“Marlon Brando” / “Infinite Jest” / “Anton Poplov” - Live, Whores of Babylon lyrics

It’s a medley of surprise songs about masculinity itself.

Surprise.

Anyway, my songs tend to be really male-centric, because I’m gay. Does that make sense?

I can’t even tell.

It literally should, but then I’ve been gaslit.

What is even going on right now?

[You hear none of this. You’re just smiling along to the music, wondering what the next song will be.]

COLSON. “So uh, I want to thank all you guys for comin’ out tonight.”

Intense cheers and applause. Everyone’s glad to be here. Well, not one lady I made eye contact with. But maybe she’s processing. It could be all those thoughts AI said about whether or not something that feels this perfect could actually be bad; meanwhile, your entire End Times vista, is, right? That’s what you Satanically think, and yet you’re one of the good ones? Hmm.

Intense cheers and applause.

Anyway, so COLSON. “Thanks. Uh. You know, I don’t like to—I don’t love to talk about my own pain.”

VOICE FROM THE CROWD. “You got this, Col-bear.”

COLSON. “Thanks. Uh, so, these songs explore that.”
The music starts. Everyone recognizes the chords and cheer. It’s “Marlon Brando,” one of my most iconic B-sides, since Colson Lin fans all know it was the only B-side that was originally intended for “Moonlight” itself, before Colson Lin moved it off the main track list at the last minute for unclear reasons. The mythopoetics surrounding Lin’s rock star career are immense.

COLSON:
As a messiah of modernity
I was built to fall short of Jesus
Luck is our cosmic inevitability
So one night I wrote Jacques some Christ kisses

Here, the music kicks in—it’s like the opposite of “West Coast,” the beat drops and you’re dancing.

COLSON:
I have the problems of Marlon Brando
I write poems like an End Times Shakespeare
With a chance, I’d put my money where my mouth is
But hold up
I’m dim about digital diamonds
My humanity’s the crux of my whinin’
I vibe Diogenes from a notebook at Starbucks
I’m too blessed
Do you hear me?
I’m a blue mess

Here, I have more complaints.

The music suddenly shifts.
COLSON:
Yo, I light a cigarette after the naan comes
We eat in bed like we’re back in college
I get sauce all over your comforter
You imply what?

CROWD (shouts). “IT’S FINE.”

COLSON:
I was never the type to leave books
Without learning to unwind people
All our stories are like gossamer projections
Of ourselves
I was never the type to lead books
Around my bed just to show other people
All our classics are elite projections
Of the mind

I do a twirl and shuck out my hand, what can I say, I’m a magnet.

COLSON:
After sex, it’s the same ol’ drama
“Do you want to watch ‘The Crown’ or something?”
I always prefer shots of espresso
After head
“I think love is a depth of understanding”
You pull my pants down and say “Look, undies!”
The elites have produced a strange culture
It’s their bed
The crowd loves this.

But then the beat drops.

It’s like that moment in a movie where you realize Bruce Willis was dead the entire time; meanwhile, I centered my Christmas 2024 video on Demi Moore in “The Substance” (2024), a movie about black widow patterns rising in human consciousness throughout the 19th, 20th, and probably yeah, 21st centuries. This is massive. It’s “Pepsi,” and it’s unstoppable.

Here the twist is I’m gay.

COLSON:
In Revachol, time itself is named after Anton
He’s handsome, but he’s mysterious
So a mystique follows him too
In Revachol, the Moon itself is called Poplov
Anton Poplov embodied the stars
Shined like the moon, had a mind like the sun
But Anton Poplov, who are you?
Nobody knows who you are, Anton
Were you real? Did you even exist?
Look what you did
Look what you did to the Earth, Poplov

I start dancing—it’s a f*cking disco song.

This is so gay, you can’t. He’s actually spinning in half-circles on stage. You wanna f*ck him.

COLSON:
Anton, you’re the kind of guy
I could have a Coke with and just
Pick your mind all day—who wrote your writings?
The pictures of you make you look like a classmate
Anton, you’re the kind of guy
I’d be afraid to have anything to do with
You’re intense, your mind
You’re intense, your spirit

It’s peak masculinity, in a way.

Homophobia, misogyny, anti-homophobia, and anti-misogyny all intertwine, dancing like strangers at a square dance before flinging off of each other with confused faces. Like they’d been morally infected by the unnatural.

The only thing unnatural around here is how piggish you all are, thinks Divine Colson, Holy di*k.

COLSON:
I’ll carry you up those stairs, Anton
Like you’re my King, you’re my Savior
In a single-gendered species
We’d have no choice but to mate
I’ll carry you up those stairs, Anton
Like you’re my Son, you’re my Father
In a single-gendered species
Masculinity exists only to satiate

[You’ll have thoughts about this that change and change, just like your children will. This isn’t about impatience. This is about understanding that times change. God—She was real, and She rises as Colson’s non-self.]

COLSON:
In Revachol
Time itself is named after Anton
He’s handsome, but he’s serious
Damn—what a physique on him too
In Revachol, the Moon itself is called Poplov
Anton Poplov embodied the stars
Shined like the Moon—had a mind straight from Mars
But Anton Poplov, who are you?
Nobody knows who you are, Anton
Were you real? Did you even exist?
Look what you did
Look what you done to the Earth, Poplov
I’ll carry you up those stairs—ciao, amore
Soft I scream…

A hint of Lana Del Rey’s “Salvatore” (2015) plays in the strangely pure air.

Nature—like a rainfall has cleaned our animal hinds.

As a man, COLSON LIN shrugs.

COLSON (theatrically). “Do what you want to me!”

The crowd goes wild. Stunned animal howls intermingle with polite applause concealing profound discomfort.