Too Right To Be Wrong

I spend a lot of time wondering whether my interpretation of something is totally unique.  Which is a fancy way of saying I spend a lot of time wondering if I really am completely insane or I just do a hell of a job faking it.

Usually, it's song lyrics.  Not a huge deal at first glance.  I mean, it's essentially poetry with a soundtrack; of course everyone has a different interpretation.  But then I hear a song and the first thing that comes to my mind is something that's so utterly batshit psychotic, and yet if I were to argue for it I could totally back it up.

Exhibit A: "Man In The Box", by Alice In Chains.  I totally think it's about a gay kid.  See, ridiculous.  It's played by a grunge/heavy metal band from the 90's, and the writer already admitted that it's about censorship and he was high as the Goodyear blimp when he wrote it anyway.  But I will explain my interpretation, and it will make sense, god damnit.

Okay, so here are the lyrics, and how they each fit into my interpretation:

/I'm the man in the box 
Buried in my shit/


The kid's treated like a freak in his home environment/school (a.k.a. he's put on display "in a box").  Because of these constant reminders that this behavior is "wrong", he feels like he's "buried" under this wrong behavior and no one sees past it.
 
/Won't you come and save me, save me/ 


He wants someone to see past those stereotypes, or at least tell him that it's okay to be who he wants to be.

/I'm the dog who gets beat 
Shove my nose in shit/ 


Now it's definitely abuse in his home environment.  Maybe his parents' religion says homosexuality is a sin, and they believe that they can change him into a normal kid.  So they continually push all the "you're going to hell" stuff in his face to try and teach him that it's wrong.

/Won't you come and save me, save me/ 


Same as before.  He wants acceptance.

/Feed my eyes, can you sew them shut?/


He constantly sees reinforcement of the thoughts that homosexuality is wrong, and he doesn't want to see it anymore.
 
/Jesus Christ, deny your maker/ 


Major religious tie-in.  If he's gay, he's going against the will of God.

/He who tries, will be wasted/


Anyone who tries to rebel against the popular opinion will be ignored or "wasted" (killed...reference to homophobic violence).
 
/Feed my eyes now you've sewn them shut/ 

Continuation of the first line of the chorus, signifying that he has given up and allowed societal pressure to convince him that there is no hope of him ever being truly accepted.

Mm-hmm.  Yeah.  Makes sense, doesn't it?  Well, for God's sake, don't tell me if it doesn't.  Partially because I like having my little green bubble of blissful unawareness of any semblance of normality...but mostly because I'm not done yet.

The song "Hey Bulldog" by The Beatles is about a serial killer.  That's right.  I just went there.

Okay, so again, it's a Beatles song, so pretty much any interpretation of any of their songs will fly.  So because of that, I'll be brief.  The song constantly makes reference to how "some kinds" of various things like innocence and happiness are measured out in the same ways for everyone (i.e. age, level of success in life).  Now, a serial killer, taking into account the critical job requirement of being an absolute nutjob, would obviously not fit into those molds.  His happiness could be obtained by killing people; his "innocence" is that he doesn't understand that what he's doing is wrong.  And then there's this line:

/Childlike, no one understand/Jacknife in your sweaty hands/

I mean, come on.  Dead giveaway right there.  So you can just shut your mouth about throwing that crap together from three different song ideas, Mr. John Lennon.  You're talking about a serial killer whose childhood friends/tormentors gave him the name "Bulldog" because of his ability to bark and howl like one (yep, that's what that random interlude is near the end), and who now maintains a childlike misunderstanding of death and believes that he is making his victims part of him by killing them.

/You can talk to me/If you're lonely, you can talk to me/

It's a goddamn serial killer, and you will never convince me otherwise.  With the possible exception of the Internet search I will conduct tomorrow that will most likely tell me that everyone else already figured this all out ten years ago and what the hell took you so long.  But for tonight, I feel like a genius. And you can never take away from me, Internet.