fan letter to lady gaga
after Terrance Hayes
there has been so much discussion about whether you have a cock or cunt. frankly, i like to think you have a psychic dick. disco stick, i guess. you must have one, since you sing about it, right. i sang along to one of your songs today in my car. at the end of it i wept like a lost child. it made me think of sad things, but in a good way.
i heard yet another music video of yours isn’t allowed to play before 8pm. after 8pm is officially my favorite part of the day. lights, sequins, piano, & sunglasses. you are so fabulous. do you think people hate us because of fear or jealousy.
do you think about the fag in ohio who has to hide your cd under his mattress. let’s say his name is chad. he wants to move to new york, where you got your start.
my mother told me a joke on the telephone. how do i get you to cry. she said poker face. get it. chad thought it was funny. i rolled my eyes. chad thinks you have a cunt. if he let himself think you have a disco stick, his head would explode. no man is an island i tell him.
this morning i turned into a robot. this was before i cried in the car. my face rusted. chad says it happens to him, too, but doesn’t know why. did i mention he turned into a robot, also, just he ain’t aware of it. he definitely turned robot before i turned robot. when we dance it sounds like cookware banging together on a beat. pots & pans & woks. the media hates us because we aren’t human. something about the fact we can’t procreate, yada against god’s will. they assume we’re made. it’s the electricity that scares them. when i finally convince chad that you have a dick, fragments of metal will hit all the other islands.
the sharper pieces of shrapnel will slice & slash innocent bystanders. for now, i let him think you have a cunt. i let him believe he’s still human.