I dread October. October 3rd was our anniversary. That weekend last year was also the last time I saw him alive. That will be 11 months' sadiversary, one year since I saw him alive...Dread, dread, dread...
Labor Day weekend was the last time I saw him here...he came to visit me. Oh dear, and it's next weekend. And it's the first weekend of the month...the anniversary part of the month. Who knew that months had their own anniversaries? I didn't, before this....
And then the month after October. November. November 6, he died, and the world ended...It has faked its continuance fairly well, I must say. The sun continues to rise and set. But November is coming. And then it will be Thanksgiving again, another Thanksgiving without him. Last year it was so awful. No one mentioned him. I think they were afraid. I'm not sure what they were afraid of...the worst has already happened.
How is it, after the world's ended, that the earth keeps on turning? Didn't it get the memo?
Seriously.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Hearts shouldn't stop before their time
Hearts shouldn't stop before their time;
They should work properly, and do what they're told.
Folks should wait to die, for when they're good and old;
To die beforetime breaks all sense and reason. No,
They should wait, til they're long past their prime,
For the old-folks-in-rocking-chairs-season:
When the children are grown, and the grandchildren too;
When the balm for their survivors' tears, is
"Well, he was old and full of years."
He wasn't old and full of years.
My love was young, and sparkling full of life;
And full of plans, and hopes, and dreams;
And one was to make me his wife.
And now I am left with what's left,
When your love, and your dreams, are both buried.
I died with him also that day--don't you know?
But it was him only they carried.
What I cannot get out of my head:
He isn't supposed to be dead.
written Wednesday, August 18, 2010, 4:46 pm, 5:00 pm
revised Thursday, August 19, 2010, 4:02 am
They should work properly, and do what they're told.
Folks should wait to die, for when they're good and old;
To die beforetime breaks all sense and reason. No,
They should wait, til they're long past their prime,
For the old-folks-in-rocking-chairs-season:
When the children are grown, and the grandchildren too;
When the balm for their survivors' tears, is
"Well, he was old and full of years."
He wasn't old and full of years.
My love was young, and sparkling full of life;
And full of plans, and hopes, and dreams;
And one was to make me his wife.
And now I am left with what's left,
When your love, and your dreams, are both buried.
I died with him also that day--don't you know?
But it was him only they carried.
What I cannot get out of my head:
He isn't supposed to be dead.
written Wednesday, August 18, 2010, 4:46 pm, 5:00 pm
revised Thursday, August 19, 2010, 4:02 am
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The Long Sojourn
How do I get there?
To the place of unmisery
To that place that isn't
The worst of places to be--
How do I get there?
Does it exist anywhere?
Where's my directions?
I'm tired; I'm tired of traveling blind,
Though it keeps the sandstorm
Out of my eyes--
Oh good Lord I'm tired
Whittled-down tired
I'm tired to the core of the core
I've had enough, and enough, and enough,
And I don't want to take anymore.
Can you hear my cries?
You did not warn,
I was led to the desert to die
In panic, confusion, and sorrrow, and haste--
Oh, rescue me now from the trackless wastes
Lest I be food for vultures and jackals--
Did you lead me out of Egypt to perish here,
Without even a reason why?
O rescue me, O lead me out
With your pillar of fire and your pillar of cloud--
If truly me do you cherish
Then save me from hence, lest I perish.
written August 17, 2010, around 3 am
To the place of unmisery
To that place that isn't
The worst of places to be--
How do I get there?
Does it exist anywhere?
Where's my directions?
I'm tired; I'm tired of traveling blind,
Though it keeps the sandstorm
Out of my eyes--
Oh good Lord I'm tired
Whittled-down tired
I'm tired to the core of the core
I've had enough, and enough, and enough,
And I don't want to take anymore.
Can you hear my cries?
You did not warn,
I was led to the desert to die
In panic, confusion, and sorrrow, and haste--
Oh, rescue me now from the trackless wastes
Lest I be food for vultures and jackals--
Did you lead me out of Egypt to perish here,
Without even a reason why?
O rescue me, O lead me out
With your pillar of fire and your pillar of cloud--
If truly me do you cherish
Then save me from hence, lest I perish.
written August 17, 2010, around 3 am
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Jabberwocky's Cousin
Beware the counterfactual hypothetical
The jaws that bite, the teeth that snatch;
Beware the jub-jub bird, and shun
The frumious bandersnatch.
The counterfactual hypothetical
That cousin to the Jabberwock--
That knits a daisy chain of Ifs
That trap you fast, after it stalks.
It lies in wait;
It casts its net.
It won't let you remember
It won't let you forget.
So grab your vorpal blade, my son!
Follow its trail, and stalk
The counterfactual hypothetical,
That cousin to the Jabberwock.
Yes, grab that vorpal blade, my son,
And let thy blade go snicker-snack!
Cut off its head, and with it dead,
You'll come galumphing back.
Callooh! Callay! O frabjous day!
We'll chortle in our joy.
The counterfactual hypothetical
Can only be killed by means
Equally fantastic
And purely theoretical.
What If, If Only, Might Have Been--
Slay rhetorical nonsense
With nonsense equally rhetorical;
Slay the soul-killing guilt trip
By that sword hyperborical.
Oh vorpal blade, what happy day
Awaits your snicker-snackery!
Although Jabberwocky's Cousin,
He's quite the nut to crack
But that vorpal blade is surely going snicker-snack.
This I promise and I will not take back.
If only, if only, if only--
Then I wouldn't be sad.
Then I wouldn't be lonely.
Does this make me not sad?
Does this make me not lonely?
No! It does not.
It is with its own web
That it's got to be caught
Then you can break its back
And that vorpal blade can go snicker-snack.
written 4/15/2010
the text of my inspiration, Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky"
The jaws that bite, the teeth that snatch;
Beware the jub-jub bird, and shun
The frumious bandersnatch.
The counterfactual hypothetical
That cousin to the Jabberwock--
That knits a daisy chain of Ifs
That trap you fast, after it stalks.
It lies in wait;
It casts its net.
It won't let you remember
It won't let you forget.
So grab your vorpal blade, my son!
Follow its trail, and stalk
The counterfactual hypothetical,
That cousin to the Jabberwock.
Yes, grab that vorpal blade, my son,
And let thy blade go snicker-snack!
Cut off its head, and with it dead,
You'll come galumphing back.
Callooh! Callay! O frabjous day!
We'll chortle in our joy.
The counterfactual hypothetical
Can only be killed by means
Equally fantastic
And purely theoretical.
What If, If Only, Might Have Been--
Slay rhetorical nonsense
With nonsense equally rhetorical;
Slay the soul-killing guilt trip
By that sword hyperborical.
Oh vorpal blade, what happy day
Awaits your snicker-snackery!
Although Jabberwocky's Cousin,
He's quite the nut to crack
But that vorpal blade is surely going snicker-snack.
This I promise and I will not take back.
If only, if only, if only--
Then I wouldn't be sad.
Then I wouldn't be lonely.
Does this make me not sad?
Does this make me not lonely?
No! It does not.
It is with its own web
That it's got to be caught
Then you can break its back
And that vorpal blade can go snicker-snack.
written 4/15/2010
the text of my inspiration, Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky"
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