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5 July 2000


Down they forgot as up they grew.

"children guessed(but only a few \ and down they forgot as up they grew \ autumn winter spring summer) \ that noone loved him more by more"
- e.e. cummings "anyone lived in a pretty how town"

You may not like what I have to say. I told you that you were afraid, that you've put yourself into a position (and you have put yourself there, if only by allowing yourself to be put there), and you don't know exactly how to back out, or how to bring the important stuff in with you.

And I don't know how to tell you this to your face. So, I'll be circumspect, let the other people who come here to read this only guess at what I'm after, but I may have some wisdom to impart. Naturally, I don't think you'll listen to me, because I haven't done it myself. But you know? I don't have to stick my tongue into a light socket to know it's a bad idea. I don't need to have experienced the same heartache you have to know why it hurts. I've experienced my own, granted, not the same. I hurt in the same ways you have, only in little pieces at a time, and in my own mind, experiencing some of those heartbreaks and fears and hatreds in my poetry. I think you've seen it. They are visceral for me. God teaches me ahead of time what not to do. It's why I had to run from the situation with Miranda. You knew that I wanted to stay, you knew that I felt for her more deeply than I'd felt in years. And yet, I had to restrain myself. I didn't have to experience a romantic relationship with an addled, troubled, beaten up person to know that it would weigh me down with her. That I lacked the strength to keep from capsizing in the storm which whirled around her, with the name of affection, attachment, abuse, and addiction.

But I have a point, here.

In one way, you have to become more like me. I need people around me. I need to feel the emotion I get when I talk to someone and really see that my presence is appreciated, desired, even missed when absent. I don't want anyone to dwell on my absence, but when I hear that someone said "I wish you could've been there," I feel affirmed. It's not an issue of the way we're wired. I know you don't need it. But you're worn out so bad by one side of your responsibility that you don't have the energy for the other.

And you know, I'm afraid to even say this. In the past when I have, I've regretted it. Every time.

You mistake my understatement most times for a lack of concern. I do it as a defense against overreaction. Both are equally dangerous, but underreaction makes for a bad reputation (an injury mainly to myself), and overreaction makes for injury to others. You know which way I'd rather go.

I'll talk to you about it if you want. But you'll have to ask me. I'm not going to bring it up. I don't have any illusions about you really taking my advice anyway. I haven't stuck my finger into a lion's cage, so I wouldn't know.

what kind of hope

Been listening to Joy Division more and more the last few days. Thinking about the brilliance in the lyrics, the sharp observational skills and harsh experience it took for Ian Curtis to write such eloquent, and dark, lyrics. These are not your Korn, Nine Inch Nails, Metallica tripe, I'm talking about lyrics which are beyond mere song words, and almost poetry. Sometimes, brilliant poetry, these lyrics that can stand on their own, but within the music are energized and magnified.

I also, after about 5 weeks, got the Violet Burning album I ordered. New interpretations on some older songs, vibe-oriented and mellow. They bring me back to a past, much like what Perry said, but they're just as important to me now as they were then. The Song of the Harlot is not just a time out of my life. It is my life even now. If I were to select a theme-song for my Christianity, that would be it. Put that one on repeat and let it take you there for hours. Enjoy the ride.

"if i could be anyone at all, let me be the whore at Your feet"

musings of a prod.

Catching up after the four-day weekend over at the Revolution. Tim™ Brand Web Producer at your service.

 

©2001 Timothy A. Clark -|-