13 February 2009

Addicted to Love . . .

"The lights are on, but you’re not home
Your mind is not your own
Your heart sweats, your body shakes
Another kiss is what it takes

You can’t sleep, you can’t eat
There’s no doubt, you’re in deep
Your throat is tight, you can’t breathe
Another kiss is all you need

Whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh Yeah


It’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough,
you know you’re
Gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love

You see the signs, but you can’t read
You’re running at a different speed
Your heart beats in double time
Another kiss and you’ll be mine, a one-track mind

You can’t be saved
Oblivion is all you crave
If there’s some left for you
You don’t mind if you do

Whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh Yeah

It’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough,
you know you’re
Gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love

Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love

Your lights are on, but you’re not home
Your will is not your own
Your heart sweats your teeth grind
Another kiss and you’ll be mine

Whoa, you like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh Yeah
It’s closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough,
you know you’re
Gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love

Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love
Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love."

The video and it's imagery smolders. I hope you clicked on it. It's moving restrained passion. It's hot on its own invisible leash. I love the brief cutaway to the tongue and lips; makes me howl. The implicit denial is the muse to the lyricist's knowing expression of his addiction. Even though the the writer is in the third person he's describing the eddy of his erotic sweaty pounding heart, body shaking kisses, and grinding one-track cravings.
I wish of writing like that; I couldn't come close. I think it's why I like the linked video, lyrics, and music so much. It's captures the reality and the denial of eroticism I felt. Not only could I have not formed the words, but if I could've formed the words I'd've been so ashamed that I would've acted as if I was naked. Instead I was a nice guy. I loved Ann and she was not like the Jane Russell pix. A few years later when Ann and I met in NYC, then parted again. Ann said "You're still a nice guy.", touched me on the cheek turned and walked away. I still feel a disappointment. I can't discern if it's hers or mine or ours. We were young. Now I feel I was very young. I was head over heels in love with her.
I recall, I was 7 or 8, while visiting my grandparents on their farm, my Grandma and I were watching tv, and an ad for the Boots Playtex "cross your heart bra . . . it lifts and separates . . . you're suddenly shapelier" came on. (Hey, I can't make this stuff up.) The bra was prominently illustrated. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, my Grandma was in the room . . . sitting right next to me! I hope I disappeared. Sidebar: I discover Howard Hughes was the original cross your heart bra designer. He had it designed and made just for Jayne Russell for her role in his movie The Outlaw. Jayne and Howard were lovers. She didn't like his bra, wore her own bras, and padded them. Jayne never told Howard. Howard never noticed. So much for romanticism. I like the music video more.
And romantic lyricism was out for me. If I must, I'm still reduced to hallmarkisms. The poet and author Judith Viorst says, Brevity may be the soul of wit, but not when someone's saying "I love you." I sense Judy and I wouldn't have lasted. Romance is my unconquered challenge. Sentimental romanticism is the donkey for my defensive witty tails. It just my sense of being vulnerable.
Thanks to Robert Palmer and his band for illustrating . . . being addicted to love.

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