices I had made, and my own conscience, however poor it was. By this rationale, I had unwittingly argued myself back into accountability. It was only recently that I realized that while I may have been afflicted by something outside myself, albeit technically within, I was in fact the creator of my own circumstances, as would seem perversely appropriate. In point of fact, I think my conscience worked fine, though I have nothing by which to conclude this aside from the fact that it still works now. In fact, I had a very strong social conscience, which may only be a developmental precursor — as opposed to a symptom of — a personal conscience; a child’s notion of fairness and justice that impedes one’s development for as long as it is espoused. The same can be said of my notions of romance at that time, a presumption of nobility, and thus, alarmingly, entitlement. There is, however, a special challenge to the mentally ill if they are ever to emerge from that twilight of recovery when the symptoms of the illness have seceded and they are faced with the challenge of reintegration back into society that may be hampered by the fact that while they are medically treated, they still have yet to grow as a person — particularly in light of typical onset of most of these severe conditions at such a crucial time in their lives. This is the idea behind Twelve Step programs, which proceeds from the principle that unless the behaviour that give rise to addiction are acknowledged by the addict, the addiction will always be at risk of reasserting itself. For this reason among others equally valid, non-addicts are not allowed into meetings, as it would seem obvious to the rest of us that the consequences of addiction be impressed on the addict rather than the causes. Addicts and the mentally ill are left with the challenge of distinguishing themselves from the illness, which is challenging when they find that there are aspects of themselves that are undesirable but related to the illness, and therefore have to be acknowledged as personal if any growth is to be achieved. Once that is done, we are left merely with the problem of distinguishing ourselves from the rest of humanity, as well as the problem of what actually constitutes humanity. Just like everybody else.
I can detect in myself as I reflect on these issues less the desire for vindication that inspired such thinking, and more a desire for atonement that in turn vindicates the reflection. And I say atonement, rather than forgiveness. Forgiveness is for priests and parole boards. For one who has obsessive tendencies in regards to women, the need for forgiveness is nothing more than another intrusion on a woman’s life, and there is no high court of final appeal in relation to a woman’s heart.
This is the song that opens our full length CD, and from it’s inception to it’s final arrangement, it took the longest of all of them to come into being. At first I wanted to write an epic along the lines of Dylan’s “Tangled Up In Blue”, which was one of the songs Garrry used to play in our busking days. There are probably few musicians who wouldn’t want to write a song like that. It was originally to be darkly humourous, about a guy who, no matter where he goes and how strange the situation he finds himself in — to the degree of increasingly perverse Freudianism — is always reminded of that woman. I may still write that song. When I finally sat down to write it, the twist ending came to me in a blast of inspiration so dramatic that I would spend the next couple years bugging Garrry to do something with this song. I reluctantly let it sit in deference to Garrry’s unhurried ways, periodically taking it out, cleaning it up, and bugging him again. After about two years, roughly, he finally set it to music. Not much to say about it beyond that. It was easy to record, compared to “Since When” (as was everything), and it was the opening song of our CD release party at the Jimmy Jazz.
Yours,
K