Artist/Band:
Laurie Anderson
Lyrics for Song: The Ouija Board
Lyrics for Album: Talk Normal: A Laurie Anderson Anthology [2000]
In 1978, I spent some time in California in the fall,
looking for a quiet place to live.
I finally found what seemed to be the perfect apartment.
But the night after I moved in I heard a tremendous
pounding sound. As it turned out,
I had moved in right above a Hawaiian hallow log drum
school. Every other night,
it was converted into a hula school with a live band
of six Hawaiian guitars.
I decided to soundproof my place but I didn't hang
the door very well and all the sounds kept drifting
in. About this time, like a lot of New Yorkers who
find themselves on the West Coast,
I got interested in various aspects of California's
versions of the occult. We would sit around at night
when the Santa Anna winds howled outside,
and ask questions to the ouija board.
I found out a lot of information on my past 9,
361 human lives on this planet. My first life was as a raccoon.
— And then you were a cow.
And then you were a bird. And then you were a hat, spelled the ouija.
We said "a hat?" We couldn't figure it out.
Finally we guessed that the feathers from the bird
had been made into a hat. Is this true?
— Yes, spelled the ouija. Hat counts as half life.
And then?
— Hundreds and hundreds of rave eyes.
Now this is apparently my first life as a woman,
which should explain quite a few things.
Eventually though, the ouija's written words seemed
to take a kind of personality,
a kind of a voice. Finally we began to ask the board
if the ouija would be willing to appear to us in some other form.
— Forget it, forget it, forget it, forget it, forget it, forget it.
The ouija seemed like it was about to crash.
Please, please, what can we do ###060318 now so you
will show yourself to us in some other manifestation?
— You should lurk. You should L, U, R, K. Lurk.
No, I never really figured out how to lurk in my own
place, even though it was only a rented place,
but I did find myself looking over my shoulder a lot.
And every sound that drifted in seemed to be a version
of this phantom voice whispering in a code that I could never crack.
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