4. I Never Called You Mine • Syntax of Paradox • For Him

*What happens when one man loves another deeply - but refuses to confuse intimacy with ownership? “I Never Called You Mine”* examines the tiny possessive word hidden inside countless love stories: mine. In this male-vocal “For Him” interpretation, a man addresses another man he has desired, missed, waited for and even been jealous over — while questioning whether any of those feelings confer ownership. For queer relationships, that question carries a particular historical irony. Love that was once denied public legitimacy can still inherit many of romance’s conventional rules once recognition arrives: exclusivity, possession, jealousy and the expectation that permanence proves seriousness. Track 04 of WHO TAUGHT LOVE ITS NAME? refuses the easy answer. Freedom does not eliminate jealousy. Non-possession does not make loss painless. The song instead asks something more difficult: if someone remains only because they are free to do otherwise, might that choice be more meaningful? Smoky Weimar cabaret, French chanson, crooked electro-Charleston and nocturnal French-house electronics turn the argument into a seductive late-night confession. LYRICS There is a very small word that has caused an extraordinary amount of trouble. Mine. My house. My country. My God. My love. We do adore a possession. I never called you mine. You came when you wished. You left when you wished. Sometimes with rain on your coat. Sometimes with somebody else's rose. I noticed. Naturally. I am philosophical, not dead. I missed you when you left. I wanted you when you stayed. I loved the ridiculous sound you made when pretending not to laugh. But I never believed that loving you gave me ownership of any part of you. I never called you mine. I called you when it rained. I called you when the room became too quiet. I called you darling. I called you late. But mine? No. Love is already dangerous. Why give it a deed of estate? At table nine a married couple sat facing one another like two neighbouring countries with an excellent border agreement. Her wine. Her silence. Her husband's watch. His newspaper. His side of the bed. Her side of the story. Two little kingdoms guarding their respective territory. Romance has always had a surprising interest in customs control. You once asked: “If I leave, will you wait?” I said: “No.” This was, of course, a lie. I waited in songs. I waited in cold coffee. I waited in the empty half of an argument. I waited in the astonishing ability of a body to remember what pride has forgotten. Still - waiting was mine. Leaving was yours. I never called you mine. If love requires a cage, perhaps we have confused the bird with the gate. I never called you mine. Though I admit - when somebody else made you laugh in precisely the place where I had once made you laugh, my philosophy became briefly less sophisticated. Perhaps jealousy is only fear wearing a wedding suit. Perhaps possession is what happens when wonder becomes frightened. Or perhaps I am saying this because you came home at four. I do not want the part of you that stays because it must. I do not want obedience mistaken for devotion. I do not want a faithful heart that has forgotten how to leave. What value has a faithful heart if faithfulness cannot breathe? Stay because something in you still chooses something in me. Leave if that choosing has ended. Break my heart, if necessary. But do not give me your life merely because I once gave you mine. No - not mine. There it is again. A terrible little word. I never called you mine. You were your own arrival. Your own departure. Your own difficult, beautiful country. I merely had the extraordinary luck to be invited in. You were never mine. Which may explain why losing you felt so remarkably like theft. Syntax of Paradox WHO TAUGHT LOVE ITS NAME? A Philosophical Electro-Cabaret in Twelve Questions Track 04 of 12 If another person is truly free, what does their decision to stay beside us actually mean? #SyntaxOfParadox #INeverCalledYouMine #GayMusic #DarkCabaret #QueerMusic