Post Op from Inheritance by Deathless Gods with Human Bods

Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe

And all the seats that face departing stations
Make you feel motion sick in foreign nations;
As if you’d dropped it from a higher place
I watch your body glint, then fade away

What do I want? Since I could barely say it:
What do I want? Or could it never be:
What do I want? Suppose that I’ve been lying:
Would you still take care of me?

Draped across the table with your arms wide
On Percocet and feeling like the second Christ
Your friends will wash your hair and say they love you
The lamps will sway like seraphim above you

(CECILIA: Every single context that I'm in, I'm like, a different person. Cuz it's all relative. All of my identities are all relative. My gender is relative to who I'm with. My racial identity, my ethic identity, is relative to who I'm with. If I'm with, like, a brown-skinned Latinx person, I'm whiter! If I'm with another Mexican person who is a friend of the family in Mexico City, it's a lot of white-passing Mexicans, but I grew up in the States. So I'm definitely more American and they're definitely more Mexican. But it's – it's all relative. And like, every single context that I'm in, it changes. So I can't tell you, like, "I am this thing." Because in every single context it changes.)

Beyond “be”
We become

• Alternative
• electronic
• folk
• indie
• pop
• singer-songwriter
• Los Angeles