Elliott Smith’s car (a retro 1999 Volkswagen Passat GLX) is for sale right here in Austin, Texas for $4,000. All proceeds will go to the SIMS Foundation.
About the Foundation:
The SIMS Foundation’s mission is to provide access to and financial support for mental health and addiction recovery services for Austin-area musicians and their families. SIMS was founded in 1995 by the friends and family of Sims Ellison, a talented young Austin musician, after his battle with depression ended in suicide.
Elliott’s own life ended in suicide from two self-inflicted stab wounds to the chest (that some still claim was a possible homicide). The talented lyricist left a simple goodbye Post-it note that read, “I’m so sorry—love, Elliot. God forgive me.”
After a night of being vehicle and homeless, and the irony of the unchecked “make copy of keys” line. Rethinking that recycled undone to-do list that sits patiently waiting in what recently acted as an ill-equipped overnight bag. After home hopping to three different friend locations, in three different parts of town, with three different adventures. Missing a concert I really wanted to see. Having to borrow late night hits from an albuterol inhaler. A breakfast of a mom’s homemade cookie. Spending the day at work in a loaned tank top that boasts a website for gay male porn. In wine ladened jeans that hide busted knee caps from slipping on soap suds in AFOM’s shower. Looking at a freshly printed receipt for five hundred and sixty six dollars and sixty nine cents…ouch! ouch.
I hear this perfectly timed song on KVRX, and I laugh. A lot.
Too many days labeled as incidents, with strong words we add appendages to. What the hell. Just one of those days. I passed a barefoot guy on the sidewalk tonight. Speed walking in jeans and a hospital gown. A look too real for a reality show actor. What, no cameras? Looking lost and angry, as white plastic hospital bands dangled from his wrists. The crazy look in his eye made crazier by the reflection of my expression. Wanting to change my course of action because his made us both uncomfortable. In a blooper reel you’d point and stare, here we look in the other direction and walk a little faster. The voice in my head says, “you won’t believe what I just saw” to a friend that will. The song that plays is too sadly ironic and cheesy to not turn up. It was my song until this moment in passing. The trumpets are replaced with the world’s tiniest violins, as I rush to avoid being asked for a verb I wish I could give.
Somber walk home at 12:fourty five in the morning. In a long interactive music video, set to the tune of my favorite playlist. A doorway blares my least favorite fatboy slim track. My most favorite, I have yet to hear. “At pure” one electronic invitation reads. The name alone underwhelms me and like an Angel t-shirt, I know that the description means it is anything but. I keep walking. “I like your shirt. I’m good friends with the lead singer, Ron? Remy-K? Rami?” Some guy proudly announces friendship with the star of my band T, yet struggles to recall this friend’s first name. I don’t correct him. I don’t really say anything. Out one door, it closes. I keep walking. Headphones on, scowl on, masking happy thoughts. I keep my two foot’s steps in pace with these two bass drums. One moving faster, one sounding much better than the other.
Prefuse 73 (Feat. School of Seven Bells) – Class Of 73 Bells Lyrics
I am neither breather nor speaker,
I am neither walker nor sleeper.
I am neither sister, brother, son, nor daughter.
Solely in my chest is my heart a drum of water.
Sober walk home at 2:ten in the morning. One mile. I can’t count the amount of people I saw barely staggering past, their friends either laughing at them or rowing in the same boat. Glossy-eyed girls looking like party pictures, losing heels and not realizing it until 5 steps later. The dude playing bumper cars between the hand rails and the bus stop signs. “Dude, are you okay?”. Me thinking of how uncool it must be that I still use the word “dude”, yet waiting for a serious reply. “ThankyouIhaveacabthankyousomuch”. Which makes me feel better, and sad, and hypocritical, and over this rerun. Good friday good night.