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about
Quiksand is about a couple different things but at its core it's not about life so much as it's about the pursuit of meaning in life. It was in part inspired by traumatic events I went through while at the peak of my alcohol addiction, in which the one event that's been arguably the most difficult for me to wrap my head around was my sexual assault at 23 years old at the hands of someone I had known and seen around frequently but would've never imagined would've changed my life in the way that they did.
For more on this, read the official blog on Quiksand here: crookedforest.ca?p=5752
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lyrics
Laying adrift a bed made of quicksand
Each grain slips through the lines in our hands
Each one a promise and dream unfulfilled
A hole at the bottom keeps out the shells
I fall away from the heat and now I’m lost at sea
A tide rolls passed with you on top of me
I falter and flail but the lighthouse looks bleak
An early night for the watcher whose eyes couldn’t keep
By dawn the shore is littered with trash
Lifeless bodies sit like craters who crashed
Letters haphazardly written by moonlight
Rest in bottles without corks, an address or postage
A lifeguard steps up to his post for the day
The flags wave wildly keeping tourists away
I climb ashore, grabbing a bucket and pail
She’s carving moats and reinventing the wheel
By dusk the castle is fit for a king
Decorated with plastic and recycled mail
The wind picks up and the guard steps down
He turns to leave and the sirens sound
Scouring the beach for any indication
That little girl and her mother, where were they playing?
A mistake or malfunction, the silence looms overhead
An empty beach lies before him without so much as a footprint
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everything is fine. nothing is ok. dog and i are on a late night walk. we are together. we are in our own worlds. all is well. nothing is certain. there is the rhythm of street light, shadow, street light, shadow, street li--- we should go home now, Maggie is sleeping. artistreader