Fisheye
Song of the Day 09/06/2023
Attempting to write my way out of a depression, 0 points. Attempting, in vain, to write my way out of a depression, 0 points. Attempting, in vain, to write my way out of a depression, in public, 0 points.
There’s a meditation I’ve been listening to. For pretty much twenty minutes, I sit cross-legged on a mat, eyes closed, no back support, and, following the static coming from my iPhone, repeat in my head over and over: I am not my body… I am not even my mind… I am not my body… I am not even my mind… ad infinitum. Fuck am I, then? Some chants in Sanskrit do follow, though I’ve so far just chosen to listen and not participate.
There’s a delicate relationship between writer and reader. I’m supposed to do my thing, let out what needs to be let out, whether in life-writing or fiction. But I’m simultaneously conscious of how my readers, who in these short intervals are my mind’s guests, will take it. Not to say I think of any one reader in particular, at least I try not to. I also try my best not to, as they say, self-censor. More just, is this crap legible? It’s troubling to write in a depression, to publicly write oneself out of a depression, as I can’t necessarily trust whether or not I’m able to answer that last question. Even further this means I’m being unfaithful, unfaithful to the visitors of the space between my conscious and unconscious that I attempt to put on paper, or on screen.
Well hi, how are you? Welcome to today’s show. It’s nice to have you here, if only I could offer a bit more.
There is, actually, something to offer, as is the raison d’être of this little program: a good song. No, a great song. And even better, by one of my closest friends, the writer/musician Charlie Perris.
Fisheye was composed in 2017 while Charlie had just moved to Jena, a small town in the former East Germany, to teach English as a Fulbright scholar. The ballad is, on its surface, about isolation in a new environment, walking to and fro around a city, not knowing a soul, wishing if not yearning to have a connection or two. Further, it grapples with that odd feeling of lonely shame that a stranger’s glare can provide. It’s an experience surely everyone’s dealt with a few times here and there, some more than others.
From my first listen, six years ago now, I remember liking this song, really a lot. It’s the particular vulnerability that got me, I think: I’m going through a hard time, and that’s OK… can I sing you a song about it? There’s something liberating in not being ashamed about that. For those more evolved than I, this isn’t anything new. Yet we’re each going at our own pace, aren’t we? It’s nice.
I wrote about time yesterday, optimistically. I avoided talking about time’s degenerative, crushing quality. I don’t think I need to, either.