Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Hurt & Love…


Here's some notions from the archive. It's a letter I wrote not too long ago; a letter to a beautiful flame. As she's well rid of me, I don't suppose she'd much care if I pass it on for digital posterity. There are also a couple of links to music with real depth. Yeah, it's all on the theme of being sane and able to love without causing pain. It's about recovering one's own heart.


Precious Gift,
You know, you were right to pick up on something in my tone, if text in broken cadence with no meter or rhyme can have a tone. Melancholy I guess it was that you heard. I did post that video from our Man in Black for a reason that even I didn’t appreciate until I started writing, just now. That man, Cash, was a titan. Another one of God’s own prototypes, never intended for mass production. Reznor may have writ the lyric, but it took Cash to make that monster live, to claw its way out of the grave, not dead but walking with Mr. Death, his bad old self… Hurt.
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt 
Gawd! That is a junkie’s refrain, right there. Right there, he nails it. That, right there, is what a junkie does. He lays waste to what he most loves. His beautiful, steadfast wife, June… she must have been made of steel. What he put her through and how he missed her when she was gone and he was left alone… then, he  would then follow her to his own very end.
I don’t know if you noticed, but both you and Gracie clicked the “Like” button on the link to “Hurt.” I should have known that she’d be looking over my shoulder as I posted that. She knows what it’s like to be walking dead and to hurt people, to destroy their lives while your own refuses to die, no matter how severely you punish it. That’s just par for the course, part of the curse, our spiritual malady. We two are also apparently made of steel, often stronger than the metal of our loved ones.  She is my friend. She’s tough, tough, tough and she’s sweet. She knows me even without us ever sharing more than a few words. Deep down we have the same soul… a junkie’s soul. We both crawled out of the same crypt. I can trust her to know me. I know that we can never be together. That would be like tossing fire into the powder mill.
Okay. Let’s invoke the gloom so that we can dispel it. I can smell it on the air. The season is turning. It’s the Time of Returning. Halloween is right around the corner; the one night when everybody removes their masks. Sunshine comes in the dead of night. Ho-ho! That can’t be right, but there it is. Let’s dance at the crossroad, the crack between worlds. Let’s dance with our ancestors. Let’s dance with our dead friends. Let us honor them with our lives. Let’s dispel the night.
So we dance, you and I. I had the feeling that you were a Halloween kind’a woman. Yes? You like to dress in black? How is it that you and I seem to be of similar feeling, to be kindred souls… two versions of the Same Thing.
What makes me feel so good
when my baby's in her evening gown
What makes me feel so good
when my baby's in her evening gown
Must be that same ol' thing
that makes a preacher lay his bible down
Must be that same ol' thing…
Must be that same ol' thing…
Oh, nothing like the blues to blow away sorrow, burn it up, tear it up, shake it loose and make it dance, making two souls shine in communion.
Thank you, my friend. You are a precious gift. You have allowed me a little time in your mind. You’ve put up with my meandering and rummaging through my own emotions, perhaps touching your imagination, maybe making a little magic lantern show in your sweet heart. Thank you for lighting up my own heart.
With Love, Always,
Your Brother