The Ultimate Asperger's Song
Hey guys, I don't post on here very much or even know if this is the appropriate forum, but I love a lot of different kinds of music and have been getting into The Killers a lot more recently.
Anyways, while I doubt this is what the frontman (Brandon Flowers, who is absolutely brilliant) intended when he wrote it, but 'Spaceman' is like the Asperger's Syndrome life theme song, at least for me. So much profound allegory about the thought process behind suicide (from my bipolar side of trying to deal with neurotypical people) and, moreover, disillusionment with the world, but in a way that tries to reach out to the disaffected. The best part of the lyrical structure is that it's spoken from the point of view of someone who doesn't think he belongs in this world and then is abducted by "aliens", per se.
I know Brandon's Mormon but I really wonder if he has Asperger's. A lot of brilliant people do.[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmh_guIlovk[/youtube]
"Spaceman"
by The Killers
Oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
It started with a low light
Next thing I knew, they ripped me from my bed
And then they took my blood type
It left a strange impression in my head
You know that I was hoping
That I could leave this star-crossed world behind
But when they cut me open
I guess I changed my mind
And you know I might have just flown too far
from the floor this time, 'cause they're calling me by my name
And they're zipping white light beams
Disregarding bombs and satellites
And that was the turning point
That was one lonely night
The star maker says it ain't so bad
The dream maker's gonna make you mad
The spaceman says "everybody look down
it's all in your mind
But now I'm back at home and
I'm looking forward to this life I live
You know it's gonna haunt me
So hesitation to this life I give
You think you might cross over
You're caught between the devil and the deep blue sea
You better look it over
Before you make that leap
And you know I'm fine
But I hear those voices at night sometimes
And they justify my claim
And the public don't dwell on my transmission
'Cause it wasn't televised
But it was a turning point, oh what a lonely night
The star maker says it ain't so bad
The dream maker's gonna make you mad
The spaceman says everybody look down
it's all in your mind
My global position systems are vocally addressed
They say the Nile used to run from east to west
They say the Nile used to run
From east to west
I'm fine, but I hear those voices at night sometimes
The star maker says it ain't so bad
The dream maker's gonna make you mad
The spaceman says, "Everybody look down!
It's all in your mind."
It's all in your mind
It's all in my mind
Oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Anyways, just wanted to see what yall thought. It's the most closely similar song, artistically, to what I've read of an Asperger's-like experience, but I'd be happy to see others.
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I don't know mush in the ways of choosing the right song that completely illustrates AS, but I will nominate two songs (please look up the lyrics):
21st Century Schizoid Man, by King Crimson - for the reason that the lyrics are confusing to most NTs and that this form of lyrical expression and level of brilliance (lyrically and musically) I feel are most common among aspies (then again, I'm probably using up too much electricity putting up this cantankerous garbage to support my claim).
The second one I really feel is quite pertinent to aspies and the feelings, thoughts, and emotions associated with them is Cars, by Gary Numan (fellow aspie). This needs no explanation or support. There mere lyrics explain it all.
Excellent excellent song. I don't see the aspie in it, but it's brilliant.
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Sleepless gliding
MONKEY
Veteran
Joined: 3 Jan 2009
Age: 31
Gender: Female
Posts: 9,896
Location: Stoke, England (sometimes :P)
Smiths - How soon is now, that really illustrates my life
Lyrics:
I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
There's a club if you'd like to go you
Could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own and
You leave on your own and you go home,
And you cry and you want to die.
When you say it's gonna happen "now",
When exactly do you mean? see I've already
Waited too long and all my hope is gone
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
_________________
What film do atheists watch on Christmas?
Coincidence on 34th street.
SpongeBobRocksMao
Veteran
Joined: 18 Oct 2008
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Posts: 2,774
Location: SpongeBob's Pineapple (England really!)
Tori Amos has always captured my experience, but lately, Imogen Heap does too.
_________________
I am a very strange female.
http://www.youtube.com/user/whitetigerdream
Don't take life so seriously. It isn't permanent!
Lyrics:
I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
There's a club if you'd like to go you
Could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own and
You leave on your own and you go home,
And you cry and you want to die.
When you say it's gonna happen "now",
When exactly do you mean? see I've already
Waited too long and all my hope is gone
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
I love this song as well; sing it to myself quite frequently and karaoke'd it a few weeks ago. Morrissey should be the official Asperger's songwriter, as he is the best all-time anyway: "I know it's over/And it never really began/But in my heart it was so real."
If anyone likes Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, they also have a similarly great track about feeling isolated called "Am I Only".
One of the main reasons I put "Spaceman" as an Asperger's track is because many people with it tend to self-perceive themselves as aliens on a "wrong planet", so I thought there would be some immediate relevance there with others on that. Plus the line, The public don't dwell on my transmission because it wasn't televised., could kind of illustrate how Asperger's is a disadvantage that no one gives you any credit for dealing with. A lot of artful allegories there.
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OK, I'll bite: That seems like a snobby, Pitchfork Media-esque thing to say, but I'm especially vulnerable to that criticism as I think Oasis is the greatest band in existence along with Kings of Leon.
What about their music do you find contrived?
_________________
MONKEY
Veteran
Joined: 3 Jan 2009
Age: 31
Gender: Female
Posts: 9,896
Location: Stoke, England (sometimes :P)
Wow...that Henry Rollins' poem is really fantastic and definitely hits the core. It's not quite a song, but a little surprising I've never seen it before because I've always adored his spoken-word comedy. He truly is one of my heroes, if for no other reason than he's one of the few "beautiful people" who seems overly empathetic and seems to just "get it". I love hearing him on Stern's show from time to time.
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[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PEuF4lIz2I[/youtube]
You got Asperger's, this ain't a barbecue.
It's your whole afternoon though, lost down a rabbit hole,
looking for a timepiece, wonder when your date's at,
wonder if she'll visit you at all today — relax.
Wonder how many ribbons to expect in her hair —
to deflect talk of triplets in respect for the pair
or to stare at the bow made of four different colors —
didn't notice someone talking to you: there were others
in the room, out in the gloom of the periphery.
To shift your focus for a moment is to give the ribbons liberty,
and that's to suggest they make escape.
This is a secret from the future: can't rewind like a tape.
Got to make the best and the most of each moment as it happens,
got to keep your eyes on those bows, got to trap in
your vision all four of them 'cause this is a first:
she might have noticed last time that you like ribbons that are hers.
And sometimes you wish you didn't. Sometimes it slips your mind.
But when she's supposed to visit isn't one of those times,
and you're on one of those lines of thought that you encounter
when you'd rather your surroundings were quieter instead of louder
so that you could focus on other than a clock tick.
You don't want to talk s**t but the one who made the clock made the cog stick.
Minutes are violent noise,
obliterating what you thought of as silent poise .
Miles of boys before you done got crushed
out on a girl like that, her hair flush
with ribbons on all occasions and every day.
If only making study of the bow could stem its getaway.
Letter A S P E R G E R S:
wonder whether she's so confident with alphabets
that she'd do it backwards skipping alternate letters.
If you offer demonstration, would she consider that clever?
This bitter endeavor: trying to predict a reaction.
You know you're supposed to try to give the notion traction
but it don't do nothing 'cept make the clock tick.
It don't even do that. Yo, you got Asperger's, kid.
And I feel for you, son. I know love is hard.
Can't even write down all the answers on the back of a card.
From the back and the far end of a cafeteria line
you seem to catch sight of a ribbon. Fabric shines,
and you abandon your tray, leave it clatter on the floor.
You haven't planned it this way. You can't look at her no more.
You don't know what her eyes are like, whether she ever smiles,
whether anything other than how she wears her hair beguiles.
And while some apron ladies holler at you,
you clutch your left ear and stand still like a statue.
You could count cut corn on the floor without subtracting
misplaced fish sticks like Dustin Hoffman overacting.
Ain't this already a scene in need of a fast forward?
Why won't the lunch people hush, do they court discord?
You think you see a flash of color fleeing; it could be worse:
you could have known how many ribbons there are, if they were hers.
You got Asperger's, this ain't a barbecue.
It's your whole afternoon though, lost down a rabbit hole,
looking for a timepiece, wonder when your date's at,
wonder if she'll visit you at all today — relax.
Wonder how many ribbons to expect in her hair —
to deflect talk of triplets in respect for the pair
or to stare at the bow made of four different colors —
didn't notice someone talking to you: there were others
in the room, out in the gloom of the periphery.
To shift your focus for a moment is to give the ribbons liberty,
and that's to suggest they make escape.
This is a secret from the future: can't rewind like a tape.
Got to make the best and the most of each moment as it happens,
got to keep your eyes on those bows, got to trap in
your vision all four of them 'cause this is a first:
she might have noticed last time that you like ribbons that are hers.
And sometimes you wish you didn't. Sometimes it slips your mind.
But when she's supposed to visit isn't one of those times,
and you're on one of those lines of thought that you encounter
when you'd rather your surroundings were quieter instead of louder
so that you could focus on other than a clock tick.
You don't want to talk sh** but the one who made the clock made the cog stick.
Minutes are violent noise,
obliterating what you thought of as silent poise .
Miles of boys before you done got crushed
out on a girl like that, her hair flush
with ribbons on all occasions and every day.
If only making study of the bow could stem its getaway.
Letter A S P E R G E R S:
wonder whether she's so confident with alphabets
that she'd do it backwards skipping alternate letters.
If you offer demonstration, would she consider that clever?
This bitter endeavor: trying to predict a reaction.
You know you're supposed to try to give the notion traction
but it don't do nothing 'cept make the clock tick.
It don't even do that. Yo, you got Asperger's, kid.
And I feel for you, son. I know love is hard.
Can't even write down all the answers on the back of a card.
From the back and the far end of a cafeteria line
you seem to catch sight of a ribbon. Fabric shines,
and you abandon your tray, leave it clatter on the floor.
You haven't planned it this way. You can't look at her no more.
You don't know what her eyes are like, whether she ever smiles,
whether anything other than how she wears her hair beguiles.
And while some apron ladies holler at you,
you clutch your left ear and stand still like a statue.
You could count cut corn on the floor without subtracting
misplaced fish sticks like Dustin Hoffman overacting.
Ain't this already a scene in need of a fast forward?
Why won't the lunch people hush, do they court discord?
You think you see a flash of color fleeing; it could be worse:
you could have known how many ribbons there are, if they were hers.
I was just about to post this!
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