This is gonna be a relatively short one, because it’s not something I like to talk about, for any length of time.
I touched on Foo Fighters’ psychic connection to me in the last blog. It’s almost weird how that band, to me, have always somehow psychically connected to me, and I know that Dave, Nate, Taylor, Josh, Chris, Pat and Rami certainly don’t mean to have this connection, I mean, they’re all successful musicians who I have never met in my life, so why would they have a connection to me?
They’re always there. Every time, through good and bad, they have been there, and they don’t even know it. When Dave Grohl mentioned that he could sing to 85,000 people and they would always sing back to him for very different reasons, that hit me hard, because, at some point in life, I’m one of those 85,000 people, and, albeit very out of tune, I sing his songs for reasons vastly different to anybody else.
Rescued, 2023. Their first single since Taylor’s passing. I think Dave was looking to be rescued from what must have been a very hard time for him, losing Taylor and then his mom in such quick fashion. I could relate to his pain because I’d lost my mum too, in 1997. I was, perhaps looking to be rescued too.
April 19th, 1997. I lost my mum, she died and became the angel I knew she always was. It was not easy and to this day, it still isn’t. Two days ago was the 28th anniversary of her passing and I find myself thinking about her every fucking day! She didn’t have the easiest life and then just to compund that misery, in 1982, July the 31st, to be exact, she gave birth to this absolute moron, a son who was not, at all times, the most respectful child. Believe me, if I could take it all back… In a heartbeat.
I am meandering, I know this. This is not about me. I’ll get to the point in the next paragraph, I swear.
Go on Wikipedia, and look at the date when Rescued was released. Once again, Dave Grohl’s psychic connection to me had made itself very clear. Once again, whether they meant it or not, they were there for me. I’m 42 now and after not taking too much care of myself, I feel I’m closer to my own death than I ever realised. If I can somehow make it to 50, I’ll be happy (Plot spoiler, I’ll still be harassing you guys when I’m 80.) Also, Learn to Fly needs to be played at my funeral, that alongside Highway To Hell. I don’t want a big procession, nor do I deserve it, but fuck me, if you can cremate me to some fucking rock music, I’ll be happy. I like Coldplay too, but I swear to whatever is above us, if The Scientist gets played at my funeral, I’m haunting the bastard what did it!
Well, this went off the deep end, didn’t it? I was meant to be talking about Foo Fighters and what they mean to me, instead you get a funeral plan. Just Wiki that song.