My brother was a big fan of the band Swans. I liked some of their stuff, I could see where it was meant to be entrancing and jarring and I quite liked it. But there was one particular song, God Damn the Sun, that he absolutely adored and I never understood. It felt like someone just whining for the sake of whining, lashing out at everyone just to be a dick.
I didn’t get it until 3 summers ago when my brother died. It was unexpected, and it hit me like a truck. For a couple weeks I just didn’t really participate or form new memories, I just kinda sat on the sidelines and watched everyone else be a part of life. For those first couple weeks I was indifferent, everyone else was just in a different world than the one I was in. But after that, for a few months, maybe even about a year, I was actually really fucking angry. Like, at everyone. The dawn is breaking, the dusk is fading, people are going to work in the morning and then coming home to be with their families like it’s a normal day. Couldn’t they see? The whole world is over but they’re acting like it’s not. Fuck them. God damn the sun, god damn anyone who says a kind word.
It comes from a place of hurt, of lack, of want. All you can do is catch it as it happens and realize that while your anger is real, and needs to be felt, the people that you’re angry at didn’t do anything wrong and don’t deserve to be shit on.
God damn, that was heavy. Thank you for sharing that, though, that was really touching. I’m sorry about your brother. I’m listening to the song right now, and you’re absolutely right about the pain of loss and the almost crippling white-hot anger that comes with it. The song is actually quite beautiful with that context in mind.
It is a perfect song. It does what it set out to do flawlessly. Thank you for your commiseration. It still stings like hell but we’re all still here and the world still has joy in it.
I’d never heard that song before, so I listened to it and now I’ve saved it. Whenever I hear this song from this point forwards, I will think of you, and by extension, your brother.
My best friend died last year, and thoughts like this make me feel small, but in a good way. I hope it has a similar effect for you.
My brother was a big fan of the band Swans. I liked some of their stuff, I could see where it was meant to be entrancing and jarring and I quite liked it. But there was one particular song, God Damn the Sun, that he absolutely adored and I never understood. It felt like someone just whining for the sake of whining, lashing out at everyone just to be a dick.
I didn’t get it until 3 summers ago when my brother died. It was unexpected, and it hit me like a truck. For a couple weeks I just didn’t really participate or form new memories, I just kinda sat on the sidelines and watched everyone else be a part of life. For those first couple weeks I was indifferent, everyone else was just in a different world than the one I was in. But after that, for a few months, maybe even about a year, I was actually really fucking angry. Like, at everyone. The dawn is breaking, the dusk is fading, people are going to work in the morning and then coming home to be with their families like it’s a normal day. Couldn’t they see? The whole world is over but they’re acting like it’s not. Fuck them. God damn the sun, god damn anyone who says a kind word.
It comes from a place of hurt, of lack, of want. All you can do is catch it as it happens and realize that while your anger is real, and needs to be felt, the people that you’re angry at didn’t do anything wrong and don’t deserve to be shit on.
God damn, that was heavy. Thank you for sharing that, though, that was really touching. I’m sorry about your brother. I’m listening to the song right now, and you’re absolutely right about the pain of loss and the almost crippling white-hot anger that comes with it. The song is actually quite beautiful with that context in mind.
I hope you and your family are doing well now.
It is a perfect song. It does what it set out to do flawlessly. Thank you for your commiseration. It still stings like hell but we’re all still here and the world still has joy in it.
I’d never heard that song before, so I listened to it and now I’ve saved it. Whenever I hear this song from this point forwards, I will think of you, and by extension, your brother.
My best friend died last year, and thoughts like this make me feel small, but in a good way. I hope it has a similar effect for you.