LyricMeaning

Robotussin
Milemarker

Things have changed in the past few days. Fall fell pretty heavily on me, encasing me in a cobwebby mire of low, festering anxiety. I slept all day, got up around four or five, and went to work. A week or so later, I'm walking around and I run into Dave and Roby at Harris Teeter and they talk me into drinking a couple of bottles of Robotussin with them. We chug the cough syrup in the bathroom and it makes my mouth sticky and I feel depraved. This is a pretty debased life, walking around in pouring sheets of rain, in slow motion. But North Carolina has a nice sky in it's own way, in winter, at night. (Photos and dates may be misplaced) I walk home and on the way a homeless guy approaches me and even though I tell him I don't have any change he pleads, he clutches his bible and so I reach in my pocket and produce a handful of change, all the change I scraped up from my room on Mallate street and he stares at me without speaking. It's funny, I guess. Well, I won't make the same mistake twice, I imagine. Occasionally, though, it occurs to me how stuck I am, in North Carolina. I've been here a long time. Six months. Long enough to start a band. Somewhere out there is this place in the future where I'm going to leave again. And I look to that day, I long for that day, I long for that time. I wonder what's going to become of me. I'm getting older. Smaller patterns disappear and are subsumed by bigger patterns. I imagine myself in the future and I try to think what I'll be like. I'd like to move to Europe one day, but it's a scary prospect, after a lifetime of building a continent of friendships, to throw it all away. But there is liberation, too: the liberation of being born again.
Decaffination has been giving me a headache, pounding like a hammer in the movie theatre of ghost images. I'm in New York for no reason. The usual no reason. I drove my father's car up yesterday, filled to the gills. Five kids, one car. We drove fast, it was fun. I don't know this tune, but the idea seems clear: you only grow through alienating yourself from your surroundings. So why am I here? I don't know. Since I drank that Robotussin things haven't been quite the same. It's funny that I live on a lane. Last night we had a run in with a huge rat. It's not clear what happened: somehow it died underneath the stove. Everything that could be wrong with this house is just completely wrong.
The night before I left, I went to a party. It was weird. She's nice, but not much like me. She does have a casio SK-1 in perfect condition, which I must under all circumstances keep in mind. It could come in handy later. That's the problem with being anti-materialist: you become hyper-materialist around the edges.


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