My aunt died on Thursday night. We weren't close. I don't know what is okay to write on here anymore because it's not like anything I've ever written on here was exactly kosher. Especially about such negative topics like death and my intricate relationship with it.
I spend a lot of time not talking, and I feel like when I do, it's meaningless. I was talking to my mom today and I realized that I didn't recognize my own voice. I'm fine, Mom, I swear. I'll talk about it when I'm ready. I've said these things so many times in the past few months and yet they still aren't comfortable on my tongue. I found this great poem today by Phil Kaye that I can really relate to.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EILQTDBqhPA
The conversations that I enjoy the most are over the web or text because I can choose how I want to present myself, while in real life, I'm a mess (in my so holy opinion). I've been saying this for so long and I still feel the compulsory need to reiterate it in every freaking blog post. I talk to Emily and I talk to Ellen and I talk to my therapist and I talk to my dog. I still can't believe myself when I say it out loud. I'm fine. I'll be fine. Sooner or later. Writing them down, they sound safe, like little promises I can keep on a keychain. I sent Julian an angry text a few days ago after he thanked me for being a good friend. I couldn't take being praised for doing something I thought was common courtesy. My favorite poem I've ever read is by Richard Siken, and it's called Litany in which Certain Things are Crossed Out. I have pieces of it memorized. In his collection, which I own if anyone would like to borrow it, this poem is either five or seven pages long. On the last page, he says 'I want more seats reserved for heroes'. I used to think that line was so cliché, something I've read a million times and has lost it's meaning. Repetition kills meaning, and all of that. But now I understand why it's been said so many times. I'm just a regular person doing human things. When I do something nice for my friends, I don't do it for something in return. Well, most of the time. I love my friends. Love, how mundane is that? But it's true. I love them and I do things for them because they deserve it. I don't tell them often enough, because I can't believe it out loud. I love you guys. I hope you love me back.
2 comments:
Of course they (we) love you back.
"Writing them down, they sound safe, like little promises I can keep on a keychain."
This is a gorgeous line.
I like this posting very much, in that you express what you need to express without too much diversion or editorializing, so as far as a style of writing, this is on track.
Now, in terms of the content, the issues you present... hmmm.... there is a lot here for me to ponder, and I assume that you post this sort of thing on your STAC blog because I am invited to ponder it, I being the main reader of your blog. Hmmm...
The older I get, the more I think that problems stem from issues of identity, and that solutions to them do not lie in psychology but rather philosophy, and more important, spirituality. The spirituality of which I write isn't to be confused with religion and god. I use the word spirituality as a term to reference the relationship one has with that which is bigger than one's self, the relationship one has with The Divine, which is to say What Has Come Before and What Will Come After, the relationship one has with the concept of life across time.
Art (you being an artist) is one of the ways in which we connect with our spirituality, with our relationship with The Divine.
Does any of this make sense? Your blog posts should flow out of this reply, and for the next few weeks should be the conversation into which we've just entered. Together.
Luke
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