Once upon a time...

What happens when you can't keep track of a real diary.

Sunday, September 07, 2003

So today brought more moving of personal effects out by Kelly...

I'm listening to a lot of Leonard Cohen today, particularly Famous Blue Raincoat, Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye, and If It Be Your Will.

Last night consisted of one Margarita, two Bloody Marys, and one Bloody Brew. I spent a fair amount of time talking to Stephen. I am really looking forward to him coming up here later this month. I really need to have a friend around up here for a little bit.

Right, so this is divorce...
this sucks, I don't know how else to put it... My love. My life is leaving me, and is telling me that the last 4 years of my life with her have all been lies. ....That hurts so much, I can't really put it into words effectively. This woman, this person that I would do anything for, and whom I thought loved me as well, tells me, 'No, sorry, but, this has all been an amazing simulation. It wasn't real. I'd like to say that I'm sorry, but, well, I'm not. Have a nice life.'

I wish I were more poetic. Perhaps like Michael Gira. Now there is a man who truly understands grief, and he has a gift with words as well. If you haven't heard of him, look up The Swans, or Angels of Light, or perhaps the Michael Gira Project-Drainland. All great. In particular, check out the Various Failures 2-CD set for The Swans. I guess you could call it music to slit your wrists to, but, sometimes it is truly appropriate.

So, of course, I waver between despondence and righteous fury over the whole issue. However, there are those times when I am clear-headed, that I know to my core that I will go on. For years I always answered "How ya doin'" with "Life goes on, and so do I".... It's true. I will go on. What other choice is there? I can't give in, I can't give up on life, that's just not in me... and that is one thing that I truly have my parents to thank for - a deep rooted base sense of self-worth. If all else is lost, the only way to make it worse is to give up. So never give up, never let your life run out.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas - Do not go gentle into that good night