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about
There are times when the world quiets down and we hear our own blood. You remember you're made of soft flesh, and that it's only by chance your cells decided on this form and not a VCR or a chipmunk or a mountain. Human af, smelling summer make way for fall, breathing wet asphalt and gasoline and lemon-lime soda. Your face in the tall grass, the sun on rough sand, sunsets the color of ice cream, the next day's dawn as far away from us as old age. Hi, Me might be the only love story that exists in these rough times, you could say. But you wouldn't quite say it, not out loud, anyway, because what is a love story with your own self? The light, the shadow. We bury ourselves, we dig ourselves up. What if, when we finally saw sunlight, when we reached the place where we were gasping and spitting the dirt out of our mouths, worried we'd never breathe air again - there was this sound waiting there for us, this delicate synth sucking on our earlobes. A heartbeat and a whisper of words, and you hear some of them while others escape you, and you wonder what parts of yourself might be healed if only you could catch that word, or that one. Nuance on a subatomic level.
I used to strip on Bourbon Street. A wise man (and sometimes there are very wise men) once told me that if I wanted to give more lap dances, all I had to do was guide a person very gently by the hand. Once you're at the booth, a very few will say "no thank you," and you let them walk their way back into the night. The others will all take their seat before you, wondering what comes next. We walk into the world hoping for a Meredith Adelaide, a person to take us so sweetly by the hand and usher us into a kind of experience we'd only imagined possible. Something simple that tends a complex garden. And like a season, like an element, like a wind from some lonesome place far off which asks for nothing in return, they give and give.
written by Cecilia Fairchild
lyrics
every day is further away
I’ve been stuck in my stomach
there’s a blank wall that’s calling my name
but the thrills keep coming
there’s a bed that vibrates baseline
muses reading brainwaves
in my head I’m rising
floating, empty
settle on my sideways
how am I supposed to bury the energy
when you’re with me?
how am I supposed to carry the two of me
when you’re missing?
how am I supposed to run away from it
when I’m thinking, always thinking
“how am I supposed to benefit from it?”
I’ve been missing I’ve been missing I’ve been missing
there’s a knock inside of my brain
says my mouth keeps humming
my mind swells to an invisible space
I better keep becoming
I gotta create, not imitate
sensing every word and every thought made
while we verbal-visual educate
pushing past the physical degenerate
how am I supposed to bury the energy
when you’re with me?
how am I supposed to carry the two of me
when you’re missing?
how am I supposed to run away from it
when I’m thinking
“how am I supposed to benefit from it?”
I’ve been missing, I’ve been missing, I’ve been missing
credits
released January 11, 2023
song written by meredith adelaide
co-produced by Ryan Oxford and Christian Blunda
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