By and Down

People do evil things. This song reminds me somewhat of "Night, Death, Mississippi" by Robert Hayden. In it, brutish violence takes place beneath the shroud of darkness. Here, darkness is betrayed by man. Beneath its cover, horrors took place over and over again -- as part of family, as part of tradition, as part of everyday life and fun. Not only did these people show no remorse for rape, castration, beatings, and sloppy, shallow graves, they joked and drank to it. In a time that seems farther away than it actually is, real people with perfectly unremarkable lives and personalities took part in acts like this. In disgust, Hayden examines this black hole in humanity's rationalized conscience. In short, people who are loved can take part in or spearhead atrocity.

Some of us have loved people who have done abhorrent things. Looking into their eyes, sometimes the most important thing is noting the empathetic remorse in their self-reflection; sometimes just a trace of humility will allow us to preserve the precious image we hold so close. In this song, the onlooker is trying very hard to see some. Evidently, his search is fruitless. Beneath the cold lens lay no doubt -- no regret.

An allocution is a chance for the condemned to speak to the judge in an attempt to reduce his or her sentence or present cause for not pronouncing judgement against him. With empty, firm eyes, the onlooker is listening to someone very close to him flatly, vacantly ask for either a reduced sentence or for a break this time. Usually, an allocution include specific details regarding the crime, or evidence against the fairness of the jury or context of the crime (i.e. a jury of racists or a beaten housewife accused of murder in self-defense, respectively). The onlooker can't believe his ears: bits and pieces of his loved one's atrocity are surfacing, and he is unmoved in his admissions.

Even if the Pied Piper lured a village full of children away to a distant land, he was still betrayed by a greedy, oblivious populace. His floating, bloated carcass in the river is a potent image for an unfiltered view of what his loved one has done. He has betrayed and murdered the owed party. Trying to hold up the increasingly heavy conception of his loved one, he

"Caught his crippled alchemy From pounding waves of adoration,"

the

"Bloated carcass crippled me The weight of adoration."

The waves of adoration he feels are torturing him, the weight of his adoring image is crushing him in light of his unforgivable act.

The tide of the coast, the exposure of the light and the flow of a river are unstoppable forces; in Dosteovsky's "Crime and Punishment," so too is the truth behind an evil deed. However, instead of lying broken and disheveled beneath the weight of guilt, this wrongdoer seems exposed simply by happenstance. It seems only unstoppable forces have brought this horror from behind the shroud of darkness. It is as though the tide of the water concealed the dead -- inevitably pulling back; it is as though the flow of the river brought the victim of his will down the river to be viewed by his poor, incognizant lover: it is as though a lucky ray of light caught this thrifty rogue in an unlikely, suspicious circumstance. The forces of nature and the universe -- not the torture of guilt -- brought this criminal before his loved one: convicted and about to be judged.

When a loved one is even accused of a crime and evidence is presented, it can become a mission just to hold on to how you pictured that person just a day before the officers came. It is a long and painful process coming to terms with what they've done -- or even quelling your doubtful mind if they're proved innocent. This onlooker is on a mission: introspectively defend his loved one. Even if the world thinks him something horrid: he can't be -- he hasn't done this.

It's often bitterly noted that the first thing we notice about someone when we first meet someone is how they look. If our visual perception leads the way, is not the light a medium through which we perceive another? Betrayed by this light, this wrongdoer was seen. The onlooker caught a glimpse of something terrifying, and it's standing before him now: speaking clearly, but nugatory. In trying to morph the two images -- this creature and this lover, the image becomes amorphous, the defined silhouette a formless shadow.

Caught in the barbed wire of cognitive dissonance, we rip and we tear. The comforting love we held onto has become the razor which digs into our flesh and bone. The tone of this piece sets the mood: ominous and foreboding, but somber and pleading. Reconciling love with abhorrence is the topic discussed in this passionate piece. As this piece comes to a close, the tone of the voice changes: once shaken and weak, it's doubtful and steady: "It's no easy mission, Holding onto how I picture you." A familiar theme once again, this onlooker is ready to let go. What we see others do affects what we see in others, and we will change as we change our perspective on them. When the bits and pieces meet the missing pieces, the puzzle becomes an image, and that image may break our will to forgive -- to love. Historical archives are practically overflowing with testaments to the banal sadism of the human race, but what of your daughter, your husband, or your mother? When the evidence is collected and presented -- when the mystery is solved: what will you believe, what will you feel? When the thick fog of moral ambiguity subsides and someone you love is stained with the insidious ichor of iniquity, what follows?

theWMann is right on track.