A sOng I might illustrate

[minoanmiss]

If I can figure out a better image than a girl holding a numeral.

"Elvis Costello & The Imposters - Unwanted Number (Lyric Video)" (Watch on YouTube)

Elvis Costello has written a song about, I think, an extramarital affair and pregnancy. I can feel my inner teenager perking her ears up -- I was fascinated by such stories when I was a teen (because they were about people choosing passion over rules, something I longed to do and was far too terrified to ever attempt.) Hmm!


Lyrics
You should hear the things that they say about me
They're saying "she's no better than she needed to be"
They don't know that he was kind and warn and tender
And soon it's gonna be another unwanted number
Unwanted number
How can I tell them? How can I express?
How it felt to step out of this life and into his embrace
How can I tell them? How can I explain?
All the love that I never had I found in him
There may be a stain on the family name
But if my father was here I think I know who he'd blame
Mother says that he just doesn't care to remember
And all he thinks of me is another unwanted number
Unwanted number
What can she tell me what can I expect ?
Of all the painful lessons that she learned she never earned respect
What can she tell me? What can I believe?
That she really didn't hear me cry
Whenever he would leave
There's a local game where they whisper my shame
They said "he gave his child, he wouldn't give her his name
They would torture me from January to September
And I would give my love to another unwanted number
Unwanted number
Unwanted number
I would give my love to another unwanted number
Oh oh
Unwanted number
Unwanted number
And I give my love and I give my love
I give my love to another unwanted number
Oh unwanted number
Unwanted number
And I give my love, no I give my love
I give my love another unwanted number
Unwanted number, unwanted number, unwanted number
Songwriters: Elvis Costello
Unwanted Number lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Comments

[gingicat]

Seems like an ideal opportunity for a recursive picture, to me.

[finnglas]

"because they were about people choosing passion over rules, something I longed to do and was far too terrified to ever attempt" <--- whoops, you just unlocked the key to all my kinks.

[minoanmiss]

We are ex-fundies, ma belle. That shapes us. ;)

[finnglas]

Honestly, it does, and that's why my tag for these kinds of things is "ex-christian tag" and not "non-christian tag," because there's a big difference between the two.

[annonynous.livejournal.com]

I sometimes use the term Recovering Christian, although I haven't considered myself a Christian since the '60s. Some, but not much, of what I absorbed in my youth is still with me.

Ann O.

[minoanmiss]

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will either not depart from it, or he will run the other way, pulling splinters of those painful teachings out of his heart for the rest of his life..

[amaebi]

That is apt.

[minoanmiss]

SO, so true.. I often describe my religious affiliation as "divorced".

[finnglas]

LOL, how many times have I said, "I broke up with Jesus because I couldn't stand his extended family but we still send each other Christmas cards."

Because canon Jesus is pretty cool and I'm chill with using his actions as a role model but god almighty Paul can cool his "I came to this party after everybody else had left but I know better than anyone what Jesus would want" jets and also Christianity itself is kind of a scam and I'm not here for it.

[minoanmiss]

WORD.

Two of my favorite poems are elegant statements of "STFU St. Paul".

By Kipling:

The Disciple

"The Church that
Was at Antioch" >



HE THAT hath a Gospel
To loose upon Mankind,
Though he serve it utterly —
Body, soul and mind —
Though he go to Calvary
Daily for its gain —
It is His Disciple
Shall make his labour vain.

He that hath a Gospel
For all earth to own —
Though he etch it on the steel,
Or carve it on the stone —
Not to be misdoubted
Through the after-days —
It is His Disciple
Shall read it many ways.

It is His Disciple
(Ere Those Bones are dust)
Who shall change the Charter,
Who shall split the Trust —
Amplify distinctions,
Rationalize the Claim;
Preaching that the Master
Would have done the same.

It is His Disciple
Who shall tell us how
Much the Master would have scrapped
Had he lived till now —
What he would have modified
Of what he said before.
It is His Disciple
Shall do this and more....

He that hath a Gospel
Whereby Heaven is won
(Carpenter, or cameleer,
Or Maya's dreaming son),
Many swords shall pierce Him,
Mingling blood with gall;
But His Own Disciple
Shall wound Him worst of all!

[minoanmiss]

The other (and it's queer!)

"Demas, In Love With This Present World"
Kristin Fogdall

2 Timothy 4:9-10

What you've heard is true — I've gone to Thessilonika.
I've taken a room above the agora with a view
of the harbor and wake too early to merchants' voices,
bleatings of every sort, and carpets being beaten.
The innkeeper and his wife bring bread — they are kind,
and their daughter is pretty, though she has a withered hand.

At night I watch the fishing boats come in to shore,
hung with many lanterns. The men pull up their nets
and sort the catch in shifting light; they sometimes sing
a song about the moon seducing an old sailor
and drink a bit and fall asleep wrapped in their robes.
Later someone puts the lights out one by one.

In between, the days are slow, and I think of you often.
I know what some are saying, that I loved my father
and his estate more than truth and our way of life.
It wasn't the inheritance that called me back,
and I won't return to the assembly or his house.
Demetrius is here, asleep beside me as I write.

He has thrown one of his warm legs over me
in a dream, and two pears with a jar of wine wait
on the table for when he wakes. I wish you understood
how it feels to fear the truth while also loving him.
I still believe this present world is passing away,
but now it is impossible to rejoice with you.

Sometimes when I walk outside the city gates
and look up into the mountains, toward Rome
where all of you are waiting, I want to come back —
but it doesn't last. I walk home through the colonnade,
listening to the temple priests and fortune tellers,
the eastern caravans selling cedar, pearls, and linen.

The innkeeper's daughter greets me at the door,
the weak hand cupped to her breast. She has been
praying to a small bright god in the corner
of her room, for health and peace, as she has been taught.
I will go upstairs and place my arms around the loved
and living body of one who owns no household gods,

who confesses no world but this. We will watch
the sky turn dark and wait for the fishermen to light
their lamps and disappear across the invisible sea.
I pray to the God I remember, whom I love and fail
to love, knowing words are all I have to bind
us to each other, knowing they are passing too.

Grace be with you.

[finnglas]

Ohh, I particularly like that one. It feels relevant.

[annonynous.livejournal.com]

I like gingicat's idea for a recursive artwork, but maybe the woman, then her lover, then some of her other lovers. I know this would not really be recursion, but it seems more true to the lyrics.

Ann O.

[minoanmiss]

In what position relative to each other? For instance, this icon features a woman holding a portrait of herself.

[annonynous.livejournal.com]

I'm not very spatially or visually oriented. I imagine your imagination would be much better than mine at coming up with an image. Plus, I originally thought there was more than one other unwanted number person in the lyrics. On rereading I doubt that.

All I can come up with is she and her unwanted number lover standing / leaning on either side of a LARGE zero. Inside the zero is a smaller version of this image. Etc.

Ann O.

[minoanmiss]

Oh, I like that! Thank you!

[annonynous.livejournal.com]

You are most welcome.

Ann O.

Unoneted

[annonynous.livejournal.com]

I'm a little surprised no one has commented on the "word" play in the image near the top of this DW entry. I got a kick out of it.

Ann O.