Our brains are way too big for our mothers' hips
And so Nature, she divines this alternative
We emerged half-formed and hope that whoever greets us on the other end
Is kind enough to fill us in
And, babies, that's pretty much how it's been ever since
Now the miracle of birth leaves a few issues to address
Like, say, that half of us are periodically iron deficient
So somebody's got to go kill something while I look after the kids
I'd do it myself, but what, are you going to get this thing its milk?
He says as soon as he gets back from the hunt, we can switch
It's hard not to fall in love with something so helpless
Ladies, I hope we don't end up regretting this
Comedy, now that's what I call pure comedy
Just waiting until the part where they start to believe
They're at the center of everything
And some all-powerful being endowed this horror show with meaning
Oh, their religions are the best
They worship themselves yet they're totally obsessed
With risen zombies, celestial virgins, magic tricks, these unbelievable outfits
And they get terribly upset
When you question their sacred texts
Written by woman-hating epileptics
Their languages just serve to confuse them
Their confusion somehow makes them more sure
They build fortunes poisoning their offspring
And hand out prizes when someone patents the cure
Where did they find these goons they elected to rule them?
What makes these clowns they idolize so remarkable?
These mammals are hell-bent on fashioning new gods
So they can go on being godless animals
Oh comedy, their illusions they have no choice but to believe
Their horizons that just forever recede
And how's this for irony, their idea of being free is a prison of beliefs
That they never ever have to leave
Oh comedy, oh it's like something that a madman would conceive!
The only thing that seems to make them feel alive is the struggle to survive
But the only thing that they request is something to numb the pain with
Until there's nothing human left
Just random matter suspended in the dark
I hate to say it, but each other's all we got
Are you waiting for a New Messiah? You know, the "smeared" or anointed one? If you, like me, were brought up in the Catholic Universe, and then rejected it, and then moved on, inexplicably, you are attracted, and sort of predisposed to the search for a New Anointed One. Yes. It's a failing. Either a lack of Imagination. Or maybe a manifestation of a tainted, over-active Imagination. Whatever.
You need to find a Charismatic Figure. It could be a Woman, or a Man. If it's a Man, it helps if he has long hair, a beard, an appealing voice, a way with words. The gift of gab. Maybe he sort of sounds like a 2017 LA-based Elton John. You also need a good origin story. For instance:
"Amid interpersonal discord, creative frustration, and turning-thirty discontent, he split town in an Econoline van, with a big bag of mushrooms, and meandered down the coast.
One day, he went for a hike, and, as the psilocybin kicked in, he began to shed layers of clothing, until he found himself perched on a limb, stripped bare before an indifferent universe. Scratching himself, he thought, I’m an albino ape, and I can do whatever I want. He realized that he didn’t have to identify himself exclusively with his disappointments as a musician or with his bitterness about being in someone else’s band: “I should just be myself.” “Myself” was a funnier, more playful, more self-lacerating—and just plain lacerating—version of whoever he’d tried to be as J. Tillman. He returned to Seattle, packed up his things, moved to Los Angeles, and started working on a novel. He recognized his voice in it, in a way that he hadn’t in his music. After a while, he picked up a guitar and started writing songs again, and these, too, seemed different. One of the songs was a country-rocker called “I’m Writing a Novel.” The hook went, “I’m writing a novel, because it’s never been done before.” This is when he invented the alter ego of
Father John Misty—or, in his rendering, discovered a truer self and gave it a name."
Yes, Father John Misty. I just discovered his 3rd record "Pure Comedy." I have only listened to it 3 or 4 times. I don't care what anyone else says, I am a believer. Count me a follower. I am in the Father John Misty Flock. I immediately put his other 2 records on my wishlist. I must get down the the root and core of the Father John Misty creed.
He may be a False Prophet, a Fraud, I suspect even he doesn't know whether he's for real or not. But that's the kind of Messiah we need in this oversaturated, Social Media Mad time. Self-Reverential to a fault. Too smart for his own good. Too Self Aware. So self-aware, he's aware of his own self-awareness. He makes that a feature. A Man willing to prostrate himself on the Alter of Self. A Self-Made Shrine and Sacrifice on the Altar of Self.
There is comedy, and wisdom to be found in Father John Misty's vision, plus the record sounds amazing, rich, layered, well done all around... I believe. Yes. Indeed.
