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lirik lagu want not – bad history month

i was barely 4 in 1989, struck blind for the first time
by television ads for ninja turtle toys
i had to make them mine
that christmas, my mom taught me a very important lesson
totally by accident
while trying to alleviate my crazed obsession
she was desperate, taking buses out to harlem just to comb
through the toy stores out there
they were all sold out closer to home
and as luck would have it, some poorer kid wound up deprived
she bought the last one in the store
salvation had arrived
…
i woke up before the sun, and lay in bed antic*p*ting
too innocent to know that the pleasure of consumption
is in the waiting…
so when i tore of the wrapping
and finally held it in my hands
i felt bereft and destitute
and i couldn’t understand
tears of shame, for my ingratitude
plus the rube’s humiliation
at having bought the seller’s ruse
proved a potent combination
which nourished a fresh suspicion
of a bankrupt cartoon culture
and my own inherent greed
and its empty, rapacious longing
for some sh*t i didn’t need
proprietary love is l*st, and l*st is pain
it doesn’t really matter what you’re trying to find
when want gets warped and starts to stifle
and it curdles into need
the fulfillment is unkind
…
so i spent my childhood trying not to want to much
feeling guilty if i got it, but still enjoying the warm rush
every school year, buying new clothes, or a skateboard
or some coveted new shoes
but eventually i learned that i preferred the worn out clothes
with less to lose
one day, playing in the mud, 10 years old, feeling inhibited by pain
that i felt for the nice clean outfit i’d so foolishly worn out in the rain
while my friend wore his black sweatpants every single day
and didn’t have to care
that’s the way i wanted life to be
and the same went for my hair…
morning after morning in the mirror with the comb
self*consciously flailing
until one day i left it alone,i was fed up with failing
it looked better unattended to, so that’s the way i left it
and i applied the same principle to clothing and shoes
and this freedom manifested
as a reversal of the way i used to feel about possessions
i enjoyed watching my shoe soles wearing down
i had found a fresh obsession
i got a material thrill
watching time make its impressions
as it kept passing by
and it kept passing by
…
and on a dark and stormy school night
14 years old, stoned and alone, in bed scratching my head
i felt a bump at the top of my scalp
i thought it was a pimple so i picked it ’til it bled
and in the bathroom mirror, sifting through my hair
i was shocked to discover the plasma*weeping stump of a mole
that i never knew was there
i was shaken and deeply disturbed by the sensation
of not knowing my own body
too young and too stoned
i was scared
but then i fell asleep and i forgot it
and i thought that it forgot me
for about eleven years
…
when i left home, i applied myself
to living just below my means
going hungry in the afternoons
ending days alone with rice and beans
i knew that money = freedom
and so i didn’t want to spend it
i felt ashamed to have a safety net
i’d never want to ask my dad to lend it
i’d spent my angry, failing teenage years being told
i’d never make it
unless i managed to shape up and repent
but all it took was a part*time job, and the luck of finding
cheap rent
pretending to be poor at the grocery store
saving up for nothing but peace of mind
i kept the receipts from deposited checks
as totems of proof that my freedom was mine…
but that was all a bunch of bullsh*t
and i was just a little hypocrite
denying change to the homeless guy
for the sake of preserving my unearned and underserved pride
…
but one thing i learned from my years of self*enforced frugality
is that the less you’re forced to work to earn your keep
the less the world of wants can warp your reality
because the less you spend your money
the less you think you need it
and the less things that you want
the less you wind up feeling cheated
…
time passed…
and eventually i aged into a looser state of mind
which allowed for generosity, and favors done in kind
…
time passed…new fears
and suddenly i found myself aware
of the scarce resource of years
…
tree rings of fat, twenty pounds every several years
and the waves of hair, crashing higher and higher
revealing the stone that that stoned kid feared
oh dear
time is near
it’s here
…
having spent my life
trying hard to learn the lesson
to not want anything i can’t have and don’t need
now
how do i apply this knowledge
to my own aging body?
i stare into the mirror and repeat:
anything i can’t have i don’t need
anything i can’t have i don’t need
anything i can’t have…
i don’t want what you’re selling me
i am exactly what i’m supposed to be
nothing more, or less
than this one breath
exhaling now

- bad history month

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