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fat history month - waste not lyrics

the wisdom of age is learning
it can always get worse
but the misery of endless childhood
is a self+inflicted curse

i was right about hindsight being blindness
though i didn’t really know what i was talking about at the time
having aged several years, lost a mother, and some hair
i’ve been living lots of days that are trashed in advance
beached on the shore of a backward glance
bloated, trapped and helpless

so how do i roll down off this beach
and learn how to swim again?
i’ll have to evolve new limbs
and learn how to crawl
and learn how to stand
and learn how to walk on land

i wasn’t always a washed+up whale
beached and bloated and trapped in the past
in fact once upon a time i was a little plastic beach ball
and i could move pretty f+cking fast…

my boyhood was buoyant and insane
tossed by the wind across the tops of the waves
all along the safe shallow shoreline
on a bright sunny day…

but
when i brushed the blunt edge of some grown+up’s impatience
my immediate reaction was total deflation
even in the absence of strong+arm persuasion
my thin skin burst, and i lost my elation
sinking in the shallows, a broken beach ball
the kid with no skin
ashamed, and red, and raw, beyond reason
way too sensitive, blurred eyes blinking, hot shame rising
cold heart sinking, and singing with the savage howling wind
which blew through the ragged, growing hole in the skin of my belly
soft underbelly
all over underbelly
it’s all one big vulnerable belly
when you’re a ball, with nerves all over…
i follow the feeling, and allow it to surge
and cover me up ’til i’m further submerged
and then sinking and sinking and afraid
on the verge of submersion, up to my eyes in aversion
when miraculously there’s an inversion
as i cross the thin line
between the green and the blue
and suddenly the whole world is new…

i close my mouth and lungs
i hold my breath and open my eyes
sunbeams are columns here
they hold the roof that blocks the sky
it’s nice and quiet here
and nothing can touch me
my limbs and heart beat slow
and no one can rush me
my fingertips and toes resolve themselves into a steady engine
i am a submarine: silent and safe and absolved of tension…
then a lifeguard reached down
touched my shoulder
and broke the spell…

i awaken on the beach, now
the sun has set
“god what’s that smell?”
as i lay here, stinking, under twinkling stars
i begin to notice tingling in my newborn legs and arms
i’ve been dozing in the present while my mind was
floating in the distant past
as i lay here, sand piled up all around me
like the bottom of an hourglass
“how much more symbolic can it get?”, i laughed
and though i still felt grim
i decided that i’d better get to work on learning to improve
and move, and make use of my new limbs
very carefully at first…
and so with slow, delicate intention
i ease down the sloping beach
i can hear the sound of ceaseless, peaceful rolling waves
they’re almost within reach

- fat history month lyrics

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