For the entire month of February 2020 I would listen to this song in the shower before work. I was working as a petitioner advocating for magic mushies and decriminalizing simple drug possession in my state (both passed). But the line that applied to my life at the time was "Of the several things you have to do today youre gonna regret one. This generation asks for a sign its never gonna get one." Cuz I kept on asking people for signatures (signs) and not getting em. And like any petitioning/sales job there are things you have to do that you will regret to be good at your job/meet quotas.
A reference to Matthew 12:39 'He answered, “A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a sign! But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.'
@@notasfarwest the icon and the song evoked a spasm of joy, love, and grief that i hope you will allow me to share on this post, like one might write graffiti in a place where, say, one was once with one's friends, but destroyed all of the evidence, and vanished into the night. At the dire risk of coming off as a wannabe JD doing some kind of extended banter in between songs here, I feel compelled beyond reasonable limitation to relate a story I can only describe as magical, because like all magical stories, they eventually become forgotten yellowed pages on a bookshelf or in an attic as we careen through the burning fuselage of our days. This song resonates on many levels, and in many ways, I am writing graffiti on your wall - apologies - in my own [figuative] blood - I've been struck with a grave wound, and if my blood must be spilled, permit me to try to the best of my ability to share experience, strength, joy, sorrow, and wisdom with others, and to give thanks, to worship the magnificence of this music. Suffering is a great teacher.... My old best friend [from whom I do still receive torture devices] and, to my standard bitterness of all kinds, now ex-girlfriend [whose name, incidentally, appears in this song, and who has quoted this song to me many times but the meaning escaped me until it was far too late], one of the most hardcore goats on the planet, introduced me to them at a time I was in a hospital - and not because I wanted to be. I was raised an orthodox christian, became a raving Dawkinesque atheist in college, and somewhere after the world broke me (somewhat like JD's own history, if I'm not mistaken?...) I unwittingly and unwillingly found my way back to some sort of more tempered approach to spirituality and religion, to the point where I use the word "God" unironically, without sarcasm, and don't try to obnoxiously undermine people's most cherished beliefs. As savage and boorish of an atheist I had been as Freshman Philosophy Major, I was an equally savagely elitist metalhead at the time and had been since I knew what music was (the best ever death metal band was an easy sell for her to get me hooked), but some months of talking with her on the phone, exchanging emails, and being shown "up the wolves," "hast thou considered the tetrapod" and "this year," she awoke some dormant, near-extinguished pentecostal flame in me, and I had no choice but to follow when she asked if I might ever come back to the midwest where we had been friends for 3 years before I crashed and burned back to the east coast where I was born, and so eventually I moved back to Bloomington, IN (...."THE TOWN WHERE I WAS BORN...AND WE LISTENED TO THAT RECORD FOR FOUR HOURS STRAIGHT SING IT I SAW THE SIGN"....but I suppose I'm not going to get one now, expressly, am I?) to be with her, to heal from a period of what we watching this might know as "radioactivity." We reunited as lovers rather than friends at a show in Louisville, and in the first year after she and I made pilgrimage to 5 shows with all over the midwest and colorado, finding ourselves in the front row or close to it much of the time to the point where I'd swear JD himself recognizes us. Or did. Or might have. I'll never know. But she not only somehow transformed my library full of only the blackest metal I could find - wolves in the throne room, opeth, alcest, deafheaven, et al. - until, yes, i only listen to the mountain goats now, but in doing so, and exposing me to this kind of art that isn't just the raw cathartic expression of black rage and emptiness and sorrow - not that TMG isn't brutally sad as anything else at times, but within just about every song resides some kind of purpose beyond screaming into the night; John and his relentless optimism rekindled something deep in my heart, something i thought long extinguished, and that's the flame of faith, something pentecostal (my idiosyncratic way of describing how JD gets when he deviates from the record in his singing and performs what I can only see as channeling something holy, whatever it might be, something that, while potentially flanked by or surrounded by darkness on all sides, somehow carries with it some inviolate nuclear holiness; a star in the void of space, the origin and source of some meaning, some hope, some message other than, like, "Achieve Emptiness, Part II" or whatever the fuck I was listening to before. She used to tease me that he turned me back into a christian. My frontal lobe and voice will deny it to the last, but the limbic system outranks it in the eyes of Mother Nature, and yearning for so many years for the Father figure that was never *quite* what I needed, and often a lot more than what I needed (a little more resonance with JD, mayhaps? I'm sure I'm the only one), I find myself using the word God again, unironically, without sarcasm or bitterness, though it may not be what I'd hoped it was, it is what it is, and Brother John (registered trademark, coined by a youtube user whose name I will redact for privacy) is the prophet who showed me the path back to the main road, through his forenamed disciple, my BVM, to whom I will be eternally grateful, for the experiences we had, the things she taught me, and for showing me that even held under these smothering waves, one day I might wriggle up on dry land, whether she can walk beside me on that journey or not. Take a picture, she'd told me, among all the other signs that my untrained spirit missed, ("make it fast,"....) but his goddamn discography is so large and my spirit was so uncouth I couldn't become fluent in goat fast enough to stop the rising black tide, though the flesh was very, very strong, and I feel as though time and fate itself robbed me of the love of my life, as if somehow there might be such a thing as a soul and a soul mate or even something like reincarnation or pantheism or anything that could explain how this woman's love defibrillated me back into existence, though when the summer heat burned through and i looked over to warn her that something was happening, I was miles behind the emotional progression of our relationship. She saw something good and beautiful in me and tried to bring it out, to sprout the asphalt, and she did, but it wasn't enough to sustain her, and so gently, gently, I listened to the story unwind, and though I'd never loved anyone like I love her, she had too much on her mind, and since good things never last, and bad things never die. Though for a moment in time, she eased [a figurative] gun from my hand and froze me with joy, and for that, I'm grateful to people like you who post these rare and live tracks, and for John's indomitable spirit that comes singing through his music, and most of all, to that remarkable woman and the moments of grace we shared, wholly unmerited. HA. sincere apologies, notasfarwest and all who braved read this far, for the indulgence. I'm bleeding out on the internet. For Elentari only: by the evening star i offer a prayer : ease, joy, light, love, love, love. If only in another life. Eonia I Mnimi. Amen.
"This is a song about, uh, about a picture that you have all seen of, uh, Jesus with thorns on his heart, um, which you know, as a Catholic, you see that and you go, 'Fuck yeah, suffering. Hot damn, he feels like I feel, he wants to suffer so bad, he's going to get it next to his body.' Uh, but this particular picture is associated with an order that worships the BVM, as we call her in school, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and, uh, uh, and there's a legend associated with the story. Who knows whether these legends have a little bit of truth of them, a great deal of truth in them, or none whatsoever. It's not the point at all, anyway, the point isn't when you hear someone singing a song, whether the story is true or not. 'Cause it's not. I don't care who it is. It's not true. Because if he was expressing his feelings to you, they wouldn't rhyme, and he probably wouldn't be in front of you, risking the possibility that you'll tell him, you know, that you need to get over yourself [inaudible] and this is the problem with emo, right. If you actually felt that way, one, it wouldn't rhyme, and two, you wouldn't tell anyone. So one and two combined, you wouldn't tell it in rhyme. Anyway, this is a fairly emo song about the Blessed Virgin Mary. Thank you." -- 2009-03-27 - The Society for Ethical Culture - New York, NY (archive.org/details/MountainGoats2009-03-27.nyctaper)
These roses are the pleasures of the flesh These ones here they are the pleasures of the spirit And tucked behind a pornographic picture in a frame The troops found the pierced heart and they all gathered near it And the dust clouds bloomed in the dark And the face gazed up from the frame Roomful of French troops in a Franciscan abbey History does not recall their names Of the several things that you have to do today You're gonna regret one This generation asks for a sign It isn't gonna get one Bertha took the pictures to the priest And the priest fell on his face upon the floor And the story lived on for a decade or two But no one really knows it anymore But the blessed heart is seen in the airbrush And the blessed heart is beating on the wind And the bodies of the faithful stacked by dozens by the roadsides Stripped and scourged and skinned Of the several things that you have to do today You're gonna regret one This generation asks for a sign It isn't gonna get one
i know this song isnt even about mary but the combination of this picture and the song is making me real psyched for when jd founds a heretical (according to the robopope) mary-worshipping church in the early 2040s
It’s about the story behind the creation of the image of the Sacred Heart of Mary, shown in the video. “Decline” is a weird word to use in this context.
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![Moon Colony Bloodbath EP [Full]](/img/tr.png)
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These ones here they are the pleasures of the spirit.
For the entire month of February 2020 I would listen to this song in the shower before work. I was working as a petitioner advocating for magic mushies and decriminalizing simple drug possession in my state (both passed). But the line that applied to my life at the time was
"Of the several things you have to do today youre gonna regret one.
This generation asks for a sign its never gonna get one."
Cuz I kept on asking people for signatures (signs) and not getting em. And like any petitioning/sales job there are things you have to do that you will regret to be good at your job/meet quotas.
Dude you’re a saint for posting these.
wait, is the lyric "this generation wants a sign, but it isn't going to get one"??? That's fucking spot on.
A reference to Matthew 12:39 'He answered, “A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a sign! But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.'
This is a small thing, but I really like the pictures you choose for these tracks you upload- especially the one you did for 'The Mummy's Hand'
thanks! that's from the 1940 film of the same name, if it helps.
@@notasfarwest the icon and the song evoked a spasm of joy, love, and grief that i hope you will allow me to share on this post, like one might write graffiti in a place where, say, one was once with one's friends, but destroyed all of the evidence, and vanished into the night.
At the dire risk of coming off as a wannabe JD doing some kind of extended banter in between songs here, I feel compelled beyond reasonable limitation to relate a story I can only describe as magical, because like all magical stories, they eventually become forgotten yellowed pages on a bookshelf or in an attic as we careen through the burning fuselage of our days.
This song resonates on many levels, and in many ways, I am writing graffiti on your wall - apologies - in my own [figuative] blood - I've been struck with a grave wound, and if my blood must be spilled, permit me to try to the best of my ability to share experience, strength, joy, sorrow, and wisdom with others, and to give thanks, to worship the magnificence of this music. Suffering is a great teacher....
My old best friend [from whom I do still receive torture devices] and, to my standard bitterness of all kinds, now ex-girlfriend [whose name, incidentally, appears in this song, and who has quoted this song to me many times but the meaning escaped me until it was far too late], one of the most hardcore goats on the planet, introduced me to them at a time I was in a hospital - and not because I wanted to be. I was raised an orthodox christian, became a raving Dawkinesque atheist in college, and somewhere after the world broke me (somewhat like JD's own history, if I'm not mistaken?...) I unwittingly and unwillingly found my way back to some sort of more tempered approach to spirituality and religion, to the point where I use the word "God" unironically, without sarcasm, and don't try to obnoxiously undermine people's most cherished beliefs.
As savage and boorish of an atheist I had been as Freshman Philosophy Major, I was an equally savagely elitist metalhead at the time and had been since I knew what music was (the best ever death metal band was an easy sell for her to get me hooked), but some months of talking with her on the phone, exchanging emails, and being shown "up the wolves," "hast thou considered the tetrapod" and "this year," she awoke some dormant, near-extinguished pentecostal flame in me, and I had no choice but to follow when she asked if I might ever come back to the midwest where we had been friends for 3 years before I crashed and burned back to the east coast where I was born, and so eventually I moved back to Bloomington, IN (...."THE TOWN WHERE I WAS BORN...AND WE LISTENED TO THAT RECORD FOR FOUR HOURS STRAIGHT SING IT I SAW THE SIGN"....but I suppose I'm not going to get one now, expressly, am I?) to be with her, to heal from a period of what we watching this might know as "radioactivity."
We reunited as lovers rather than friends at a show in Louisville, and in the first year after she and I made pilgrimage to 5 shows with all over the midwest and colorado, finding ourselves in the front row or close to it much of the time to the point where I'd swear JD himself recognizes us. Or did. Or might have. I'll never know. But she not only somehow transformed my library full of only the blackest metal I could find - wolves in the throne room, opeth, alcest, deafheaven, et al. - until, yes, i only listen to the mountain goats now, but in doing so, and exposing me to this kind of art that isn't just the raw cathartic expression of black rage and emptiness and sorrow - not that TMG isn't brutally sad as anything else at times, but within just about every song resides some kind of purpose beyond screaming into the night; John and his relentless optimism rekindled something deep in my heart, something i thought long extinguished, and that's the flame of faith, something pentecostal (my idiosyncratic way of describing how JD gets when he deviates from the record in his singing and performs what I can only see as channeling something holy, whatever it might be, something that, while potentially flanked by or surrounded by darkness on all sides, somehow carries with it some inviolate nuclear holiness; a star in the void of space, the origin and source of some meaning, some hope, some message other than, like, "Achieve Emptiness, Part II" or whatever the fuck I was listening to before.
She used to tease me that he turned me back into a christian. My frontal lobe and voice will deny it to the last, but the limbic system outranks it in the eyes of Mother Nature, and yearning for so many years for the Father figure that was never *quite* what I needed, and often a lot more than what I needed (a little more resonance with JD, mayhaps? I'm sure I'm the only one), I find myself using the word God again, unironically, without sarcasm or bitterness, though it may not be what I'd hoped it was, it is what it is, and Brother John (registered trademark, coined by a youtube user whose name I will redact for privacy) is the prophet who showed me the path back to the main road, through his forenamed disciple, my BVM, to whom I will be eternally grateful, for the experiences we had, the things she taught me, and for showing me that even held under these smothering waves, one day I might wriggle up on dry land, whether she can walk beside me on that journey or not.
Take a picture, she'd told me, among all the other signs that my untrained spirit missed, ("make it fast,"....) but his goddamn discography is so large and my spirit was so uncouth I couldn't become fluent in goat fast enough to stop the rising black tide, though the flesh was very, very strong, and I feel as though time and fate itself robbed me of the love of my life, as if somehow there might be such a thing as a soul and a soul mate or even something like reincarnation or pantheism or anything that could explain how this woman's love defibrillated me back into existence, though when the summer heat burned through and i looked over to warn her that something was happening, I was miles behind the emotional progression of our relationship. She saw something good and beautiful in me and tried to bring it out, to sprout the asphalt, and she did, but it wasn't enough to sustain her, and so gently, gently, I listened to the story unwind, and though I'd never loved anyone like I love her, she had too much on her mind, and since good things never last, and bad things never die. Though for a moment in time, she eased [a figurative] gun from my hand and froze me with joy, and for that, I'm grateful to people like you who post these rare and live tracks, and for John's indomitable spirit that comes singing through his music, and most of all, to that remarkable woman and the moments of grace we shared, wholly unmerited. HA.
sincere apologies, notasfarwest and all who braved read this far, for the indulgence. I'm bleeding out on the internet.
For Elentari only:
by the evening star i offer a prayer
:
ease, joy, light,
love, love, love.
If only in another life.
Eonia I Mnimi.
Amen.
Wow, that was bizarre timing for liking that reply, which I thought I deleted...all that shit just blew up bad last night. Worst day of my life.
"This is a song about, uh, about a picture that you have all seen of, uh, Jesus with thorns on his heart, um, which you know, as a Catholic, you see that and you go, 'Fuck yeah, suffering. Hot damn, he feels like I feel, he wants to suffer so bad, he's going to get it next to his body.' Uh, but this particular picture is associated with an order that worships the BVM, as we call her in school, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and, uh, uh, and there's a legend associated with the story. Who knows whether these legends have a little bit of truth of them, a great deal of truth in them, or none whatsoever. It's not the point at all, anyway, the point isn't when you hear someone singing a song, whether the story is true or not. 'Cause it's not. I don't care who it is. It's not true. Because if he was expressing his feelings to you, they wouldn't rhyme, and he probably wouldn't be in front of you, risking the possibility that you'll tell him, you know, that you need to get over yourself [inaudible] and this is the problem with emo, right. If you actually felt that way, one, it wouldn't rhyme, and two, you wouldn't tell anyone. So one and two combined, you wouldn't tell it in rhyme. Anyway, this is a fairly emo song about the Blessed Virgin Mary. Thank you." -- 2009-03-27 - The Society for Ethical Culture - New York, NY (archive.org/details/MountainGoats2009-03-27.nyctaper)
Thank you so much for curating that
Thank you!
These roses are the pleasures of the flesh
These ones here they are the pleasures of the spirit
And tucked behind a pornographic picture in a frame
The troops found the pierced heart and they all gathered near it
And the dust clouds bloomed in the dark
And the face gazed up from the frame
Roomful of French troops in a Franciscan abbey
History does not recall their names
Of the several things that you have to do today
You're gonna regret one
This generation asks for a sign
It isn't gonna get one
Bertha took the pictures to the priest
And the priest fell on his face upon the floor
And the story lived on for a decade or two
But no one really knows it anymore
But the blessed heart is seen in the airbrush
And the blessed heart is beating on the wind
And the bodies of the faithful stacked by dozens by the roadsides
Stripped and scourged and skinned
Of the several things that you have to do today
You're gonna regret one
This generation asks for a sign
It isn't gonna get one
i know this song isnt even about mary but the combination of this picture and the song is making me real psyched for when jd founds a heretical (according to the robopope) mary-worshipping church in the early 2040s
This song is "defiantly" about Mother Mary who leads us to her Son.
What a hidden gem.
This is lovely
Dont look for staints in stained glass windows look at the people around you.
Hi, Rose
very 90S
I believe this song is about the decline of Christianity in the modern west
It truly is not
It’s about the story behind the creation of the image of the Sacred Heart of Mary, shown in the video. “Decline” is a weird word to use in this context.
@@AnamFiain Immaculate Heart of Mary is the name actually.
@@andrewheakes244 You’re right, thank you.
please upload all the rare tracks you have.
please.