ChicaCherryCola

I've updated the OP with the spoken word version of the poem, transcribed by @@takeitdoen who is able to listen to it in Australia.
 
It's interesting to note she changed around the poem a bit, especially with excluding certain words with the place of long pauses. I've left both versions in the OP x

Original Version
Stay on your path Sylvia Plath
Don't fall away like all the others   Don't take all your secrets alone to your watery grave about Lovers and mother   The secrets you keep will keep you in deep like Father and Amy & brother & all of the people you meet on the street will reiterate lies that she uttered   Leave me in peace I cry Late at night on a slow boat bound for Catalina for no reason   Tiny beads of sweat dot my forehead Could be mistaken for dew drops if this were photo season.   But alas this is a real life - and it's been a real fight just to Keep my mind from committing treason. Why you ask? Because she told the towns people I was crazy and the lies they Started to believe them   But anyway - I've moved on now   And now that I've gone scorched earth I'm left wondering where to go from here. To Sonoma where the fires have just left? South Dakota?   Would standing in front of Mount Rushmore feel like the Great American homecoming I never had?   Would the magnitude of the scale of the sculpture take the place of the warm embrace I've never known.   Or should I just be here now In the kitchen Bare feet on linoleum Bored - but not unhappy Cutting vegetables over boiling water that I will later turn into stew   ---   Spoken Word Version Stay on the path of Sylvia Plath, Don’t fall away like all the others.
 
Don’t take all your secrets alone to your watery grave about lovers and ---
 
The secrets you keep will keep you in deep, like Amy and ---  and brother.
And all the people you meet on the street,
Will reiterate lies that they uttered.
 
Leave me in peace, I cry in the middle of the night
on a slow boat bound for Catalina for no reason.
 
Tiny drops of perspiration dot my forehead
They could be mistaken for dew drops if this were photo season.
 
But alas.
This is a real life. And it’s been a real fight, just to stop my mind from committing treason.
Why, you ask?
Because she told the towns people I was crazy.
And the lies, they started to believe them.
 
But anyways,
That’s all over now. 
I’ve moved on.
 
Gone scorched earth.
And now, I’m left wondering.
Where do I go from here?
To Sinoma, where the fires have just left? 
South Dakota?
 
Would standing in front of Mount Rushmore feel like the great American homecoming I never had?
Would the magnitude of the scale of the sculptures take the place of the warm embrace I never got?
 
Or should I just be here now?
Bare feet on Linoleum
Slicing vegetables into water
That I will later turn into stew.
 
People love my stories.
People love my stories.

No idea, but the way she repeats that question across the poem kills me 

Me, a person who's never been to LA and has no idea what she's really talking about:

No idea, but the way she repeats that question across the poem kills me 

Holy shi-
 
What if "can I come home now?" was something she used to ask her parents when she was at boarding school?? :poordat:

I have always suspected that Lana is bipolar so perhaps she is referring to Prozac. It is the go to medication for bipolar disorder
When Lana writes about her darkness, I see her and I understand her. I have that same darkness and pain too. She describes everything that I feel.
 
Honestly, Lana would not have to explain this poem for me to understand it. I know what she is talking about because I have lived these emotions. I know what it is to be emotionally neglected. I have never been taken seriously so when Lana writes about this, I take her very seriously. I get it.

I don't think it's "Zac", it sounds like "sax"/"sacks" to me? Idk 

Also Garcetti is the mayor of LA, what's THAT about ... 

Me, a person who's never been to LA and has no idea what she's really talking about:

Me, a person who's never been to LA and has no idea what she's really talking about:

Me, a person who's never been to LA and has no idea what she's really talking about:

Me, a person who's never been to LA and has no idea what she's really talking about:

it's a matter of 2 days untill someone remixes her saying that word into a full song

It's killing me that it's out in some places but I can't listen to it 

@@takeitdoen Thanks for the info, lucky Australian! I've updated the title and the OP with your transcript x

@@Elle this is Salamander!
 
and I am floooored. 
 
Get out of my blood, salamander!
I can’t seem to blow off enough steam to get you out of my head.
Soul cycle you to death, run you out of my blood to San Pedro.
And yet, everywhere I go, it seems there you are,
And there I am.
 
I don’t want to sell my stories anymore, stop pushing me.
Some stories aren’t meant to be sold.
Some words aren’t meant to be told.
 
I want to leave them underneath the nightstand to be forgotten
or remembered should my thoughts come upon them in the middle of the night after a long beach day.
Or by you, some afternoon, to thumb through by your warm after-work hands.
 
I love you, but you don’t understand me.
I’m a real poet!
My life is my poetry, my love making is my legacy!
My thoughts are about nothing, and beautiful, and for free.
 
You see, the things that can’t be bought can’t be evaluated, and that makes them beyond human reach.
Untouchable, safe, otherworldy.
Unable to be deciphered or metabolised.
 
Something metaphysical,
Like a view of the sea on a summer day,
on the most perfect winding road taken in from the car window.
A thing perfect, and ready to become a part
of the texture of the fabric of something more ethereal
 
Like Mount Olympus, where Zeus sent Athena and the rest of the immortals plague.

Get out of my blood, salamander!
I can’t seem to blow off enough steam to get you out of my head.
Soul cycle you to death, run you out of my blood to San Pedro.
And yet, everywhere I go, it seems there you are,
And there I am.
 
I don’t want to sell my stories anymore, stop pushing me.
Some stories aren’t meant to be sold.
Some words aren’t meant to be told.
 
I want to leave them underneath the nightstand to be forgotten
or remembered should my thoughts come upon them in the middle of the night after a long beach day
Or by you, some afternoon, to thumb through by your warm after-work hands
 
I love you,
But you don’t understand me
I’m a real poet
My life is my poetry
My love making is my legacy
My thoughts are about nothing,
and beautiful, and for free
 
You see, the things that can’t be bought can’t be evaluated,
and that makes them beyond human reach
Untouchable, safe, otherworldy
Unable to be deciphered or metabolised
 
Something metaphysical
Like a view of the sea on a summer day
on the most perfect winding road taken in from the car window.
A thing perfect, and ready to become a part
of the texture of the fabric of something more ethereal
 
Like Mount Olympus, where Zeus sent Athena and the rest of the immortals plague.
 
 
 

i dont wanna wait another 7 hours

Also, one more thing. This picture she posted on her instagram with the caption "LA Who am I to Love You" perfectly captures this poem. I know her book will include some of her original photography, but I wonder if this picture may be included as well to supplement this poem. I wonder if this picture was taken around the time she wrote the poem.
Also, when she first posted a picture from this day in 2018 with Ben, the caption was "LA-->SAN FRAN" 
 
"I'm lonely, LA, can I come home now?
I left my city for San Francisco
And I'm writing from the Golden Gate Bridge
But it's not going as I planned
I took a freeride off a billionaire('s jet) and brought my typewriter and promised myself that I would stay but
It's just not going the way that I thought"
 
'LA who am I to love u'

 
'LA-->SAN FRAN'

she's just manually censoring the world sex
for the kids

Also, on the debate of the "Zac" wording, perhaps she means Prozac (antidepressant)? I feel like it could make sense here since Prozac can cause sleep issues and she references not being able to sleep x
 
 
 
Actually I saw this as a bit of a reference to her lyrics in Peace - Wake up each night at the same time, roll up the blind and look outside, and in the orange light the fog is rising 

Her delivery was *chief's kiss*
Her raw voice, the fast pace that reflected desperation/hopelessness 

The thread's been moved to the Violet section, sorry about that! I have the section locked until release in case anything leaked, but it seems this was uploaded to Spotify NZ, so it was officially released somewhere.
That being said, just a friendly reminder to PLEASE not ask, post, nor send any unauthorized, illegal streams/download rips of this copyrighted material. Please only link to authorized retailers/streams for Violet.

This is surprisingly extremely sad and beautiful. Not expecting this level of quality poetry and delivery. If this is how the whole audiobook is going to be, quality wise, I won't even care if she does not release COCC for the next couple of months