The dark came quick this year. Janice died, the flowers died, the leaves fell and the sun toddled away. Now I wander, trekking through quiet, dirty neighborhoods in the dusk and in the dawn and I don’t think about my dead and hurt and distant friends. Instead I insulate with information that puts no demands on my current personal experience. It pours into my head through green headphones, baptizing me in distraction. I am very alone and when suddenly, I do not feel alone, I feel hysterical. The love of the living makes me feel too mortal and I can’t deal with it. I can’t talk about Janice, I can’t think longer than that length of time it takes the slender stabbing pain to run me through whenever she comes to mind. I feel the blade slide in and out and then I think about something else; anything else. Like the holidays, like cat shit, like finding a new job, like growing my hair out, like planning every second of my week, like shopping, like cookies.
And this, my favorite time of the year is bearing down on me and a big part of me dreads it. I can’t cry anymore because all crying does is make my eyes itch. This is not a situation where catharsis can be applied. I have no means to process the end of my favorite friendship, of my favorite friend, and I don’t understand mourning because with every part of me, I feel that mourning is a skill, an ability, and I have no teacher, no talent for it, and no help.
10.11.09
21.9.09
What do you do when you’ve met death? When she’s crept inside and sunk in her teeth and curled up to gnaw? What happens when you can point to the decay? When you don’t simply move about in your day-to-day, feeling distinctly mortal but not able to distinguish whether it will be a car or a cliff or a tumor or a gun that will do you in, but instead, you know and recognize your end? What happens when you know at least that, but you still can’t and won’t know anything?
All I know is that no matter how I think about it, I get tangled in and embarrassed by my thoughts; my small, paltry language falters and collapses into whining when I think on how it’s all so unfair and tragic and incomprehensible. I think about death and think about how wrong I am about death. I can’t collapse the perspective I cling to, the perspective that reasons with my guts and tells me that I’m wrong as my every instinct screams that death is evil, that it’s cheating us of all we love and all we are. I know it’s like saying the same thing about birth. How can I hate one and be delighted at the other when it happens to every single thing, every human, every Thing. Everything ends.
Death, the promise fulfilled; death defining life; death defining the beginning, middle and end; death, the contrast; death, the oath keeper; death, the end of potential, the beginning of the absolute unknowable. And I rage, just as I am supposed to, as a mortal, at the dying of the light.
Shouldn’t I know, as I wrestle, instead of wrestling, shouldn’t I know and be comforted by the fact that the one who is being taken from me has built a life that would impact me in such way? Would impact so many? A person who’s life could be defined by joy and compassion and love and kindness and beauty? It is a life defined by depth and intelligence and talent and family and love and empathy and really, could someone ask to be blessed by more?
And how can I be so selfish to make so much of this experience about myself when she is the one leaving? How do you facilitate a beautiful, graceful, love-filled exit and not be creepy/shitty/self-serving about it? I suppose the best choice would be action—channeling the sorrow and panic into good works but when it is only one whose impact is so profound, not everyone can always be doing things. Sometimes you can only sit or run quietly or loudly with your thoughts.
Perhaps sorrow for the looming utter absence of a human of great quality is allowable. Maybe it is just acceptable to be sad to lose someone so precious.
All I know is that no matter how I think about it, I get tangled in and embarrassed by my thoughts; my small, paltry language falters and collapses into whining when I think on how it’s all so unfair and tragic and incomprehensible. I think about death and think about how wrong I am about death. I can’t collapse the perspective I cling to, the perspective that reasons with my guts and tells me that I’m wrong as my every instinct screams that death is evil, that it’s cheating us of all we love and all we are. I know it’s like saying the same thing about birth. How can I hate one and be delighted at the other when it happens to every single thing, every human, every Thing. Everything ends.
Death, the promise fulfilled; death defining life; death defining the beginning, middle and end; death, the contrast; death, the oath keeper; death, the end of potential, the beginning of the absolute unknowable. And I rage, just as I am supposed to, as a mortal, at the dying of the light.
Shouldn’t I know, as I wrestle, instead of wrestling, shouldn’t I know and be comforted by the fact that the one who is being taken from me has built a life that would impact me in such way? Would impact so many? A person who’s life could be defined by joy and compassion and love and kindness and beauty? It is a life defined by depth and intelligence and talent and family and love and empathy and really, could someone ask to be blessed by more?
And how can I be so selfish to make so much of this experience about myself when she is the one leaving? How do you facilitate a beautiful, graceful, love-filled exit and not be creepy/shitty/self-serving about it? I suppose the best choice would be action—channeling the sorrow and panic into good works but when it is only one whose impact is so profound, not everyone can always be doing things. Sometimes you can only sit or run quietly or loudly with your thoughts.
Perhaps sorrow for the looming utter absence of a human of great quality is allowable. Maybe it is just acceptable to be sad to lose someone so precious.
27.7.09
Patton Oswalt on Paris Hilton
I am not someone who is typically charmed by references to Paris Hilton; she has had plenty of overexposure and we can now all just comfortably ignore her. But, Patton Oswalt said this of her in his recount of his time at Sundance:
"That being said, who cares if someone is mean to Paris Hilton? In her case, I think being “mean” is falling short of the social contract. She’s built an empire on celebrating exclusion, aggressive ignorance, pettiness...and meanness.
Not only do I think everyone should be “mean” to Paris Hilton, but I think she should contract a terminal, painless bloating disease that can only be cured if the sufferer can both read and comprehend any written work by Willa Cather, Charles Portis, Wallace Stevens or Roberto Bolano.
She’d be doomed, but she’d die oblivious and we’ll all be entertained (and enriched) by her failed attempts to save her own life."
heheheh. I like that bloating disease.
"That being said, who cares if someone is mean to Paris Hilton? In her case, I think being “mean” is falling short of the social contract. She’s built an empire on celebrating exclusion, aggressive ignorance, pettiness...and meanness.
Not only do I think everyone should be “mean” to Paris Hilton, but I think she should contract a terminal, painless bloating disease that can only be cured if the sufferer can both read and comprehend any written work by Willa Cather, Charles Portis, Wallace Stevens or Roberto Bolano.
She’d be doomed, but she’d die oblivious and we’ll all be entertained (and enriched) by her failed attempts to save her own life."
heheheh. I like that bloating disease.
20.7.09
Support The Tacoma Food Co-op!
Support The Tacoma Food Co-op!
The Grand will be showing "Food, Inc." to benefit the Tacoma Food Co-op beginning August 14. The Co-op will receive $1 for everyone who mentions the Co-op when buying their ticket. Please consider viewing this eye-opening film and spreading the word to your friends. We need our co-op!
More about the film:
http://www.grandcinema.com/movie.php?id=317
The Grand will be showing "Food, Inc." to benefit the Tacoma Food Co-op beginning August 14. The Co-op will receive $1 for everyone who mentions the Co-op when buying their ticket. Please consider viewing this eye-opening film and spreading the word to your friends. We need our co-op!
More about the film:
http://www.grandcinema.com/movie.php?id=317
12.1.09
taking a que from Bets: things stirring personal excitement
> Not to highlight my lushiness but...a new bar is coming. Chris is hard at work, revamping the old monsoon room space: it is becoming 1022 So. Or ten twenty two south with possible early spring opening! Thank freaking god I may be able to get a decent cocktail in this town for under $10 again!
> Two words: Battlestar Galactica. Not into the fact that it's "final episodes" but man, now the only scifi show that makes me cry and cry is Torchwood and I am totally alone in my love for that show so I need my community back! Its a very lonely experience crying over the death of a member of torchwood while I watch it in my bedroom, wearing headphones, on my laptop. Really, Torchwood deserves a more public presence! I am not ashamed!
> Naked Lady Party! Jan 17th! My house! It's only fer girls though; not that kind of naked lady party.
> Read 2 Me now officially has 700 tutors! Consider giving back and sign up to tutor in honor of Martin Luther King Jr! We only need 368 more!! Thank you to the precious, shining few who are already volunteering!
>Interns! I get two! I just have to find things for them to do!
I guess things aren't quite as gray and insular as I have been feeling that they are. Perhaps this silly exercise makes some sort of positive-thinking difference. blag.
> Two words: Battlestar Galactica. Not into the fact that it's "final episodes" but man, now the only scifi show that makes me cry and cry is Torchwood and I am totally alone in my love for that show so I need my community back! Its a very lonely experience crying over the death of a member of torchwood while I watch it in my bedroom, wearing headphones, on my laptop. Really, Torchwood deserves a more public presence! I am not ashamed!
> Naked Lady Party! Jan 17th! My house! It's only fer girls though; not that kind of naked lady party.
> Read 2 Me now officially has 700 tutors! Consider giving back and sign up to tutor in honor of Martin Luther King Jr! We only need 368 more!! Thank you to the precious, shining few who are already volunteering!
>Interns! I get two! I just have to find things for them to do!
I guess things aren't quite as gray and insular as I have been feeling that they are. Perhaps this silly exercise makes some sort of positive-thinking difference. blag.
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