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fat history month - a survey of cosmic repulsion كلمات الأغنية

everyone looks ugly when they’re close enough to kiss
we notice all the details that we missed from a distance
but a face is not supposed to suffer eyes within an inch
we shut them by custom, because ignorance is bliss
porous skin or wax_caked make_up
the scent and taste of foreign breath
from across the room, their features drew you closer
but proximity spells death
to illusion

even my close friends fall victim to this parallax
whatever was attractive quickly cracks from overexposure
suddenly i hate a man i’ve loved for many years
an uncanny valley filled with beer yawns between us…

“what do you see when you look at me
this person that you think you know?
we are both chasms, covered with blank canvas
and the light that shines between us is
the glow of our projections.”

knowing this, i’ve tried to allow
people close to me to be free
of expectation, and disappointment
but they just wind up disappointed in me

how can i see clearly
once i’ve learned to stop projecting
what i want to see on people?
all that’s left is there projections…
and though they flatter and inflate
my bloated sense that i am great
the distorted loop of self_reflection
forms a glaze of disconnection
you’re opaque to me, you’re a question
i don’t even think to ask

who and where are you, chasm, what do you see?
please help me escape this echo chamber cave, this lonesome, palatial open grave, this imperceptibly slow_motion, ever cresting, impermanent wave called “me”

we’re in two cars in thick fog, idling on a road that’s been broken
we are facing each other across a drawbridge stuck open
i can’t see you, but i can hear you, leaning on your h_rn
i honk back, then decide to relax, so i turn up the radio
the signal is strong, and it’s a good song, so i sing along

maybe it’s impossible to bridge this cosmic gap
maybe all there is, is s_x and other traps and brief distractions
if that’s the case, i guess we’ll have to settle for the best that it gets, for a moment we’ll forget this separation
everyone looks ugly when they’re close enough to kiss
and luckily for me i’m into ugliness
so let’s play the genetic lottery, and lose, and be f_ck you’s
to the culture and its victims who’d refuse us

- fat history month

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