![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
two_grey_rooms"Beneath My Hands"
by Leonard Cohen
Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.
Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.
I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.
I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.
I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.
1. If you were surprised that "Hallelujah" wasn't the only thing this dude ever wrote, I am de-friending you.
2. If you thought Jeff Buckley wrote "Hallelujah," I am on my way to your house RIGHT NOW with a fulsome supply of tar and feathers. Consider yourself warned.
3. This is something that has been vexing me for a long time, so I'm just gonna come out and say it. YOU GUYS. Is it just me, or does Leonard Cohen bear a terrifying resemblance to the Cigarette-Smoking Man from The X-Files?
Fig A.
Fig B.
OBVIOUS CONCLUSION: When poets age, they morph into hideous shadowy figures of '90s pop culture.
A COINCIDENCE THAT FURTHER VEXES ME: When I googled Leonard Cohen to supply adequate pictorial aids, a site showed up called "The Leonard Cohen Files." HA HA HA THE INTERNET AGREES WITH ME. AND THE INTERNET IS BINDING.
4. I...actually did have more blithesome inanity to share tonight, but evidently I've managed to knock the English language out of my head with STONE COLD FEAR. Erm. I really do hate when I can't remember what the hell I'm talking about.
5. IT IS MY FIRST NIGHT OF FREEDOM (oh sweet, sweet end-of-winter break ♥), AND IT IS ONLY 10:00, AND I AM ALREADY VAGUELY SLEEPY. WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? Even if I COULD manage to drag my ass to bed without feeling like a total loser (I'm already on livejournal on a Friday night, it's not like my social status is in any peril, is it?), THERE IS NO WAY I WOULD GET ANY SLEEP. I'D HAVE COHEN-DRIVEN NIGHTMARES D: D:
6. ESPECIALLY because recently I have been besieged by horrifying/wonderful dreams of fucking my favorite male rock stars. YOU GUYS. LEONARD COHEN IS FUCKING PRECAMBRIAN. AND DESSICATED. AND PROBABLY REDOLENT OF MOTH BALLS. DO NOT WANT DO NOT WANT DO NOT WANT. D: D: D: D:
7. Erm, disturbingly in the same vein of #6, here, have another amusing exchange with my father:
DAD: *makes attempt to communicate with child but is drowned out by an iPod*
ME: *singing along* AND WE'RE PSYCHED! SO PSYCHED, SO FUCKING PSYCHED!
DAD: ...my daughter is singing the f-word. ROCK MUSIC IS DESTROYING OUR YOUTH.
ME: Yessir, Tunde Adebimpe taught me the f-word. Ahar har har he taught me the meaning of the word "fuck" IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE.
DAD: WHAT?!? SEX AND ROCK 'N' ROLL? WHERE ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR DRUGS???
omfg, MY FATHER. Just. I really. Am. Fucking speechless.
by Leonard Cohen
Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.
Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.
I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.
I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.
I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.
1. If you were surprised that "Hallelujah" wasn't the only thing this dude ever wrote, I am de-friending you.
2. If you thought Jeff Buckley wrote "Hallelujah," I am on my way to your house RIGHT NOW with a fulsome supply of tar and feathers. Consider yourself warned.
3. This is something that has been vexing me for a long time, so I'm just gonna come out and say it. YOU GUYS. Is it just me, or does Leonard Cohen bear a terrifying resemblance to the Cigarette-Smoking Man from The X-Files?
Fig A.
Fig B.
OBVIOUS CONCLUSION: When poets age, they morph into hideous shadowy figures of '90s pop culture.
A COINCIDENCE THAT FURTHER VEXES ME: When I googled Leonard Cohen to supply adequate pictorial aids, a site showed up called "The Leonard Cohen Files." HA HA HA THE INTERNET AGREES WITH ME. AND THE INTERNET IS BINDING.
4. I...actually did have more blithesome inanity to share tonight, but evidently I've managed to knock the English language out of my head with STONE COLD FEAR. Erm. I really do hate when I can't remember what the hell I'm talking about.
5. IT IS MY FIRST NIGHT OF FREEDOM (oh sweet, sweet end-of-winter break ♥), AND IT IS ONLY 10:00, AND I AM ALREADY VAGUELY SLEEPY. WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? Even if I COULD manage to drag my ass to bed without feeling like a total loser (I'm already on livejournal on a Friday night, it's not like my social status is in any peril, is it?), THERE IS NO WAY I WOULD GET ANY SLEEP. I'D HAVE COHEN-DRIVEN NIGHTMARES D: D:
6. ESPECIALLY because recently I have been besieged by horrifying/wonderful dreams of fucking my favorite male rock stars. YOU GUYS. LEONARD COHEN IS FUCKING PRECAMBRIAN. AND DESSICATED. AND PROBABLY REDOLENT OF MOTH BALLS. DO NOT WANT DO NOT WANT DO NOT WANT. D: D: D: D:
7. Erm, disturbingly in the same vein of #6, here, have another amusing exchange with my father:
DAD: *makes attempt to communicate with child but is drowned out by an iPod*
ME: *singing along* AND WE'RE PSYCHED! SO PSYCHED, SO FUCKING PSYCHED!
DAD: ...my daughter is singing the f-word. ROCK MUSIC IS DESTROYING OUR YOUTH.
ME: Yessir, Tunde Adebimpe taught me the f-word. Ahar har har he taught me the meaning of the word "fuck" IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE.
DAD: WHAT?!? SEX AND ROCK 'N' ROLL? WHERE ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR DRUGS???
omfg, MY FATHER. Just. I really. Am. Fucking speechless.
