Last night, at 9:30, I was laying on my husband's chest. We had been bored and lamenting - but in a calm way. Was this to be our last Saturday like this?
He was playing music he wanted to listen to. It was good music. Interpol won a few rounds. I forget which song it was, but I began to sob a bit.
I cross my wooden leg and swear on my glass I eye I would never let you down - never leave you high and dry.
I retired to bed at 10pm. I returned to 'tropic of capricorn'. He remained to listen to ever sadder music. First it was a sad ben folds song - later I heard American Music Club.
It's good to dirge.
There was a numb time when I first moved to california.
My mocking estimation of this time - when people asked me if I liked California - was that I sat on the couch for six months - rocking.
It was only when mark procured pot from someone on his movie (he worked 80 hour days every week - he only has had time off for the last sad three months)...
that I was able to cry and write.
We lived in a two room apartment in Los Feliz - adjacent to Little Armenia.
I would write on the computer only when faded. I couldn't do anything no faded. I was too numb to even cry.
I remember kent told me of a friend of his - c. golden - who had been in a motorcycle accident and could only feel the pain when he was stoned.
This was me. I sobbed. I had no idea who I was. I would buy art supplies and be empty. I had no hope. I was dead, and I thought I always would be.
This was the depression that follows mania.
Henry Miller was manic depression. I learned this last night on page 58.
It is interesting to read him now as I have read so much of anais. I feel so lucky that these two people published their art.
I have conflicts with art. Although I create it sporadically, I feel in a way that it is high arrogance to put my creations out there with the hubris. Would anyone understand me? Would anyone love me then? Would I love them?
I am attached. I am trying to be unattached. Life is suffering.
The buddha plucked a flower and said just breathe.
My biggest fear is that if I let you go, you'll come and get me in my sleep.
Let's dance. Put on your red shoes and dance with me. let's dance for fear that life is all.
Of course of course of course
writing this is just an advertisement for myself.
That makes me a bit horrified.
Don't leave me.
Wouldn't you love to love her? who will be her lover? All your life, you've never seen a woman taken by the sky? Where would you go if she promised you heaven? Would you even try? You cry and then she's gone and your life knows no answer.
I put it in the comments section, but an elizabeth bowen book that I just read:
Experience isn't interesting until you've repeated it. It isn't even experience until you've done so.
Of course it sux to be wise.
Of course, if you think you're wise, you are a laugh.