The only person in my immediate vicinity who understands every bit of what I am feeling is Gilda. So I walk to her house and sit on her floor while she speaks.
When I can’t find words I like hearing people talk. I enjoy the way the words spill over me, unseating all the things I feel. I’d ask questions here and there and wait for words to seep, letter by letter, into the dark places I can’t reach. Everyone I know has soothing voices – for just this very reason.
I wake up with Ella and Louis singing Isn’t It A Lovely Day, April in Paris or Moonlight in Vermont. And my entire body aches upon waking. Death is an illusion, I remind myself. But damn, I do miss you being around old man. It’s okay, I am okay Daddy. The rest of them? Not so much. Not so much at all.
My world has become so very small and is now littered with very dodge bars where only bad jokes are told. My aunt, while tea was being made says, ‘Come on now, everyone knows I like my tea the way I like my men…’ I couldn’t resist chirping in, ‘Yes, you and my Mother both like their tea and men the same way. Dead.’ This is mild compared to the comedy act I have going on. Playing everywhere to audiences both real and imaginary. No entry free required. Just sit down and be mortified.
I thought a great deal about how art and music is used to smooth over sharp and nasty edges. There are certain songs I wrote that….if you knew the backstory would devastate. But hey, the only way to prevent poison from corroding one’s insides is to allow it to gather words and melodies as it travels through one’s body. Until a truth that every musician or artists is acquainted with emerges – the poison contains the cure. And any emotion when abandoned at said dodge bar where only bad jokes are told does become venomous as the hours and days stack up.
I don’t have time to become a mess of a human being, crying and shit. There are people in worse pain. No, I am not being extra, stoic or holier than thou. Fact is being able to focus on my Mother and family right now is keeping me sane. As does walking and reading and listening to other people speak.
The only thing I am deeply aware of is this: my heart that’s all shiney and new on account of being cracked wide open requires safe hands. Luckily I know where to find those hands….and as I walk towards safety I hear Ben Harper singing Don’t Give Up on Me Now.