Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
Then I started thinking maybe we actually represent something to people, maybe when they hear the name "Foo Fighters" they just think rock’n’roll, and I thought, "Wow, that’s cool." Then over the years playing shows I’d look out at the audience and see kids with Nirvana shirts and their parents with Foo Fighters shirts — which seems upside down — and I’d see moustaches and kids at their first rock concert. Our audience became so diverse I thought, "Man, they just want to see a rock show." Go see Bruce Springsteen. Go see Tom Petty, AC/DC, Roger Waters, any of these people. Go see Pearl Jam or Soundgarden. I went to see Soundgarden four or five months ago; I didn’t stand in the VIP section, I ran down and got crushed in front of the stage and danced around sweaty with a bunch of people I didn’t know for an hour and 45 minutes.
For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.
If you want to write, read a lot, then write a lot. Write all the time… and never, ever worry if you’re bad. I’m bad every day. My first drafts are some rough road. You just have to not be afraid of sucking.
We are a generation told not to try too hard. The world is going to shit, so why break a sweat? We are reminded daily not to trust our gut or follow our hearts, your dreams are unattainable and unrealistic…Fear is the eternal enemy. If they can keep you scared, they can keep you controlled. We too came face to face with this saboteur, and found the strength to break through and carry on. We are here as a reminder that the world is not better off without you… these are dangerous days we live in and you, the artists, are our last defense. Art is the Weapon. Your Imagination is the Ammunition. Stay Dirty, and Stay Dangerous. Create and Destroy as you see fit. Embrace your Originality. The Aftermath is Secondary. You can and should do Anything…Love what you do and who you truly are. Be willing to die for it. If you are true to yourself, you can never go wrong. And remember when life gives you lemons, MCR says start a fucking band.
This is the song that says it all – you need to strap that person down and say, “Sit still. Stop struggling, you won’t get free. Listen. This is what I need to say to you. But I’m not articulate enough, brilliant enough, or brave enough.” Bravery is what it comes down to. Songs that can touch raw emotion are also a remarkable display of vulnerability; the writer puts his or her innermost thoughts out for the world to listen to. It must be incredibly scary to commit your memories to the recording studio, but also freeing. And, if you do it well, satisfying.
Anyone who understands how standing in a crowd of sweaty people, elbow to elbow, screaming along to the words embedded in your heart, can give you the most happiness ever needed. When you’re shoved against a sea of bodies and you don’t know what sweat actually belongs to you or your neighbour, you can barely breathe and in that moment, your favourite song starts playing and you forget about everything: all you’re concerned with is the melody, rhythm, and beat of the song. All you care about is singing your heart out and knowing it’s okay to love something maybe a little too much as long as it’s real to you.
There’s so many different ways to be connected to people. There are the people you feel this unspoken connection to even though there’s not even a word for it. There’s the people who you’ve known forever, who know you in this way that other people can’t, because they’ve seen you change… they’ve let you change.
Creativity is a surprisingly fragile thing. It comes from deep inside, and external concerns (most especially, “What will people think?”) seem to scare it away.