the masses have gathered and cheered. they wander the streets unsure what to do next. some have been their, waiting, and now its over. now theres nothing to see. the rest of the day goes forward. all that anticipation and build and now the feeling settles in, a million faces with the lingering question, ok, now what are we going to do?
its that simple. next.. right?
no. i cant yet..
i know i'm having to police myself and what i say because i know what sorts of reactions i'll get from some of my readers. and yet.. i'm not interested in how some people will react. i'm only interested in working things out for myself, here.
but its all such a jumble anyway, right?
and its difficult to talk about it and know that no one truly understands where i'm coming from and why its such a jumble.
concerns of the moment:
--money
--coffee
--finding my textbook
--clearing my debts
--money
--fulfilling my role and my destiny
--losing weight
--pain
--sex
--love
--faith
--the novella
--new opportunities
--movement
--grace
--bitterness
--sugar substitutes
--salt
--new shoes
--ill-fitting shoes
--dented shoulders
--death in venice
--love letters
--hardback books
--apples
--daggers
--the deepening folds of crimson robes; the heavy heavy fabric of cassoks and cloaks
and now for something i found lately, while i was searching for something else. i hardly remember it as it was so long ago now.
the Publicity of Grief
The afternoon city crawls around on all fours beyond restaurant glass, a jumble of muted colors and sound and all doused in something like over-exposure. The woman, clad in a black jumpsuit, open-toed pumps and matching sunhat, picked me. Her raw, wet eyes shone like the polished dolls of a storefront display. Our eyes meet momentarily, enough time for her choice to be made in me. Though baffled, I go along, unspeaking. My glance is necessarily serious, to show that I know how to keep a stranger's distance. I turn my attention to recovering shards of the deep-fried taco shell that falls away at every bite. I feel my lip curl into it's smug place and I tell myself I'm full of purpose. (but i am not often convinced)She walks in measured steps that tick and tack at me. Sonic accusations that betray a newly acquired humility. I decide that someone she loved has died and I'm more ashamed than sorry for her loss(es). By now everyone has cleared out but the cooks and the man at the counter taking orders, myself and this woman. I giggle internally because her presence strikes me as odd and because my throat feels thick.
My attempt to look without staring fails. I'm caught. I'm staring at the red blotches newly blooming across her pale, average features... the whites of her generous eyes have become a study in pink and the central blue or green is a muddied swamp. embarrassed for myself and, suddenly, sorry for everything I cannot say I make a point of avoiding her now. But at every turn she wants to confront me, I feel her stare. She is forcing her food down. I'm shocked at being included in her gaze, still trying to manage the final pieces of a rolled taco my mom doesn't dare to finish. "I'm not supposed to eat fried foods," she says to me. Mum tells me she wants to take a look at something in the shop next door and she'll meet me outside. Of course i don't stay long. Of course i want to. I'm a fool and a coward for not walking up to that woman, who was, by the time i'd gotten up to toss the trash out, fully weeping.. i'm a fool coward for not walking up to her and saying what i want to say. what i can't say; all the lies that are designed to make us feel ok again. i'm sorry for your loss? your grief? whatever it is your going through that isn't new, except maybe to you? how long it rains is up to you. how long you remember. how many times you'll run into the scent and the words and the pain which are the biproducts of loving someone in this world... what's the point when your eventually going to lose them? lose yourself? whats the point if no one remembers? whats the point if someone does? i want so much to go back and hug her, she looked like a mother, a sister, a wife, an aunt, a girl I know or would, like me, like all of us, reeling from the pain and suffering we happily, stupidly call--
this was an exercise in something.. but for what (superficiality) i can no longer remember.
10:35 - Tuesday, Apr. 19, 2005
Recent entries:
oday.html">the 3 month countdown begins - 05 May 2018
anothrburst.html">another burst - this used to be my playground
newlife.html">begin at the beginning. - 10 April 2008
moody.html">a blanket for a bad mood under the sun. - 25 March 2007
emilludwig.html">...kissing a fool... - 05 December 2006
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