Tuesday, 11 April 2023

April 11, 1993: I performed in public for the first time, singing my poem "Calendar Girl"


Thirty years ago today

            The party didn't really get started until after midnight at the beginning of Easter Sunday. I didn't meet anyone there who wasn't an artist: science fiction writer, workers in textiles, and painters. Diana Dufretes looked gorgeous and I met the other members of her ménage a trois. Jodie was a video artist who resembled Bette Davis. Ray looked almost exactly as I imagined he would. In the wee hours of the morning they put on a tacky mockery of a Passion Play with a guy named Yehuda crucified on the wall above the celebrants. He was up there for at least half an hour while below him a communion was performed, followed by Ray as the priest ripping off his clothes and dancing while the jewelry from his genital piercings dangled and danced as well. Diana performed her piece. It was kind of fresh, a little naive, innocent, and much more original than most of the stuff people did that night. I sang my poem Calendar Girl and it was the first time I'd ever performed in public. People applauded and seemed to like it. I dedicated the song to Diana and gave her a copy, but later she wanted to make sure I hadn't written it for her. I assured her that I wrote it a long time before I met her: 

Calendar Girl 

There is a woman in the mirror 
she lives behind my eyes 
to orbit my subconscious 
like a shadow-satellite 
but I'll never really touch her 
well at least never in this time 
she is the shape-shifting idol 
in the temple of my mind 

You know I've reached for her in many 
and found a little peace 
if only I'd reached deeper still 
I might have been released 
oh but we'll never touch each other 
although we live in the same place 
you see our backs are fused together 
so we take different views of space 

Oh but I am scared of her 
she tests the strength 
of every dream I build 
which buckle neath the weight 
of just the shadow of her will 
but I really needn't worry 
cause she can't touch me anyway 
Her's are heat-seeking missiles 
and my heart is cold as clay 

She is the coiled and sleeping serpent 
at the bottom of my spine 
she's the shadow puppet theater 
in the backstage of my mind 
but I'll never really see her 
because there's a veil she hides behind 
but I guess that’s for the better 
cause just one look would drive me blind 

Yes and her geodesic belly 
is my planetarium
and also its the diving-bell
that dropped me so far from my home 
but I'll never really live there 
because you just can't go back again 
no she will never be my mother 
and she'll never be my friend 

No, no, no she has no sense of humour 
and she has no sense of time 
sometimes we meet halfway in drag 
in some neutral place we find 
but we never stay for long there 
although we stay forever too 
Each moment holds eternity 
if you see each moment through 

It's her flesh that warms the altar 
it's her hand that wields the knife 
it's her lips that drink that last drop of my blood 
it's her kiss that brings me my life 
but I'll never really kiss her 
well at least never in this world 
She is my shape-shifting priestess 
she's my Calendar Girl

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