raise a boy to a cynic
ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴘᴛʏ.
sᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀɢᴇ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʀᴏᴡᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴇ
ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ᴅʏɪɴɢ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴜᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ sᴛᴀɴᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴇʏᴇs ғɪxᴇᴅ
ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴄᴏɴᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ
ɪ'ᴍ sᴏ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴘᴇs,
ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ
ᴏʜ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ
ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴠɪᴄᴇs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴀɴ
ʀᴀɪsᴇ ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴄʏɴɪᴄ
ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʜɪs ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ʟᴇᴛ ɪᴛ
ᴛᴜʀɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴘᴀssɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ
sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ sɪᴄᴋ, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʀᴀʙɪᴅ
ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴄᴀᴠɪɴɢ
ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ
ɪ'ᴍ ʟᴇғᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴅ ɪ ᴛʀᴀᴅᴇ ɪɴ
ᴍʏ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴀ sᴇʟғɪsʜ ᴡɪɴ?
┈┈┈┈┈‡┈┈┈┈┈
I've heavily associated this song with Kohao for a while, and I finally wanted to draw something to it as well as ramble a bit more about Kohao's character and his relationship with religion.
Kohao plays the part of an antitheist, would describe himself as such or as an "angry atheist." I guess the antitheist label fits him. He wears it tattooed into his skin, sewn into the patches on his jeans, as pendants around his neck. But the atheist label doesn't fit. You don't harbor that much anger towards something you have no belief in whatsoever. He's not writing song lyrics about how much he hates Zeus or the Flying Spaghetti Monster. And a real atheist doesn't break down and pray when alone and very, very drunk.
...But Kohao does.
I was doing some noncanon writing but that was where I worded best this very canon contradiction of his;
"[...] Kohao prays. Only when drunk and only when he’s opened his wrists, but he prays;
Kneels like a call boy on the bedroom floor with a tear-stained face and makes desperate pleas to matter, or for proof of his worth.”
Because underneath everything, underneath the anger and the tattoos and listening to eyehategod just because of the band name and not because he actually likes sludge metal, under all of it--he's desperate for something like faith to hold onto. He wants so badly to believe in safety and sanctuary and a loving God; he's hollow somewhere, feels like faith could fill that empty space, and is desperate to truly be able to believe. And he can't. He can't force himself to have faith. Not real faith, not full belief. So he's stuck halfway, at wanting to believe and searching for a sign--and feeling abandoned and betrayed when he doesn't get one. He swings between "God doesn't exist but if He does, I hate Him" and "God hated me first" and he holds that bitterness and anger until he breaks and finds himself drunk and cut up and praying. Praying to have value, praying to be worthy of forgiveness, praying to believe in the power of prayer.
If anyone asked him "Do you believe in God?" he'd respond easily, quickly, with a curled lip and a pointed gesture to the inverted cross beneath his eye. "Fuck no."
If he stopped and thought and was capable of replying honestly, though, the real answer would be "I wish I could."