Just Leonard Cohen this time

[Fade in mobile screen]
"... no fucking way dude am I even discussing Leonard Cohen."
[Cut to sleeping mother and child]
Ah, yes. Definitely the sisters of mercy. Hint of Suzanne in the mother? Definitely. She gets you on her wavelength, time after time.
[Cut to shot of this screen. Empty wine bottles in the background. Dirty dishes. Some signs of clealing. Wineglass, some wine. "Closing time" plays.]
"The chain's too tight, the moon's too bright. The beast won't go to sleep."
[Fade to black]
Well, we shall discuss Leonard Cohen here then.
Green Day "St. Jimmy" is thumping in the background. Sweet catharsis. "I don't care if you don't care..."

Let us begin...
So who is this Leonard Cohen?
Everyman?
No.
The people's bard?
Nope.
Barbie whatsit and the vagina of doom?
Uh-uh.
The demon from the everlasting hell of unrequited love?
Close, but no cigar.

Look inside, look deep. See the worm? Feel the worm? That dissatisfaction with perfection? The search for never never heaven?
How the worm turns.

Leonard Cohen. Jew. Buddhist monk. Singer of songs and talker of truths.
How the turn twists.

We are not happy, we are not satiated. Sitting at the feast of love or begging at the wells of disappointment. There is never enough. We are the harlots in the night, we cry out for more. We humble ourselves with our beggars bowls and our scarlet souls. Oh, how we beg for that which cannot be and is not advised.

"... and something on the side." As if one would hope to be the salad, or possibly an entrée to her feast.

The Cohenim is strong with this one. Shallow us, we drown in his words. He sees us by seeing himself. He strips away our faux morality. He breathes the fire of life into our loins. This one is strong in us.

"I like to see you naked over there, especially from the back, oh take this longing from my tongue..."

She comes to me. Nude, naked, unclothed, natural. She is muse and fate. Myth and woman. She is lying naked on his bed in the Chelsea hotel. She is smoking a cigarette. She is...
She is not here.

Leonard Cohen knew her. Mother, lover, daughter, he knew her every aspect. He never passed her by in the street without knowing her.

"... and all these useless things my hand has done. Let me see your beauty broken down."

Yes, yes, yes and a thousand times YES!" let me see you beauty broken down. Let me see it's composite parts. Let me see the nails that bind you to your cross. Let me see the inner curtains of your sanctum sanctorum.
"Like your would do, for one you love."