Celebrity Skin

I once took a girl to prom who was a dead ringer for a blonde Melissa Auf Der Mauer, the red-headed bassist from the band “Hole,” and I reckon it was approximately around the time this song was first on the radio.  Courtney Love may be a complete train wreck of a human being who’s best known as the widow of Kurt Cobain, but her band rocked.  I’ve always thought Hole was underrated, and to this day I would argue that they had the single greatest band name of all time.  (Although my brother did have a band called “Boxfan” once, and that was pretty fantastic, too.)

Oh, make me over…
I’m all I want to be–
a walking study
in demonology.

Hey, so glad you could make it.
Yeah, now you really made it.
Hey, so glad you could make it now.

Oh, look at my face–
my name is Might Have Been…
my name is Never Was…
my name’s Forgotten…

Hey, so glad you could make it.
Yeah, now you really made it.
Hey, there’s only us left now.

When I wake up in my makeup,
it’s too early for that dress,
wilted and faded somewhere in Hollywood,
I’m glad I came here with your pound of flesh.
No second billing ’cause you’re a star now,
oh Cinderella, they aren’t sluts like you–
beautiful garbage, beautiful dresses,
can you stand up or will you just fall down?

You better watch out
for what you wish for.
It better be worth it–
so much to die for.

Hey, so glad you could make it.
Yeah, now you really made it.
Hey, there’s only us left now.

When I wake up in my makeup,
have you ever felt so used up as this?
It’s all so sugarless–
hooker, waitress,
model, actress,
oh, just go nameless.
Honeysuckle, she’s full of poison,
she obliterated everything she kissed.
Now she’s fading somewhere in Hollywood,
I’m glad I came here with your pound of flesh.

You want a part of me?
Well, I’m not selling cheap.
No, I’m not selling cheap.

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

I’ve been a fan of The Postal Service since this album came out in 2003, but I never fully grasped this particular song until the last year or two, and I just felt like sharing.

Smeared black ink, your palms are sweaty
and I’m barely listening to last demands–
I’m staring at the asphalt wondering
what’s buried underneath…
(Where I am)

I’ll wear my badge– a vinyl sticker with big block letters
adherent to my chest that tells your new friends
I am a visitor here… I am not permanent.

And the only thing keeping me dry is… 
(Where I am)

You seem so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex,
a stranger with your door key explaining that I am just visiting,
and I am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving…
why I was the one worth leaving…

D.C. sleeps alone tonight.

(Where I am)
You seem so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex,
a stranger with your door key explaining that I am just visiting–
I am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving…
why I was the one worth leaving…

(Where I am)
The district sleeps alone tonight after the bars turn out their lights
and send the autos swerving into the loneliest evening–
and I am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving…
why I was the one worth leaving…

(apologies to The Postal Service)

We Will Become Silhouettes

I’ve got a cupboard with cans of food,
filtered water and pictures of you,
and I’m not coming out until this is all over.

And I’m looking through the glass
where the light bends at the cracks,
and I’m screaming at the top of my lungs
pretending the echoes belong to someone–
someone I used to know.

And we become
silhouettes when our bodies finally go.

I wanted to walk through the empty streets
and feel something constant under my feet,
but all the news reports recommended that I stay indoors…

Because the air outside will make
our cells divide at an alarming rate
until our shells simply cannot hold
all our insides in, and that’s when we’ll explode–
and it won’t be a pretty sight.

And we’ll become
silhouettes when our bodies finally go.
And we’ll become (and we’ll become)
silhouettes when our bodies finally go.

(apologies to The Postal Service)

Things Can Only Get Better

I’ve been in need of a new set of songs for my commute lately, so I recently bought a CD of 1980s new wave tunes for shits and giggles and one of the tracks turned out to be a tune I probably haven’t heard SINCE the 1980s.  It’s Howard Jones and his 1985 neo-soul classic, “Things Can Only Get Better.”  This track is so good that when I listen to it, I’m almost tempted to believe it.  But as soon as the song’s over, the real world creeps in and I realize that this new wave anthem of youth and idealism was all just a beautiful dream.  (It’s too bad Howard’s hair couldn’t have also been a dream– that shit was for real.)

We’re not scared to lose it all,
security thrown through the wall–
future dreams we have to realize.
A thousand skeptic hands
won’t keep us from the things we plan,
unless we’re clinging to the things we prize.

And do you feel scared?  (I do.)
But I won’t stop and falter.
And if we threw it all away,
things can only get better.

Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)
Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)

Treating today as though it was
the last, the final show–
get to sixty and feel no regret.
It may take a little time– 
a lonely path, an uphill climb.
Success or failure will not alter it.

And do you feel scared? (I do.)
But I won’t stop and falter.
And if we threw it all away,
things can only get better.

Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)
Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)

And do you feel scared? (I do.)
But I won’t stop and falter.
And if we threw it all away,
things can only get better.

Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)
Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)

Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa oh-oh-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)
Whoa whoa whoa-whoa oh-oh-oh
(Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh)
Whoa whoa whoa-oh-oh whoa-whoa whoa-oh-oh

(apologies to Howard Jones)