That Battle Is Over - Jenny Hval

What is it to take care of yourself?

What are we taking care of?

A million bedrooms with hands softly lulling our divine cocks and cunts

Without telling anyone, a million ships come alone out on the calmest seas

So are we loving ourselves now?

Are we mothering ourselves?

Statistics and newspapers tell me I am unhappy and dying

That I need man and child to fulfill me, that I’m more likely to get breast

cancer

And it’s biology, it’s my own fault, it’s divine punishment of the unruly

It’s fearful out here on the calmest seas

We who grew up singing Merry Christmas!

War is over

Our mothers softly humming: we’re at the end of history

But I keep growing older, eight years since 25 now

And all that ages now is the body, I wonder why

I think to myself one of these days

Everything I write begins with the question, what’s wrong with me?

You say I’m free now, that battle is over

And feminism is over and socialism’s over

Yeah, I say I can consume what I want now

This is what happens on the edge of history: the Great Eye turns to us

We are the only thing that’s aging, but we don’t know it yet

We cling onto Heaven, Heaven, Heaven

Sleep tight forever