Home is where I want to be, pick me up and turn me ’round. I feel numb, born with a weak heart, I guess I must be having fun.
The less we say about it the better, make it up as we go along. Head on the ground, feet in the sky; it’s okay, I know nothing’s wrong.
I’ve got plenty of time. There’s light in your eyes. And you’re standing there beside me, I love the passing of time.
Home is where I want to be, but I guess I’m already there. I come home, she lifted up her wings; I guess that this must be the place.
If someone asks, this is where I’ll be.
Last semester I was obsessed with the song Home by LCD Soundsystem. Partly because it repeats the phrase “take me home,” which was very relatable at the time (and sometimes still is) and there is a built-in wake up call at the end.
If you’re afraid of what you need, if you’re afraid of what you need. Look around you. You’re surrounded. It won’t get any better.
While reading the Wikipedia page for the song one night, I discovered that the song This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) by Talking Heads was the inspiration for some of the lines in the song. Fittingly, this song has defined this semester. I added it to my fall playlist September 24th and rediscovered the pretty Kishi Bashi version over the weekend.
It may seem like I have an obsession with my home, but I’m really fascinated by the idea of place. It’s the focus of one of my final papers and the focus of my daily thoughts most of the time. I think about place when I dress for the weather or an aesthetic or where I am going to end up being in those clothes. I think about place when I buy a pack of gum after I eat soup for dinner, alone, and decide where I want to post up at the library. I think about place in obvious ways too, like on highways and trains. I guess that’s why I like public transportation; you don’t have a place, just an origin and destination.
It’s so weird that we all have two or more homes at this age in life. I come home and find out new things about everyone, things that happen at their homes I have not lived through. Michael will tell me about Boston, Riley about Philadelphia, Marcus about Long Island. We all used to have variations of the same life; even all my friends at UConn lead vastly different narratives, with differing majors, clubs, sororities, dorms.
And if you think about it, at college we definitely do live variations of the same lives, but just miles apart from each other. Or maybe even feet apart, if you choose your own path. Yes, everyone studies and has tests and sleeps on a mattress topper, but the rest is really all up to luck and decision, both equally I would say.
I adore the line “I love the passing of time.” No one ever says that. If anything, people wish that experiences would never end. But we don’t talk about the sweetness in the passing of time. Yes, I love all my classes and professors right now, the crispness in the air is refreshing, I absolutely love the holidays, but as the time passes, soon I will be in an apartment, and the guy I have feelings for will break up with his girlfriend, it will be summer again, etc. The passing of time is the greatest gift we have. There is certainty in the fact that nothing is certain.