Constantine

she looks so early 2012 ~

she looks so early 2012 ~

she looks so early 2012 ~

Perfectly put. R.I.P.

Platinum and vale acrylics
Skim the paper for the critics
Babys breathin' Elvis lyrics
on the cover bar

Late, an' Motel lounge is singin'
Spotlight on the band is swingin'
Chateau Marmont memories fading
hope is very far
 
He said he come to welcome warn me
Gesture diamond to adorn me
Come to be and see the one and only
For my final year
well thank you
 
 
I am sleeping with your best friend. How do you like me now?
 
Maybe we could go to Coney Island
Maybe I could sing you to sleep
God bless the universe, god bless the ocean
 
I'm in love with a dying man. / All our love is flying in the sand.
 
Cliches find a home inside of him
When he enters all of the lights go dim
He's so sure he's got a tragic lifestyle
And I'm so sure I can make that man smile
 
Cheap trailer trash and,
Everyone knows it,
But she got a great ass,
And she knows how to show it
 
There's some reason why
I can't sit still
Every waking moment
I feel so unfulfilled
I try to lie down
But I don't know how
Baby when I'm sleeping
It feels less like I am dreaming
Oh my god
I got a bad disease
  Come on you know you like little girls.  
 

it's gonna be so fucking fucked up

Tranny is a derogatory term... Try transgender next time.

Tranny is a derogatory term... Try transgender next time.

Tranny is a derogatory term... Try transgender next time.

TIME TO ANALYZE SOME LYRICS. [And I am awfully sorry for post-spamming BUT GODDAMN I LOVE THIS SONG THO]
"Methamphetamines" makes me think of Lana and her lover being tweaked off meth, laying out on the veranda, playing music from the record player (maybe it'd be outside, maybe it'd just be near the window, playing loud). They're being sad together, getting high about being sad together just to be high and sad together, letting the routine run its cycle. Every day. They'd be quiet at first, relying on each other's physical presence for some solace.

Once they started feeling the meth, maybe the lover would tell Lana about a dream from the night before that made him feel more disconsolate and disoriented than any other day. The both of them would exchange more of their recent sad dreams, how it seemed the happier dreams only poured salt on open wounds. They'd segue into talking about older dreams and aspirations, both shared and separate, but hardly anything that would get them smiling.

Other than feeling some kind of sadness, love and yearning, they are just zombified; they're stripped of the people they used to be. Whatever daydreams they had, and probably spoke of on the veranda looking out to Ocean Grove, they're gone. Ocean Grove just grew barren gradually, and then suddenly. Nothing left but a epitaph of all those hopes they had for their life in the Jersey Shore together.
 
The mention of neon palms swaying could be Lana and her lover having a visual hallucination while on meth, trying to find something left within their sight of Ocean Grove that was still beautiful and thriving despite how dead it was in their reality.

Maybe Lana's question of going to Coney Island was her trying to get them both to share another hallucination for entertainment. Maybe they met there and she was trying to reminisce about it. Maybe it was her indirectly saying she wanted to return to simpler times, happier times, and maybe that was the "dream/big dream" she was reminding him of: happiness and simplicity.

Maybe he'd be too tweaked and swamped in his own sadness to pay that much attention to or even answer Lana's question, maybe he'd fear that Lana no longer wanted for nothing but being together. Maybe it broke his heart to hear about a place they felt they couldn't return to just as much as it would have broke his heart to say "That'd be nice, we can do that," all along fearing that going there would mean preparing for the present to soon become history.

No one would know, he'd only respond by handing her the makeshift light-bulb vaporizer, keeping his eyes on all the shapes made by the meth residue and burn marks from the lighter along the glass, letting out an ambiguous "hm." But no matter what he thought, no matter what he would've said, Lana would have understood.

Happier times, even the possibility of living in happier times again, would only make them sadder to think about, and so they would get higher until they just couldn't be bothered getting up from laying on the veranda to stop the record from repeating, to change the music to something happier; until they couldn't be bothered doing anything else together that wouldn't make them sadder. But it wouldn't stop them from talking more about the dreams, about happiness and their lack of it; the only time they weren't disconnected was when they were high on meth and/or sharing somber moments with each other. The disconnection almost didn't even matter because they shared their woe like a telescope; they always saw through the same lens even if they weren't always looking at the same things.
 
They took comfort in knowing that the other knew and felt sadness and hopelessness, what it was like to feel the world around had become desolate. They took those feelings and built an empire on that veranda with them, creating a world for themselves within the one they already inhabited. A world where the broken could know they were broken and self-destructing, love it and be loved for it in every way, something that they can be confident in each other about.
 
 
All there was to live for was every tomorrow that guaranteed coming back to that world together; the rest of the world would tear itself asunder, nothing more would have mattered, nothing less. There was no need to tamper with each other's thoughts or emotions, no need to feign any of them either, because all that was felt then and there was understood, welcomed, and adored. It was a very "let all be and just love me" way of living, and that was all it was about. They were sad, they were hopeless, but they were harmonious. And that made that life a little less lonely.
 
Maybe this moment on the veranda was Lana feeling like there just was nothing left of that life anymore, even with her lover. Maybe that farewell is her thoughts of leaving soon after that, going back to New York, reconsidering what to do with who she became, what she was. Maybe it was her saying farewell to their happier selves and their dreams, laying with her lover, watching the neon palms, feeling her body being pulled into the abyss the veranda kept long hidden inside its mouth of wooden planks, slowly opening wider and wider every day to accommodate for its increasing appetite for Lana and her lover's happiness. They'd sink into that abyss together in Lana's mind, and there would be the most sad-but-content look on her face while they fell asleep where they lay, only to rinse and repeat the next morning.

... And that's what it's like to be in my head while listening to Lana Del Rey except I usually imagine myself in Lana's shoes.

OH. And here's a treat for those who made it up to now...

Consider it what I think would have been the lover's perspective. That, and I fawn over Father John Misty like CRAZY and just wanted an excuse to listen to this song again.

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