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 ritual.
Recent Comments