transformer. lou reed
Baby hold me close. Tell me about god.
Remember the days we superglued our eyes to the pastor
while he talked about love?
Remember when we found him with Aunt Susan in the backroom
and we swore not to tell our mums?
It was football season, father poking me with all those plays and numbers,
my mind numb,
longing for Nietzsche.
I stood on the rooftop and screamed,
“There is no god!”
and it echoed eerily through the hilltops of this tiny town,
and I felt very small, very silly.
I clambered back through the window.
I sat naked on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
(I could not see the stars
even though it was starting to crack.)
Remember when we gorged our eyes and our tongues and our ears
on each other?
There were those moments when we proclaimed ourselves gods,
loudly, under the hum of living,
our hands slipping awkwardly down each other's skin.
Our words slid into each other,
tumbling down slippery winter slopes.
We laughed and you let me paint up your boyish face
with my girlish paints.
We colored our words and our world with Crayola mascara
and thought that’s how it should be.
Now I hear whispers, sometimes -
the old man with the steel pennies hears whispers, too.
This is not god.
But under the voices,
lost in the static that we had already drowned in,
(rebirthed, let ourselves dry on the shore,)
in that static dwelled something
without a name, a shape, a mass, or a soul.
Science denied, and I listened.
For awhile.
My god tells me to sleep naked.
Not to step on lady bugs, and to remember the dandelions.
My god tells me to run away to Germany or Japan.
My god tells me that it is not a god
(which is how I know it is)
A pretty little atheist with glimmersparkle simplicity eyes
told me he could fuck the spirituality out of me.
Told me I was a science girl with science eyes,
and I knew better than all that glitz and all those lies.
I asked him who spoke to me in my dreams.
He told me I was crazy.
I said:
evolution’s all right,
but something’s still speaking.
My god reminds me to look at the stars, even through the ceiling.
He reminds me to remember. Everything.
My god hints at all the missed pennies on the sidewalk,
and yanks me towards the drummer man on Pleasant Street
with the nickel-penny guitar case.
My god says “WAKE UP”, because sometimes I forget.
....on that note.... I've been thinking about god a lot recently. Not really god, though. My inability to articulate things is lame. But yeah. So this Thing, I've been thinking about that. Nelson and I got into a fight over Thing, and he wanted to take back the books he gave me for Christmas because he was convinced that I no long have any appreciation for Science. Which is crazy. It was whimsical. That's it. Weirdo.
But yeah, I love him. hah Regardless. We're supposed to go see The Producers tomorrow prior to my DDR New Year's marathon with Dionne and Christina. Oh yeah, we're that awesome. ....hahah And apparently I uninvited them(?) the last time they were here. Sometimes the bipolar in me is just ZOOOOOM through the roof.
Ethan and I have devised a gay-o-meter. My hairdresser (and I say this with the absolute most endearment) gets a good three O's ie. "My hair looks SOOO cute." [direct quote.. yeah... there is a little girly in my voice sometimes] But then I decided it's exponential, so our scale sucks and needs to be reevaluated. Ethan said "back in a sex" like it was an accident. He so has the hotts for Jonathan Taylor Thomas. hah No, I will not admit kissing my poster of him in fourth grade....
.....shit.
Hrm. So um. Not feeling well. That's crappy. We rearranged the living room. I might try to write something tonight. I think I might just sleep and read more of my book. I don't read as much as I should.
I think I'm going to call Chris. I'm thoroughly disillusioned with him now.
Remember the days we superglued our eyes to the pastor
while he talked about love?
Remember when we found him with Aunt Susan in the backroom
and we swore not to tell our mums?
It was football season, father poking me with all those plays and numbers,
my mind numb,
longing for Nietzsche.
I stood on the rooftop and screamed,
“There is no god!”
and it echoed eerily through the hilltops of this tiny town,
and I felt very small, very silly.
I clambered back through the window.
I sat naked on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
(I could not see the stars
even though it was starting to crack.)
Remember when we gorged our eyes and our tongues and our ears
on each other?
There were those moments when we proclaimed ourselves gods,
loudly, under the hum of living,
our hands slipping awkwardly down each other's skin.
Our words slid into each other,
tumbling down slippery winter slopes.
We laughed and you let me paint up your boyish face
with my girlish paints.
We colored our words and our world with Crayola mascara
and thought that’s how it should be.
Now I hear whispers, sometimes -
the old man with the steel pennies hears whispers, too.
This is not god.
But under the voices,
lost in the static that we had already drowned in,
(rebirthed, let ourselves dry on the shore,)
in that static dwelled something
without a name, a shape, a mass, or a soul.
Science denied, and I listened.
For awhile.
My god tells me to sleep naked.
Not to step on lady bugs, and to remember the dandelions.
My god tells me to run away to Germany or Japan.
My god tells me that it is not a god
(which is how I know it is)
A pretty little atheist with glimmersparkle simplicity eyes
told me he could fuck the spirituality out of me.
Told me I was a science girl with science eyes,
and I knew better than all that glitz and all those lies.
I asked him who spoke to me in my dreams.
He told me I was crazy.
I said:
evolution’s all right,
but something’s still speaking.
My god reminds me to look at the stars, even through the ceiling.
He reminds me to remember. Everything.
My god hints at all the missed pennies on the sidewalk,
and yanks me towards the drummer man on Pleasant Street
with the nickel-penny guitar case.
My god says “WAKE UP”, because sometimes I forget.
....on that note.... I've been thinking about god a lot recently. Not really god, though. My inability to articulate things is lame. But yeah. So this Thing, I've been thinking about that. Nelson and I got into a fight over Thing, and he wanted to take back the books he gave me for Christmas because he was convinced that I no long have any appreciation for Science. Which is crazy. It was whimsical. That's it. Weirdo.
But yeah, I love him. hah Regardless. We're supposed to go see The Producers tomorrow prior to my DDR New Year's marathon with Dionne and Christina. Oh yeah, we're that awesome. ....hahah And apparently I uninvited them(?) the last time they were here. Sometimes the bipolar in me is just ZOOOOOM through the roof.
Ethan and I have devised a gay-o-meter. My hairdresser (and I say this with the absolute most endearment) gets a good three O's ie. "My hair looks SOOO cute." [direct quote.. yeah... there is a little girly in my voice sometimes] But then I decided it's exponential, so our scale sucks and needs to be reevaluated. Ethan said "back in a sex" like it was an accident. He so has the hotts for Jonathan Taylor Thomas. hah No, I will not admit kissing my poster of him in fourth grade....
.....shit.
Hrm. So um. Not feeling well. That's crappy. We rearranged the living room. I might try to write something tonight. I think I might just sleep and read more of my book. I don't read as much as I should.
I think I'm going to call Chris. I'm thoroughly disillusioned with him now.