i suppose misinterpretations of song lines are like little Freudian slips. You hear what you want to hear. You’re singing loudly enough for someone else in the car to hear. Suddenly your best friend’s eyes go huge. She pauses, digesting it–then busts out laughing and disabuses you of the mangled lyric. For a long time–they were a rare band that i never owned, only danced to–i thought the Stone Roses song “I Wanna Be Adored” was saying, “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” Yes, i know about the Stooges and that other song. i just thought, well, like i said–sometimes we can’t help hearing what we want to hear, but the first line is, “I don’t have to sell my soul, He’s already in me.” Naturally, who “he” might be is up for grabs, but i’m pretty sure it’s sympathy for the devil, so, go figure.

i don’t really want to be your dog. Not really. At least, not all the time. In fact, i wanna, i wanna, i wanna, i gotta, i rather like being adored; but, i don’t have to sell my soul, either. Somehow, even with the middle name and all the rest, the darkness is just there. i’m not even really sure what that means, but i know that some people like the dialectic created by people, places, and things that can’t help going into the light. A very short list of what i mean might include Marianne Faithfull, Zora Neale Hurston, Han Solo, Kenneth Anger, Keith Moon, the idea of “drugs,” Francis Bacon, Gregg Araki, the Black Panthers, Sylvia Plath, Leonard Michaels, baths, Prince, roses, cats, the Rolling Stones, Proust, Andy, New York, San Francisco, Miami, Truman Capote, shades, sailing, Tanizaki, the Argentos, nails, fat variegated blackberries, walking, snakeskin, Scarlet O’Hara, Johnny Rotten, coffee, trains, Morrissey, Quadrophenia, New Orleans, Joan Didion, Scott Walker, thrift, the Nuns, orchids, oh, and don’t forget…”yes.” Not the band, but the affirmative: it gets me into so much trouble. The trouble isn’t where i live, but i really, really like to go there. And then come back. If you don’t come back, it isn’t material anymore–it’s you. Of course, the fantasy of trouble being over there and good behavior on this side, of light vs dark, of the verdict of black or white, is impossible. What seems like destitution to one person might be pure treasure for someone else. There is a point where believing your trash is gold ceases to be a performance, but getting there can be a very lonely hike. i saw Beasts of the Southern Wild on Friday night, and it makes this point ungently. Hushpuppy says, “I want to be cohesive,” and i can’t pretend like my face isn’t soaking wet for another second. Eventually, if you want it badly enough, you have to stay.

Diane: You were saying about poltergeist.
Dr. Lesh: Poltergeists are usually associated with an individual. Hauntings seem to be connected with an area. A house usually.
Marty: Poltergeist disturbances are fairly short duration. Perhaps a couple of months. Hauntings can go on for years.
Diane: Are you telling me that all of this could just suddenly end at any time?
Dr. Lesh: Yes, it could. Unless it’s a haunting. But hauntings don’t usually revolve around living people.
Diane: Then we don’t have much time, Dr. Lesh, because my daughter is alive somewhere inside this house.

Not going into the light is, of course, a reference to the 1982 horror film, Poltergeist. The movie always stood out to me because–after having “slept” on my Mom’s lap through countless trashy movies at the drive-in (surely they knew i was watching)–it was one of the very, very few movies my brothers and i were not allowed to see. My parents had seen it, and my Mom said the little girl, Carol Anne, reminded her too much of me. In the film, poor little Carol Anne is stuck in the spirit world. Some bastard real estate developers built her neighborhood on top of a Native American burial ground. They assured buyers that they moved the graves before beginning construction, but in fact they only moved the tombstones. The spirits are angry, and they snag Carol Anne because her life force is so powerful. She’s hanging out with all of them in purgatory, and the light—their chance to move to a different spiritual plane—appears. Tangina, the medium helping the family get their little girl back, has the mother, who can still communicate with Carol Anne, tell her not to go into the light. If she does, she won’t be able to return. For the lost souls, it is indeed a “positive” portal to another plane, but Carol Anne is still alive, so she needs to stay back. Ah, horror. I love it because it loves metaphor so, so much.

If i were soundtracking Poltergeist, Laurie Anderson’s “O Superman,” would be it for dialogue during the trailer: “O Superman. O judge. O Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad.” Maybe i’d commission a mash-up and her “ha-ha-ha-ha-” heartbeat rhythm would bounce underneath “you adore me.” Back and forth, the Stone Roses, “I don’t need…to sell my soul,”/Anderson, “This is the hand, the hand that takes…here come the planes.” Where are your arms, Mom? (adore me.) Your long arms? (Weren’t you supposed to tell me not to go into the light?) Your automatic arms? Your electronic arms? So, hold me? Mom?

So you better get ready. Ready to go. You can come
as you are, but pay as you go. Pay as you go.