Archive for the Romance & Relationships Category

Hedwig’s “Origin of Love” (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Fur Reals, Goof & Glamour, Intuition & Gut Intelligence, Movies & Movie Stars, Music & Life & Sundays, Psyche & Sexuality, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Romance, Romance & Relationships, Spirituality & Religion, Style & Fashion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Technicolor Pop, The wisdom of the universe with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Last time I saw you, we had just split in two.
You were looking at me. I was looking at you
.

We are always finding something once lost or newly discovered: some elusive idea, fragment of self, new friend, old friend, tribe member, ally, totem, trickster, co-inventor, muse, fellow hero, soul mate.

This search may be the very point of being born to this planet, of being given this skin.

Life is a lost & found.

We have our third eyes pealed, on the sacred look-out for our fellow mutants. We piece our lives together like legos. We sew the tattered bits of our selves into a kaleidoscopic crazy quilt. We wait to meet the pieces we lost. Our owies are eased as things fall in place. Everyone is engaged in this secret vision quest, everyone one is on alert. We’re hoping to heal the mysterious hurt. 

On the look out, always.

Origin of Love

When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.

The origin of love

And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.

The origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
“I’m gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants.”
And Zeus said, “No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards.”
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, “I’ll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half.”
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don’t behave
They’ll cut us down again
And we’ll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That’s the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It’s the story of
The origin of love.
That’s the origin of love.

I first saw Hedwig & The Angry Inch on stage — at The Shim Sham Club in New Orleans — and it was absolutely, indisputably magical.

Even the Robot loved it and he mostly loathes musicals.

We were so impressed by that Hedwig-Live experience that we were skeptical of the film. At first. But fear not, the movie managed to keep the magic intact.

“Sometimes grace and hope come in surprising packages. The title character of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, a would-be glam-rock star from East Germany, undergoes a botched gender-change operation in order to escape from the Soviet bloc, only to watch the Berlin Wall come down on TV after being abandoned in a trailer park in middle America.  Writer-director-star John Cameron Mitchell packs an astonishing mix of sadness, yearning, humor, and kick-ass songs with a little Platonic philosophy tucked inside for good measure. A visually dazzling gem of a movie.” (Bret Fetzer)

If you get the chance to see a stage version, jump at it. Even if it’s put on by 6 year olds. Especially if it’s performed by 6 year olds!

If you haven’t seen the film, well, you really should schedule some inspirational “me” time.

Mix up some cocktails. Rat your best wig. It’s high time for Hedwig. 

Have fun!

The film Hedwig & The Angry Inch, with John Cameron Mitchell (writer, director & star) is  available on amazon. So is the soundtrack.

Authors note: This is not the real punk rock gospel for this week. It’s a repost meant to reward you for your support. It’s merely meant to tide you over until I can post today’s intended PRG, which mysteriously disappeared from the screen at 4:28 am. I was writing the PRG (more of a love letter really) when we went off line. While waiting to get back online, I tweaked the sucker for 2 hours and ended up with a fabu finished product. Which I was liable to lose if I couldn’t get back onto wordpress. (I know! I know! I need no lecture. I get it. I waz the stupidz. They don’t call me the Lusty Luddite for nothin’!) Craving wi-fi, I crept out into the dark sreets — a vamp-cyber gently carrying an open computer to the parking lot of a shuttered coffee shop. Hooray! Houston, we have contact. I uploaded an image — something I’ve done countless times — and every bit of text just escaped into the ether. WTF?? Is it due to wordpress’ brand spankin’ new image/gallery widgetty whatucallits? What the hell happened??? No sign of it in revisions either, only an early draft. It’s just gone. Oh, I’m bummed. And stunned. Anyway, I’m gonna go back to the key board! But it will now have to wait until Monday. In the meantime, let Hedwig heal your irk (and mine) with her spiritual, romantic fairytale. *Originally posted on October 12, 2008*

Last time I saw you, we had just split in two.
You were looking at me. I was looking at you.”

*Painting By Genevieve Crotz.*

via Cream Scene Carnival

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“Joy” by Citizen Bird aka Silverbullit (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in I Heart My Love-Tribe, I Heart Robots, Music & Life & Sundays, Psyche & Sexuality, Rock & Roll, Romance & Relationships, Sexuality, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, The wisdom of the universe with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 1, 2010 by alphabetfiend

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy. It’s leaking out from every pore. I feel joy now I feel joy!

Thanks for tuning in (“and turning on?” she asks, eyebrow arching.) This is a very special hip hip hooray Happy Birthday — to the RobotBoy! — edition of the Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel.

Today we’ll be musing on the magic of love, on the mystery of dreams, on the JOY of music, on the brink of ecstacy.

Be patient while I goo-goo mew, for who am I but a love struck girl? 

This is just what I been lookin’ for! This is just what I been lookin’ for!

Before I met the real-life RobotBoy, he starred in several very vivid dreams.

It’s been a theme through-out my life, this “sensing” of an important someone before they’ve arrived.

My parents say it’s cause I was born with a veil (the amniotic sack, known as “the caul”, usually breaks away but when a baby comes out still hooded or “veiled” they’re said to be extra-sensory.) I say it’s cause I pay attention, plus I have the patience and the pesky urge to record my dreams rather than let them be lost to the ether. But perhaps it can be chalked up to a childhood spent on hyper-alert, always anticipating, neck craned and waiting.

This is just what I been lookin’ for! This is just what I been lookin’ for!

Maybe the universe just wanted to make damn sure I noticed that southern gentleman in the Hyde Park laundromat who would probably have been too shy to strike up a conversation, never mind ask for my number.

Eleven years later and the conversation I started continues. Sure, he’s shy but give him a beer and he’ll start talking; give him another and he’ll revert to the dense Mississippi drawl that slays me with sexy.

The RobotBoy and I have loads to talk about.

Being from the same mystical tribe makes for good conversation.

It’s especially important for weirdos (mofo freaks, genius odd-balls, jukebox poets, mutant mavericks) to find fellow tribe members with whom they can share their lives. This isn’t easy. Nothing great ever is.

But how could someone like the RobotBoy be with a woman who, I dunno, thinks like a mind-numbing Normal? Who sez “a man’s place is the workplace? Who voted for Bush? Who doesn’t give head? Who forbids fun in any form? Who freaks out over pot, porn, punk rock? Whose idea of music is Miley Cyrus? Who can’t rock and roll? 

Hell no. I know this man and he wouldn’t waste a moment with that woman.

If I hadn’t come along he’d have lived his life as a punk monk.

This is just what I been lookin’ for! This is just what I been lookin’ for!

Back in those days, before I met my Bot, I was still hyper-disciplined about recording my dreams (in an ever expanding series of tiny notebooks) and so those loverbot dreams can be returned to for re-examination whenever curiosity strikes.

We constantly marvel at all the little things those dreams foreshadowed.

In one of these dreams, he was known as an “R2D2” or “someone capable of inter-dimensional travel.” R2D2. Hahaha. It took years before I got the joke but I eventually laughed my ass off. In another prescient dream, he rose up from a smoky stage, surrounded by musical instruments, like a “Bradbarian Amadeus.” (No shit, that’s a direct dream journal quote.)

So it’s no surprise that music (real music, not Miley) has been such an enormous part of our love affair. 

Music — and the times we’ve shared within its clutches — has made “us” into a whole new thing, having given us a curious kind of form & function. It has also brought us a most immense, intense JOY.

This week’s featured song is “Joy” by Citizen Bird. They’re actually a Swedish band known as Silverbullit who had to change their name here in the states so as not to be confused with Bob Seger, er, I dunno, some other Silvery Bullety bunkos. I like the band by either name.

We first fell for Citizen Bird aka Silverbullit after seeing them live at CBGBs. They opened for The Soundtrack of Our Lives, more Swedes and one of our all-time favorite bands. (I Heart Ebbot Forever!) We saw both bands again the very next night at The Mercury Lounge. Despite impatience and preoccupation with our beloved Soundtrack, Citizen Bird blew us away.

Since then our love for them has only deepened.

The song “Joy’ is about just exactly that kind of love. 

I love to listen to “Joy” cranked up loud. Louder than yer mama can stand! Louder than yer doctor recommends!  Loud ass loud, my friends. I love it loud at the dusty gray, the very start of day, before the sun has risen, as the blackness fades. This sound, that gray, with the day & the highway curving up ahead.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy. 

What is it? Well, you call it joy.

But maybe it’s more, maybe it’s an ecstatic rumbling from deep inside the cerebellum. Maybe it’s a giddy vibratory jumble of goodness in all it’s guises. Maybe it’s a wondering, a tumbling, an awe-gasp plundering and then a sudden eye-pop hiccup of hell yes. Maybe it’s a coming clean yanking free making way kinda thang? Maybe it’s a beat happening! In the left foot of Venus. Hard to say really.

It’s simple but it’s sacred, it’s easy but it’s pure.

A melody and a couple of chords.

Maybe people fall in love with music because Music will never leave –there will always be someone somewhere ready to rock out with their cocks out. Count on that. Sure, Music can and will break yer heart (happens all the time) but it’s the rumble-chest rib-wrenching feel good kind. Music can kick the living shit outta you, sure, but it’s always there later to kiss the boo-boo. 

For your pleasure, I have provided two very different videos. The first was directed by The Designers Republic for some bullcrap coke thing (ugh) but the video fulla throbbing hearts & cartoon pine trees is psychedelic, pulsing and kinda perfect.

Despite the sweet perfection of  The Designers Repub vid, I still feel compelled to share another. “Joy” set to a 1968 short film by German experimental film director, Lutz Mommartz. (“Weg zum Nachbarn”) Pardon my excesses. Really, I couldn’t resist. It’s super cool and crazy sexy. Right up a Robot’s alley! Plus, the artsy dark-haired hottie with the soft expressive (cum)face is just exactly the Robot’s type. 

Mmmm. I’m in the mood for a mind-bomb orgasm. You?

Now that’s a hell of a way to spend a Sunday! Calling out to God overandoverandoverandover.

Later, lovers.

JOY

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Melody and a couple of chords.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more.

It doesn’t hafta be any more.

Just a simple thing and nothing more

*

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s leaking out from every pore.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

It’s just a simple thing that you call joy.

I feel joy now I feel joy!

*

This is just what I been lookin’ for!

This is just what I been lookin’ for!

A melody and a couple of chords

This is just what I been lookin’ for.

This is just what I been lookin’ for.

This is just what I been lookin’ for.

I feel joy I feel joy I feel joy now I feel joy!

The mermaid-robot is from the crazily amazingly entertaining comic site Nataliedee.com

“Robot Love — Take Two” by Munster; “Robot Love is Forever” by graphic designer extroidinaire Scott McLean ; “I love you, Robot” is available as a t-shirt on shirtoid; Sad Robot is available as a tee at threadless.

View “Weg zum Nachbarn” in full at http://www.archive.org/details/Mommar…

For more on Cit-bird/Silverbullit see the Silverbullit website or the silverbullit myspace page.

The Citizen Bird album is available on amazon.

Hot Mummy Love is Some Sexy Ass Gentle

Posted in Romance & Relationships, SPOOKY KABUKI with tags , , , , , , , on October 28, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Some would consider this post a trick.

I forwarded a link (to its original post on my myspace blog) to a dear friend and he emailed this reply: “I’ve been rickrolled!” I had to ask him what that meant. He said “When someone, a normally trustworthy someone, sends you a link that you think is gonna be something really cool but instead you’re subjected to a Rick Astley song.” For my friend it was definitely a TRICK and the perfect excuse (finally) to use the term “Rickrolled.” Glad I could be of service. Even I admit it definitely fits the “Rickroll” bill.

Others may consider it a treat.

Either way, it’s SPOOKY KABUKI!

I have a soft spot for Howard Jones. I don’t love him like I do Soundtrack or Turbo or Gluecifer, it’s not like that. It’s quieter than that, girlier, coming from someplace young and sentimental and brave. I used to love this video in junior high. I’d stay up late on the phone while my skater boyfriend whispered sweet nothings and this would play on MTV. I loved those mummies!

Those mummies ARE love to me. We all have these deep sad owies, injured souls swaddled in bandages. At night those mummies crawl into that bed with the notch-less bedposts and softly unwrap one another. Tell me where it hurts? Here, here, here. kiss kiss kiss.

**************************************************

Anyone whose ever met my man knows that I found someone with an “interior smile”. Now fer some tasty freeze in NYC… and yes, I know they’re in London but I’m more of a butterscotch dip cone on Bowry kind of girl.

Did this video inspire you to mummidom for Halloween? Make your own mummy costume and then make hot mummy love like some sexy ass gentle.

Amy Pops! Poehler’s Lil’ Punkin Head

Posted in Romance & Relationships, TV with tags , , , , , , on October 26, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Instead of bringing it to the news desk for SNL’s Weekend Update, Amy Poehler was bringing life into the world. A funny lil’ punkin head just in time for Halloween.

Amy Poehler and Will Arnett had a boy. They named him Archie. They’re such dorks. I love it. Archie! Who names their baby Archie? A nice comic book name for a comic duo.

Sita Sings the Blues: 1920’s Cartoon Bollywood Love Story

Posted in Art & Culture, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Tricksters, I like big butts & I can not lie, Movies & Movie Stars, Mythos, Romance & Relationships, Spirituality & Religion with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 22, 2008 by alphabetfiend

I was enchanted by the film “Sita Sings the Blues” from the moment I laid eyes on a movie-still in the film fest catalog, which I spotted while peering over the shoulder of a strange man. We were in line to see an pre-screening of W and I hadn’t brought my own reading materials. I was trying to be covert but the image of Sita threw me off. I began to coo and tug at the man’s jacket. He tried to turn the page and I protested. Sita didn’t sing to him like she did me.

The imagery is definitely girly in a wondrous, playful way. It set off the glam clang that tolls in my soul. The colors, the costumery, the romantic gossip of three shadow puppets, the monkey warrior, the blue-skinned bad boy whose only bad cause he’s so good, the 1920’s jazz music (throaty vocals of old Annette Hanshaw recordings.) Imagine the saturation of Bollywood in a sacred cartoon.

There’s masculinity at work too, which is very true to Indian myth. The feminine and masculine swirl together visually as the love story unlooses. Nina Paley made an odd choice when she decided to tell the story using 3+ styles of illustration/animation. I wasn’t sure at first because I fancied one in particular — the one used in the scenes where Sita belts out Hanshaw’s obsessive blues songs. The Robo-boy said, “It looks like psychedelic punk rock! Like Shag goes to Bollywood.” Of course! If Shag departed from his usual tiki triptychs or beatnik depictions of mods living the good life. If Shag shifted from all things hipster to all things trickster. The animation’s delightfully familiar yet deliciously fresh. Mythic & modern. Which is why the different styles idea grew on me. It spoke to the multi-faceted aspect of reality. We all paint our own stories, from our own unique perspectives. Archetypes and myth have been with us through cultural changes, beauty ideals, value shifts. There is always a mutation of myth as the story is lobbed. The morphic field fattens as the myth grows. It was quite insightful really, on Paley’s part, to present the same two characters with staid antiquity in one moment and whimsical agony the next.

This eternal essence of human energy was also evoked through the use of 1920’s jazz recordings. The gods are always with us, wherever and whenever  we are. They create and re-create as we move through our unique versions of the world. Through us, they live a mirrored infinity of lives. The heartbreak of the goddess is carried like a torch — her heartbreak is our heartbreak. Why, our heart break is so profound an ache, so original a shiver, that it must be the drama of an ancient deity. Thus the modern, apparently autobiographical, story of “Nina” and the enormity of her hurt. Which brings me to my one critique — why did the goddess of 2008 have to be so dull? So dumpy? It was out of place in such a stunning, glamorous film and it didn’t have to be that way. In fact, the beauty who sat beside me is a heartbroken goddess and damn if she doesn’t look like one. With a head of hair not unlike Sita’s fabulous mane.  Next to sensual Sita, “Nina” was just a lumpling with female pattern baldness and a proboscis like Wimpy from Popeye. Sunday Comics’ Cathy is sexier than “Nina.” And more likeable. Maybe it’s just me but I like my mortals to have a little oomph. Especially next to luscious Sita who sounds like a jazz diva, has a belly dancer’s wiggle and possesses the crackling aura of a silent screen star.

I love cartoons especially when they’re for grown-ups. I prefer my XXX animated. There’s none of that here, but with Sita’s sexy moves it wasn’t hard for my mind to go there. I wouldn’t be surprised if a Sita+Rama sex tape surfaces. I can’t wait! I love nothing more than a mythic beasty-man so a tantric hunk with skin the shade of laffy taffy? Hell yea!

It wasn’t just Sita’s man that had me lusty. That chick had some fine loot! Exotic saris, bling galore, a flying bed, a peacock gramophone.

When she held a banana up to her ear, my heart panged for my 7th grade banana phone. If only I still had that phone I could take all my calls like a curvaceous Indian love goddess. Speaking of cool stuff — when this baby comes out on DVD one of y’all beloveds better wrap it up in a turquoise bow for me. I must have access to this film at any hour of the day or night. When I’m hurting, I can play “count the crowns” while wearing a rhinestone tiara. That’ll make my skull tingle and my heart soar. At 3 am, when I need some mental glitter, I can pop it in and SPARKLE.

“Sita Sings the Blues” is a a magical telling of the Indian epic myth Ramayana. (“The Greatest Break-up Story Ever Told.”) Sita’s too good for Rama but don’t bother tellin’ her that! The mythic masterpiece was written, directed, produced, designed and edited by one extreme talent — Nina Paley. If you want to learn more about this amazing film, check out the website  or peek in on Nina Paley’s blog here on wordpress.

This is my Candy Condo; I’m a witch who might eat you.

Posted in Art & Culture, Friendship, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Friends, I Heart My Love-Tribe, Intuition & Gut Intelligence, Mythos, Psyche & Sexuality, Romance, Romance & Relationships, Spirituality & Religion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2008 by alphabetfiend
“I was born to love magic, all its wonder to know…” – Nick Drake
Got lost on someone else’s blog today, so lost that I fully expected to see a house with graham cracker shutters and chocolate bar shingles, a “stone” garden out front piled high with gum drops.
Eat-it-up wonderful by artist Sun Wahyu.

Eat-it-up wonderful by artist Sun Wahyu.

 I’m thinking about blogs and all the different forms they take… how in a way, in the right circumstances, they can become gingerbread houses in the fairytale woods. If you examine the architecture you can see the secrets inside. So many blogs are the fort in the bushes or the crawl space in the basement. The place where you go to connect with who you really are. In a way, I was wishing that mine was like that — desperately emotional, startlingly intimate. But then I’m startlingly intimate all the time, no one’s really startled anymore. Least of all, me. Do I fit into this community? Or do I stick out? When I go out poking around, should I leave a bread crumb trail?

We are here, on this planet, with one another and wow that’s magical! But if you are like me and always pointing out the magic, well, that’s not always a welcome intrusion into the day-to-day importance of cell phones, ipods, computers and the making of money to buy these machines. I’m machine-friendly. Kinda. I love a boy who is part robot. It’s not a bad thing. I think we are co-evolving with machines in ways we don’t even realize. We are co-evolving with everything and everyone. Our loved ones, our allys, even our enemies. Everyone. I never knew that day, 8 years ago, the day I met my doggie, my Prince Nakula, the power his gaze would have over me. I’m not the same person that I was. His beasty royalty has changed me. So machines… machines aren’t the devil. Look at Diego Rivera’s paintings! The spiritual and the mechanical can coincide within the crossed wings of a dragonfly. With the right mindset. Which is, at the very least, not to lose sight of the magical aspect of the machine.

Rockefeller's an ass for depriving NYC of this pure genius.

Cellphones, ipods, laptops…. these are communication machines. Are we communicating with them or are we hiding inside of them?

Is the ibook replacing the “I”?

Are myspace friends replacing real friends?

What is happening with blogging? Are we connecting with strangers in lieu of our loved ones? Or are we just connecting and that’s enough? Does the net (blogs, myspace, facebook) just give us a better chance to find our tribe members? To narrow down the search? Or is it just making it easier for advertisers to find us? As we sit in wait in our quirky niches. I gave in to myspace last spring after the RobotBoy round about double-dared. He thought I’d enjoy the photos and the blogging and the little notes passed like valentines. He was right, which riles. I show off piks of my ink and am inundated with tattoo ads. I confess to a glamour fetish and espouse the psychic importance of pageantry; extolling the virtues of crowns, feather head-pieces, gold lame, glitter, wigs. So they hawk toupees. I love the circus with a suspicious fervor, as though I spent a former life as the bearded lady who fucked the mer-man in the wee hours in our carnie wagon. I could care less about a cheap hotel stay in Vegas.

A-ha! I caught you! What are you doing here, in the wee hours, in my sticky web?

Did I just see you take a bite of my licorice-woven welcome mat?

Did you just devour my butterscotch doorknob?

Alphabetfiend is a trickster fox in the fairy tale woods.
 
** After an exhausting search of gingerbread images, I finally found the above image that had the sort of dizzying eerie exciting mood I was after, artwork by another “blogger” (of course! it would be.) Sun Wahyu of “Secret Society for the Sleepless Sleepwalker” … wow… what a name! I’ve definitely got my third eye on that secret society and you should too. And of course it would be called a secret society. All the better to make my point with, my dearie, said the wolfish grandmother to Little Red.

Punk Rock Gospel Blog: Hedwig’s “Origin of Love”

Posted in Art & Culture, Cinema & Filmmaking, Feminism (Shades of Gray), Friendship, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Funny Femmes, I Heart My Love-Tribe, I Heart Tricksters, Intuition & Gut Intelligence, Movies & Movie Stars, Music & Life & Sundays, Mythos, Psyche & Sexuality, Rock & Roll, Romance & Relationships, Spirituality & Religion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 12, 2008 by alphabetfiend

We are always finding something once lost or newly discovered… some elusive idea, fragment of self, new friend, old friend, tribe member, ally, totem, trickster, co-inventor, muse, fellow hero, soul mate.

On the look out, always.

Origin of Love

When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.

The origin of love

And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.

The origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
“I’m gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants.”
And Zeus said, “No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards.”
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, “I’ll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half.”
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don’t behave
They’ll cut us down again
And we’ll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That’s the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It’s the story of
The origin of love.
That’s the origin of love.

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