About all I have watched on TV since August has been sports. It allows me to do other things while it is on. I can read write. I occasionally watch PBS and only on rare occasion a movie (I don’t subscribe to Netflix anymore, financial concerns and the lack of an adequate and enjoyable movie-watching partner caused that). At first, I couldn’t bring myself to watch the shows that we used to watch together. I was thankful that you didn’t like sports, because it was something that was just mine, something that I could enjoy more now that you aren’t around. I feel now as if it has been a bit of sports overdose. Today was Super Bowl Sunday and I went over to Scott and Morgan’s to watch it projected onto a large wall in their living room. I am glad the Steelers won, I have always been a passive fan. As with all once-annual events though, it has me measuring out my time. I can’t remember what we did on Super Bowl last year, but I remember one year going over to Julie’s house. It was the year of the infamous nipple slip – two years ago. I remember those times being fun and trying at the same time. I don’t really think either one of us felt like we really fit in there, and because of that feeling we were as one. It felt nice, although now I don’t really know if I should have chosen to cut people up so much. Ultimately I was only calling attention to my own deficiencies. I guess these once...
It think I will soon have to retire the Wonder Woman toothbrush you gave as the bristles have become all splayed. I have tried to make it work with her for some time now, but I am afraid that scraping my teeth with the hard plastic is just not good enough dental hygiene. Maybe I will put her to work in another...
I was asked late in the day Friday to go and do some audio recording of ambeint sounds for the transfer of Coretta Scott King’s body to the state capitol this morning. She will lie there in state until Monday. The burial is on Tuesday. I have teared up a few times since her death this past Tuesday. The King legacy is one of the things that makes me happy to live in this city, I love driving past the MLK artwork at the corner of Boulevard and Freedom, even though it is not the best example of public art. Today I woke up later than I should have, expeceted to go to the Old Fourth Ward to the funeral home, which turned out to be on the West End, so I headed to the capitol and waited and waited and watched people and recording helicopters and people talking and leaves and finally the motorbikes and horses and then she came along. I almost lost it right then, but kept my journalistic distance and integrity together long enough to join the masses on the capitol lawn, and still kept it together, until the bagpiper played ‘Amazing Grace’ and my eyes moistened, and then her body was taken in and the people spntaneously started into ‘We Shall Overcome’ and I sang and burst and had to walk away. Here’s the product of the day, the recorder stopped working before the bagpipes and singing, I guess it will be just a memory, with no evidence, for me now. Coretta Scott King: Lying In State Reload the page if you have problems...
I guess I witnessed hsitory today. It is really eery to think that I was that close to the body of a woman that has done so much, that I have seen so many photos of. I can’t imagine the love that Coretta and MLK had. I wonder what that was like. As they took her into a the capitol building today, a bagpiper preceded her playing “Amazing Grace.” I thought of Coretta and teared up as people started singing “We Shall Overcome,” but the bagpipes did me in and I had to walk...
Okay. You wrote me today asking about my match.com profile as if I am a failure or something. And I have told Liz so that it might make its way back to you about who I have met there and lo and behold you write me, ostensinsibly because you found it on BBC’s blog…. It was and has been and will be for some time you. I have met interesting and beautiful people. I am not so bad. But no one has ever understood me, for better or worse, in the way in which you do. I know you are so thoroughly gone. I know that you are never to be mine again. I have not figured how to give it up yet. I miss shaved ice. I miss that twangy voice. I miss the sex we had. I miss your lithe belly. I miss YOUR frends. I shouldn’t be where I am now. Tomorrow I have to wake up to record the wife of the dream go to the seat of power. I have to follow a dead woman as she progresses toward the grave. I will always love you. I wish you would be mine. I wish you would ask me to be yours. I wish we could be beyond all of this. I wish I could, and you could, make all of us happy. You are so lovely, and have always been...
I started this blog tonight, February 1st, 2006, because I realized that I have much more to say. The audience for bullpencatcher has grown to a state that I no longer feel comforatble bringing everyone down with moanings about you, about how much I miss you, and how much I love, and all that. Frankly, I hoep to make BPC a slightly happier place. It can represent that one side of me that I finally have gotten back. The fact is though that I still have so much to say about you and I not being in each others’ lives so much anymore. It hurts many nights, and days. It has been almost 5 months since you called it quits with me. I know we still excahnge the occasional email, and those are nice. It’s good to know how you are doing, but it is no substitute for you being here with me, or me there with you, or just the occasional dinner. I miss the kisses, the hugs, the sex, the stories, the laughing, the singing, the drives…. I guess ultimately this is a place for me to keep things hidden from others, but where I can work them out myself. I don’t even know if I will ever tell you that this place exists. Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day it will seem right. Mainly it is just for me right now. A place where I don’t have to posture or hold anything back. If you ever do read it, I hope you will realize that it is a testament of love, the closest I...
What do you do when all of your devices have given up on you? When you decide to kick the sauce again, to dream a sober dream, to make this writing thing a go again? What do you do when Faulkner will no longer lull you to sleep? When his demons, and his characters’ demons, continue to strike too close to home? And no bubble bath will take you away? And no phone call is on its way? And there are dead felines that you once loved to hate to love to live with etc? And when there is a woman singing directly into your ear who has always made you cry? And a woman singing indirectly into your ear who even the thought of the voice still makes you cry? And then there are the voices that just set you back, and the ones that push you forward. And out there fathers are dying, and love is dying. The fact is, that tonight someone is breaking up. Someone is announcing to the other that they cannot go on like this – that by the end of the week they will be gone. They both live inside me now. What happens when what you have done won’t let you sleep? What happens when Mrs. King is gone? What happens when the dreams won’t come anymore? What happens when the last question is asked? I guess you just learn to do it all differently, recreate a life, or finally create one, and stop this tidal...
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