Sigur Rós calms me when I need time to squeeze my brain cells and squeeze my heart cells and make them come together in holy matrimony. They do just that with their overwhelming soundness of their music. Don’t you ever feel like that? Like a void is the absence of one? Silence is the absence of silence.
I play events over and over again in my motion picture of a life that I’ve wound up in my head. It doesn’t fit in as neatly as teenagers plagued by ennui lying on patches of grass and staring up at clouds, trying to figure out what difference it makes to them whether the clouds are bunnies or Armageddon. It doesn’t fit in as neatly as that, but it certainly bothers me greatly.
There is no avoiding pain. That is a tag I have. I wonder why. When I finish this post I need to click on it and see what else is tagged as that.
I’ve been writing an essay part of the day and I think it’s making good headway. It’s way too late now to try again because I have to go pick my boyfriend up from church at 10pm on a Friday. And my brain is all preoccupied with shit. Seriously.
People pull the bag over your head just like that, you know. Like THAT, and bam. You’re in a potato sack trying to figure out why the fuck everything smells like vinegar and why aren’t any of your friends trying to help you, and then you can’t even remember the names of your friends, and well fuck, you’re just standing there with a potato sack over your head. I mean, really.
It’s not easy to figure out the meaning of life. My dad asked me that this evening – what are life’s “guides” he said. I said, it depends on whether people are inherently good or evil. I have a little flame at the back of my neck that burns and burns and warms me into answering that they’re generally good. That little flame never goes out but it flickers, with uncertainty. When I hear about people or experience painful things or just want to cry because of knowledge of something, it flickers and I become nervous, like, What if people really aren’t good from the beginning? But then I remember working with toddlers, and how just goddamn amazing they are. I find it hard to poetically describe things I’m absolutely crazy about with love. They are just so fantastically curious and genuine and wonderful.
Anyway, that flame is always there but sometimes I wonder. I’ve become fond of T.S. Eliot whilst writing this essay and he’s coming in quite handy currently. Proof:
And would it have been worth it, after all
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all” —
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
Thanks Eliot. You’ve saved me from using words that are clumsy.
I wish you all luck in whatever lives you may live,