Décollage Lyrics

My boyfriend ended up

In the psych ward

He was kind of my boyfriend

Though he lived with another guy

They owned a house

Together

And they still had sex

From time to time

They hunted down each other

When one of them fell off the grid

Which my boyfriend

Often did

Like he did with me

When I was twenty-two

I brought him back to life

He had been suffocating

Trying to write a screenplay

Adaptation

Of a children's book

That his agent had arranged

With the guy he lived with

His so-called writing partner

Their first screenplay

Had set off a bidding war

Everyone wanting to meet them

But that was three years before

Now they missed deadlines

As writing sessions digressed

Into videotaping themselves

Having robotic, headless sex

That he later played for me

On their big screen TV

My boyfriend went mad

When he smoked reefer

So we settled on ecstasy instead

Writhing on each other's bodies

Eyes rolling

To the backs of our heads

Orgiastic rave music playing in the background

In the one-bedroom apartment he had rented

Away from his—whatever he was

Writing partner

Caretaker

Jailer

Away from the deadlines

And dead ends

His mother's new husband

And her old one

His father

And his shotgun

And on and on

He clung to me

On our doses of ecstasy

Whispering my name

Over and over

In my ear

And I told him

Let's just cut up pieces of coloured paper

And glue them into

Something new

Cuz that's all we gotta do

Decoupage

And décollage

Not all this bullshit

Mortgages and Hollywood and success

Oh let's just make a mess

Yeah, let's just make a mess

But, like I said

My boyfriend ended up in the psych ward

Where the visiting hours were very few

So I wasn't sure what I should do

We'd been doing so much together

And having lots of sex

All the time and wherever

So I met other people

And I tried to say high all the time

And I drew lots of pictures

Of bleeding infants

And pieces of shit under people's noses

And houses being swallowed up by waves

And dots, lots of coloured dots

So many dots

Pages and pages of dots

Swirling, whirling, random dots everywhere

I thought maybe being in the psych ward

For a couple weeks

Would open my boyfriend's eyes

He'd turn a corner

Disconnect

Sell the house

Do or be

Someone else

Not feel so envious

Of my adventurousness

My willingness

To commit one hundred percent

Maybe he wouldn't be tempted

To try to strangle me again

Trying to prove

That it wasn't so easy

That sometimes we can't respond

We can only react

And I did

So he finally let go

Of my throat

I told him

When I visited

That he could call me

When he was going to be released

I'd come and get him

But he said he wasn't sure

He wasn't sure of anything

He'd have to let me know

He never did

Or he only did after he'd done what he did

And went back to the other guy

Went back to trying to finish the uninspiring screenplay

To trying to keep up with the mortgage payment schedule

Went back to waiting to see

If their first script, which had been optioned,

Would ever go into production

I found god or something

The AA meetings he'd had

A drawer full of 30-day chips from

I got 60, and then 90, 6 months, a year

We kept in touch from time to time

On the telephone

He didn't finish the script

Defaulted on the loan

Got deeply interested in Jungian archetypes

The anima and animus

The search for his Double

With his therapist

With whom he'd become very close

And then

Then

His phone number went dead