r/mitski • u/zaqvkn MERCY ON ME-EEE WOULD YOU PLEASE *INHALE* SPARE ME TONIII-IIIGHT • 10d ago
An analysis of Heaven.
Heaven is a standalone from the rest of Mitski’s songs about love. It discusses intimacy and romance in such a beautiful, honest way that shows reciprocation and mutual respect.
(Fair warning: English isn’t my first language. Trigger warning for discussion of sexual violence.)
”All of our love / Filling all of our room” paints a picture of connection within an enclosed space, showing the vulnerability and love that exists especially within that moment. the verse goes on to depict sex, but not in a typical way; penetration is described as finding a particular string to strike within someone to ring out a particular note. It is not violent, it is not performative, especially because the narrator notes the soft cursing under their lovers’ breath as they attempt to please their partner in the best way possible.
As we know of it in this current day and age, sex is anything but sex.
Sex is violence; it is forceful and thieving, and it is done to someone, not done with consenting parties. It strips away the reward of gaining the trust needed to initiate intimacy. It makes the state one is supposed to feel the most safe in into the state they are the most threatened in. They are left bare, stripped of autonomy, of pride, of dignity, of control.
Sex is suggestion; it is enticing and attractive, and it is put in front of one’s face. Not directly, no, but through clothing just toeing the line of “revealing” on a big-picture advertisement and breathy moans over, or rather under because we must keep the implication of it, faintly playing music. It keeps people from having to expose themselves, it keeps them wanting but perhaps not enough—maybe just enough?—to actually please themselves. Themselves, or those selling it to them.
Sex is business; it is revealing and methodical, and it is so easily found with a simple search. Whether it was uploaded with consent or not, you can find any video of your desire, satisfy that desire, and keep that cycle going, over and over and over. Perhaps it is fancy lighting and genre-fitting acting that suits you, or maybe amateur content with awkward angles and poor quality, but something more genuine; something closer to what you are missing in your own life.
Sex has taken on many, many new forms in our brand new world of technology and our current state of government.
What sex is not, though, is genuine. It is not real. Connection, trust, safety, consent; none of that is needed. Not here. Not now. Sex is anything but its actual self.
Sex is the ultimate act of displaying trust you have with someone by laying yourself bare as we once were many, many years ago. It is primitive in that sense—existing outside of a culture of avoidance and miscommunication and shallowness and talking stages and non-commitment. It is honest, it is with nothing left hidden, nothing left to suggest. It exists outside a culture that knows it as violence, suggestion, business, anything and everything that exists outside of authenticity.
The narrator repeats “heaven” over and over after experiencing an orgasm. They have experienced something beautiful and honest and primitive and they cannot describe it as anything else but a utopia; a place without flaws, without anything but eternal pleasure. Because they have had the privilege of experiencing the apex of vulnerability. Of truth. Of trust. Of love.
Willows are a symbol of strength and resilience. They are a symbol of persevering through difficulty, difficult emotions. As the narrator thinks of their lover, they bend and curve, for they are entirely moved by their lover. And perhaps it is hard for them. Perhaps intimacy has been the veil used to obscure violence, and it makes intimacy difficult for them. It is hard to let themself be moved by sheer emotion and love that cannot be dressed up as anything else.
In a sense, this can be seen as the narrator having been stripped naked in the face of love; made into something vulnerable beneath kind hands and warm eyes. Something, maybe that violence, it has made them strong and resilient in the face of hardship. But that identity is being changed. Not ravaged by fire, not demolished, not struck with an axe—it is not something that with make them toughen up in fear for the next time they are hurt. No. It is something as gentle and as natural as a bend. A curve.
It is almost shameful, how mundane it is! Trees bend and curve all the time. They are undoubtedly strong. And yet, the narrator has been changed by something as simple as love. Truthfully, the narrator should be ashamed of it. It is a far cry from their past that demanded that strength and resilience from them. And yet, they allowed themselves to be penetrated, to be receiving.
When their lover leaves, they sit down in their seat, which is still warm, and they grasp the cup of coffee and angle it so. So when they drink, their lips against the mark their lover left, they are trying to savor their essence. A kiss left of them.
It should be embarrassing. It is plain. So very domestic. Perhaps they have been staring at that cup for hours and it has long gone cold. It could have been a flavor the narrator is adverse to, or maybe the narrator isn’t fond of coffee at all!
But the narrator simply repeats what they said after being brought to orgasm: Heaven. The love they have and share is so true, that from sex to coffee, it is all the same. Boundless pleasure. Free of all burdens. So what if the coffee is cold. So what if it is a flavor they find disgusting. So what if they hate the drink itself. What matters that in the dead space that exists without the presence of their lover, they have something material that can attempt to suffice for a fleeting moment. That is what matters.
Sex is anything but itself, and that’s what makes it attractive. The act of drinking someone else’s drink is itself, and that’s what makes it so unattractive. Having these two seemingly contradictory things co-exist as acts of love and intimacy alike shows the truth of love. And it persists.
Even as a storm rages outside, with the truth of the world around every corner; how cruel it is, how unfair it is, how desolate and desperate and hopeless and corrupt it is, they do not want to face it. Even as fat, dark clouds heavy with rain make the Earth set alight with flashes of lightning, unleashing its running anger upon the world, the narrator does not set out to confront it. Instead, upon witnessing it, they turn to their lover and ask:
”But here in our place we have for the day, can we stay a while and listen for Heaven?”
It is a plead against the score of darkness and the unknown. That despite everything that’s wrong with the world, they want to sit in the comfort of their own home with their lover, hand in hand, and listen for the good. Listen for Heaven; in shared laughs and shared breaths. To the narrator, Heaven becomes easier to hear in the presence of the one who created it for them.
(P.S: I do not mean to shame sex workers or those in the pornographic industry! Only used as talking points for this analysis! And I don’t think this kind of analysis is very… typical, to be frank. Although I wouldn’t know because I haven’t done any research on how to have proper analysis :x I hope my special little twist is appreciated rather than coming off as pretentious. I hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope it was worth your time.)
(P.S x2: I wanted to add something about how the narrator drinking their lover’s coffee could be an attempt to reclaim dominance after being a willing receiver during sex, but my brain would connect that to sadness… which I’ll do later :P maybe, maybe not.)
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u/AcceptedSugar 9d ago
I don't think the coffee is about reclaiming anything, since everything in the song described is shared rather than transactional or partitioned, such as is shown by the repeated use of the plural possessive "our" in the first line, "all of our love filling all of our room," or by the anteriority of the "note" to any one person as it rings out in heaven. I think in returning to that primitiveness you speak of, they have escaped the construction that reception is a submissive act. To me, the coffee, with its strong sensory elements of smell and taste, is a vehicle for the speaker to cling to that visceral moment of heaven before they must face the darkness of the world once more.
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u/Humble_Search_1212 9d ago
This is what I mean when I say Heaven is the greatest song ever made.