Monday, February 15, 2010

The Way Your Shoulders Shake

...and what they're shaking for.


(Elvis Costello, "I Want You")

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I'm struggling to decipher what this blog is, what it does, what value it offers, and why anyone ought to want to read it.

This is an essential question of writing.

And of a life.

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I want you
Every night when I go off to bed and when I wake up.
I want you.
I'm going to say it again 'til I instill it
I know I'm going to feel this way until you kill it.
I want you.
I want you.
I want you.


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Tonight I watched a TV drama that ended with a grown man--a minor character, a gay lawyer and trustee leading a false life as a straight Mormon family man--hanging from the rafters. His suicide was not gory. Not gruesome. No fluids on the hardwood floor beneath him. No look of agony locked on his face. He simply hung there, beatiful and dead.

I flinched anyway.

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It has been a year and some days since my sister called to tell me my niece (by our other sister, raised by my parents) had hung herself. She was seventeen. She was in pain. In fact, she knew more kinds of pain than I can imagine. And, apparently, she wanted out.

Her leaving still ripples the surface.

Still moves the waters beneath.

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Good night.

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I want you.

2 comments:

  1. It seems that maybe everything is beautiful and yet things still hurt. So sorry for your loss...

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