Monday, August 3, 2009

When misery compliments your art and happiness murders it

I've thought about this ever since I was heartbrokenly sobbing over one of Frank Sinatra's most timeless, heartwrenching, and transcendent albums, In the Wee Small Hours. The first time I was introduced to this album, I myself felt like Frank: hopelessly, endlessly, unrequitedly, in love.

I used to spin the album for hours, crying while transfixed at the fact that someone who lived way before my little love happened seemed to have felt just like me. (or I, like him.)

in the wee small hours of the morning,
while the whole wide world is fast asleep,
you lie awake, and think about the girl
and never ever think of counting sheep...
when your lonely heart has learned its lesson
you'd be hers if only she would call,
in the wee small hours of the morning,
that's the time you miss her most, of all...

This album changed me. I can't pinpoint exactly how it did so, but it changed me. Something within me shifted during all those nights of feeling hopelessly unwanted, comforted only by the sound of Frank's voice, ruefully reminiscent; sadly cognizant of things too late; aware of the foolishness in his own love, but sans the power to do anything about it.

always get that mood indigo,
since my baby, said goodbye
in the evening, when the lights are low,
i'm so lonely i could cry...
'cause there's nobody who cares about me,
i'm just a soul, who's bluer than blue can be
when i get that mood indigo,
i could lay me down and die...

I thought of this album this evening because within these past two months, I've gone from something to nothing, with regards to relationship. Not to mention, I really messed up something that really mattered to me. (Something I said I would never do again.) But, the point of it all is that, when things were going and I had something going on, I had much less to say. In fact, I had practically nothing to say. I couldn't really write any articles about single life because technically, I wasn't single. And I certainly didn't feel the waves of cynicism that tend to abound when I'm fully single.

But, when things are messed up and fall into the cynical relationship realm that only things in my life can, I find I have so much to say... the words just kind of flow from me; the ideas and thoughts run rampant. And times like this remind me of Frank and that album.

Frank Sinatra had many other albums, and many other wonderful songs. I LOVE Frank Sinatra, I've read about Frank Sinatra, and if Frank Sinatra was still around, ancient though he would be, I'd be trying to see him and hear that voice. But there's something distinct about the Frank of In the Wee Small Hours and the Frank before that. There's something in his voice on that album that says, this is serious. It's beautifully sad. There are no other words for it.

i dim the all the lights, and i sink in my chair,
the smoke from my cigarette climbs through the air,
the walls of my room, fade away in the blue,
and i'm deep in a dream, of you...
the smoke makes a stairway for you to descend,
you come to my arms, may this bliss never end
for we'll love anew, just as we used to do,
when i'm deep in a dream, of you...

It fits with my theory that a writer's work is best complimented by sadness. Think about it... what emotion can people pinpoint better? In anger, people react differently... some people get quiet, some people yell, some people throw things... in happiness, everyone is different... some people smile a lot, some people laugh, some people walk differently... but in sadness? There's something universal about sadness that makes it so easy to pinpoint.

I received a fortune cookie my Freshman year of college, when I felt sad enough to disappear, which ironically said to me: happiness is not something you remember, it's something you experience. To an extent, I understood what the cookie was saying. For some reason, I can remember so much easier the way it felt while lying on my back in my twin bed, looking up at my green lamp spinning in slow, deliberate circles, feeling tears sliding into my ears while I listened to Frank alone on a Friday evening; I can remember that much easier than I can remember the rush of joy and butterflies to my stomach when that guy surprised me in the park with a rose... I struggle to remember the joy, but the pain I remember effortlessly.

It makes me wonder... I don't plan on being unhappy for the rest of my life for the sake of my art, but I've noticed that my work's quality and pace can sometimes suffer when my happiness grows. But when misery is afoot... make way. I might not be pleasant to be around, but you can bet you'll have something great to read.

I wonder what Frank would have to say about this...

what good is the scheming? the planning, and dreaming,
that comes with each new love affair?
the love that you cherish, so often, may perish,
and leave you with castles in air...
when you're alone, who cares for starlit skies?
when you're alone, the magic moonlight dies,
at break of dawn...
there is no sunrise, when your lover has gone...


Manda The Magnificent said...

i read this entry and it's really touching. like i had said in my recent post called ''re-post'' i had said that i love reading your entries because i feel the same way you do about a lot of things.

and i also read your post on your orlando singles site. this one:

it's so true. i felt so petty erasing my ex's number out of my phone but i was so sick of looking at it.

and a little side note, not sure if you knew this but its an interesting fact that was written about frank sinatra. someone who worked for him said that frank had to custom make his under garments because he was incredibly gifted. lol. about 11-12 inches. it's all over google.

the qoute was:"he only weights 120 pounds but 100 pounds of that is ----"
lol okay enough perversion. :)
just thought it was interesting.

Miss Malorie said...

Thank you, sincerely :) I really appreciate it!!

And yes, erasing the number out of your phone is a bit of freedom, it seems... out of sight, out of mind is kind of true... when you don't see it all the time, you don't think about it (as much).

And believe me when I say, I've read so many books on Frank... and I remember reading that about him as well. ;) Must be nice... lol!

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