First draft, October 2013: a reaction to being cyberbullied
Second draft, October 2014: Aaron Kleifels discovering Matt Shepard’s body on a bike ride.
Third draft, May 2015: second draft with rhymes.
Final product: a fictionalized version of Aaron’s chance meeting with Matt outside of Laramie, WY in October 1998.
Why focus on the discovery? Because people love to write about the person as they were in life, but they don’t want to look into the incident proper in fear that it’ll cause a copycat crime or that it’ll make people uncomfortable. Most songs about Matt are usually what an upstanding guy he was (outside of the accusations of him selling meth to pay for college), but not about the tragedy proper – about the event that caused people to open up their eyes and realize that Harvey Milk’s assassination was not an aberration but rather the reality for the average gay person in America. The reason why I keep focusing so much of how perfect the countryside is has to do with the subversion of Americana around that time period – that this seemingly picturesque country can be the home of such monstrous activities. That a man can lose his life over being attracted to men.
lyrics
I’m on the morning ride, it’s time to feel alive, windy bike ride highway, the scenery in the countryside, Bob Ross exhibition, picturesque day, no cars down the road to the field and I see scarecrows mass appeal, total retain as my eye sees all, one thing looks way too real
I’m in the postmodern age of the man – every action I do to you in command; samsaric circle, karmic application, in syncopation
Who’s the kid twitching and moaning, amongst the corn, what a strange color, he’s not exactly a good fighter, the crows come around, high-step whistling, the details look strange, I damn well know, but maybe it’s just another decoration, it’ll all be snuffed out in the snow, red in the ground, trail on the boulevard
I bike away, postmodern ignorance, samsaric renewal, scarecrow is bliss, familiar sights and sounds not amiss, Wyoming togetherness
Biking further down the avenue that’s when the sight kicked in it’s true the being looked way too real the trail of blood should’ve revealed missing inquiries across town of the guy last seen at the Fireside could that be him there so I turned around
I’m riding down and I hear a cry, a weak cry, perhaps, but probably a lark’s, but it sounded shrill and pained and dark, desperate and then it all stopped, took another look at the sight, is his head split open and cut, WHAT’S GOING ON WHAT’S THIS GUY DOING HERE, and I tripped
My wheel was bent and I couldn’t do a thing, but I noticed I was closer to the fence, the scarecrow, I thought, was human all along, just barely making breaths
HEAD BUSTED BRAIN ON THE FENCH WHEEZE AND CHOKE TEETH ON THE GROUND
AND THEN IT HIT ME
IT WAS MATT FROM TOWN
THE BASTARDS CARVED IN FAG
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