Take time with a wounded hand 'Cause it likes to heal

just over the weekend, i heard about death of one of my favorite singers, scott weiland.

his raw voice paired with the bands (stone temple pilots and velvet revolver) were a big part of my auralscape as a teenager.

or perhaps it was his continuous fight with his own demons- depression and substance abuse that made it even more real- a typical, therefore real, falling angel. angel with the wicked voice and the weird intoxicating mixture of glam and destruction.

during first couple years of my immigrant life, there were moments i felt lost, isolated and worthless. i do not think i had particularly strange teenage years. i dont think anyone had it easy. but perhaps it's the combination of his voice in the music and the strange collection of words in his songs that i built my symbiosis- with my north american life, with growing up, with english language.

back in korea, being an elementary school kid, i was not allowed to listen or watch pop music program. i didnt really care. in canada, in high school with very little friends, with no parents to guard the media exposure, i watched much music videos, hours after hours, doing my late night homework. all these bands spoke in tongues. they spoke of different world, through english. the destruction of strict definitions and grammatical grids, building of new imageries- so real that the reality seemed pale.

stone temple pilots, radiohead, alice in chains, nine inch nails, nirvana, pearl jam, blur, rem, red hot chili peppers, weezer, tool, portishead, beck, smashing pumpkins, the cure, depeche mode.

i built my vocabularies based on their words. of love. of fear. of rejection. of challenge. of dispassion. of death. of loss.

i ate their words, hungrily, greedily. the grating guitar, the torn grunge jacket, i chose, along with most sublime schubertian melodies, to be the songs for my days. the days i banged my head on the wall, i dreamed of my favourite singers, doing the same, leaving stains of life on that white wall.

and now, i am calmer, older. i sit with my arms on the desk, with fading scars, and think of my days that were filled with scott weiland's voice.

you spoke the words of my world that i could not conjure. you crooned and looked into the world through your metallic eye make up, knowing that there were many who also saw the world through distortion.  your voice helped me to console my own grief, night after night. as i built myself strong on these words, to grow through the words and music, to be able to stand and look into the mirror, not being afraid to speak, not any more. i so wish you are also still here, scott, to continue to speak in tongues, to live, and even with the faults of life, to live joyously-

And I feel that time's a wasted go
So where ya going to tommorrow?
And I see that these are lies to come
Would you even care?

what a loss. there'll be a small glittered empty void in my heart. you were too young to die, weiland.  you were too loved to die, weiland.  your fans. your friends. your family. your children.  only if you could have saved yourself, as you saved many from falling further.


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