I miss her. It hurts.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Eulogy
Eulogy to Hilda Carden, December 27, 1913 - ?
This is what I’m working from. It’s a letter I wrote to her a few months ago. I want to build on it and weave in the thread of Christine. My last words to her were of my love for the new woman in my life and how she is delivering me from my dark side. Grandmom would be thrilled to meet her. I would not have been able to wake up and date this beautiful woman without the intangible gifts Grandmom gave me. She's in a coma. The best thing she gave me, a strong heart, is the only thing keeping her alive at this point.
I know you had a tough day today. I want you to know that I’m with you, right by your side, in mind and spirit. I can’t imagine having to endure what you fought through today. Maybe it’s because you have a 53-year head start on me in wisdom, strength and fortitude. No matter what it is, I admire it and I hold it to my heart as yet another instance of you teaching me that life, family, love and hope are nothing to take for granted.
You are always right there for me with the kindest, most touching of words when I need them. You have no idea how many times your laugh has lifted me from the doldrums, your insight has granted me perspective, and your heart has given me the confidence to face the world knowing that you have my back.
You gave me mom, and through her, dad. You gave me Aunt Judy, who still, after being my aunt for so long, is the coolest babe in the world. You gave me a happy childhoodand Uncle Bart and through him the abilityto hit a curve ball. You’ve given all of us a legacy of family of which we are so proud. You’ve given me so much more than I will ever be able to give back to you. I can only hope to use your example and pass the same to a family of my ownsomeday.
And speaking of proud, you will find no person on this planet with more pride to have your blood pumping through his veins than me. Your heart is strong. Your mind is strong. Your body is strong. But more than anything, our bond is strong. And it always will be.
I love you. Smile.
Patrick
Friday, August 19, 2005
FloridaAlaskaCaliforniaSeattleNewJersey
My new G4 laptop is stuck in Alaska. Thanks for the 2-day shipping premium, Apple! After 6 days.....Grandmom is in LA. Mom is with Grandmom in LA. Dad is in Seattle with my sister and her kids. Certain people are in Florida. I'm in NJ. Accordingly to Mrs. J , I'm as transparent as opaque. Couldn't be a more perfect descriptor. I have to write a eulogy tonight. I have writer's block. Too much room in my bed. Everything is every thing and you're missing. This is the high tech toy I'm waiting for. It is bejeweled with all bells and whistles. And I paid a pay check for it. Ouch. That could have bought a lot of lace. Material stuff matters not now. The backlit keyboard will make it so much easier to type in the dark, though.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Time flies, gravity wins
2nd Anniversary of AOL Journals, already? Happy B-Day to all fellow journals out there. I'll celebrate by being vapidly nebulous, cryptic, rhythmic and masochistic. Here is a link to some 2nd Anniversary happenings. I will probably not be doing any of those things because I think shit like that is gay. Just kidding. I'm merely anti-social. That is why I have a journal.
21st Century Blues
The theme is missing. I have no one to blame. Not even me this time. I could ramble on with vague epithets hidden in languish, loss and love but that would serve no purpose. What’s going to happen is going to happen. There’s no hiding. This is life writ large.
There’s no invective that will calm the coming grief.
There’s no euphoria that will further stir the fated rapture.
I’m about to lose an uncommonly close thread that has ever been tethered to me. And I’m ready to tie a new bond with a pretty pink bow. I have these inner visions of wide open doors, wide open windows, with wind breathing in and out. I’ve never been so happy and so sad at the same time. Forget bipolar. This is uni-polar. The elements have been playing tug of war with me for so long and now it’s coming to climax. Happy and sad are duking it out face-to-face now. No more sorties from afar. No more blindsides. This is inner apocalypse. This is life and death. Literally. The former winking at the door, the latter waving from the window.
I really wish my Grandmom could see me now, even if I can’t see her. I’m going to miss her so much. But it feels as if my heart is being stitched faster than it can rip.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
writerrockstarcowboyjockdumbass
When you mentioned that song, were these the lyrics?
Like the sound of silence calling,
I hear your voice and suddenly
I'm falling, lost in a dream.
Like the echoes of our souls are meeting,
You say those words and my heart stops beating.
I wonder what it means.
What could it be that comes over me?
At times I can't move.
At times I can hardly breathe.
When you say you love me
The world goes still, so still inside and
When you say you love me
For a moment, there's no one else alive
You're the one I've always thought of.
I don't know how, but I feel sheltered in your love.
You're where I belong.
And when you're with me if I close my eyes,
There are times I swear I feel like I can fly
For a moment in time.
Somewhere between the Heavens and Earth,
And frozen in time, Oh when you say those words.
When you say you love me
The world goes still, so still inside and
When you say you love me
For a moment, there's no one else alive
[bridge:]
And this journey that we're on.
How far we've come and I celebrate every moment.
And when you say you love me,
That's all you have to say.
I'll always feel this way.
When you say you love me
The worldgoes still, so still inside and
When you say you love me
In that moment, I know why I'm alive
When you say you love me.
When you say you love me.
Do you know how I love you?
Nice words. Wouldn't mind a bit if you attached them to us. How many men in the world really know how to write? Nine? Ten? Who are under 75? One. I can see some people totally making out to this song, though. He's pretty good. I wish it rocked a little more.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Black
FYI, for now I am back from ESPN Sports Center and listening to Afghan Whigs and wondering, yet again after listening to this disc a million times, how Greg Dulli nailed my bio.
When Grandmom dies, I will probably turn inside out. And start making my blog interesting. Today she asked if I had a black suit. And if I didn't she would buy me one.
Morbid.
I countered with the fact that she helped raise a boy who got money and bought his own $1,200 Calvin Klein black suit. How nice of me.
Reckon
I keep saying “Do you realize” tonight in my writing. I think it’s because I keep listening to the Flaming Lips song, “Do You Realize.” Wanna see the lyrics? Cool. Me too.
Do You Realize? That you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize? We're floating in space
Do You Realize? That happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize? That everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes, let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun don't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes, let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun don't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
Do You Realize? That you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize?
Fill in the Blank
What do you do, however, when the blank is not a blank at all? What do you do when the blank is an alluring space gifted by the shimmering, quivering walls that surround it? Technically, it is a hollow, a deep dimple in the split of matter. On another level, it is a space craving for an answer, to be filled with spilled seeds conceived of mutual thought, words and expressive wonder.
This feeds back in to my quantum musings. Is there such a thing as space? We think so when we blast from the bounds of gravitation. But aren’t we all connected molecularly in a chaotic way? What happens when we split a void? The answer is, always something. And that void plays a major role. The very notion of encountering a void can summon a powerful, roiling momentum. When encountered correctly, the void answers back and therefore has presence and character. The void matters just as much as matter. And that’s all I have to say about that for now.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Going Up
Just had my strangest hour of tele watching ever.
I’m watching this really cool show on the Discovery Channel called MythBusters. The show is about these two dudes who, as the title suggests, bust, prove or deem improbable urban myths of a technical nature.
Tonight, for example, they tested the idea that if you jump at the very last second in a falling elevator, you can live.
But, like everyone, I’m channel hopping. Six Feet Under is on HBO. I used to follow that show when I was in more of a tele watching phase but it got boring so like all things boring I tuned it out. For a couple of years.
By chance I saw last week’s episode where the main character, Nate, dies of an arteriovenous brain hemorrhage. He died in his sleep while dreaming of running into the ocean. It kind of got to me. Nate was buried in this week’s episode amidst the unsettled lives he left behind.
Still, I’m channel hopping.
I go back to MythBusters, absolutely fascinated with the whole dropping elevator experiment. The myth was busted. If the elevator falls without the safety brakes or counterweight; you can jump all the hell you want. You’re gonna be a bloody meat pancake.
Flipping back and forth between shows I see scenes of dirt being tossed onto Nate’s six-foot under shrouded body, of an elevator screaming down a dusty shaft, of mourners weeping over a grave, of a crash test dummy exploding, and of Six Feet hitting the closing credits as the fade out stanza of my long ago adopted mantra, “All Apologies,” repeats over and over and over and over. I get this feeling of loathing and loving my brushes with past passive inclinations of self-destruction.
What is it in us that powers these thoughts, these compulsions to bring ourselves down? Is it pursuit of the death dream, like Nate diving forever into warm whitecaps? Is it to just test ourselves?
Could I get any more blog cliché right now?
At what point does pensive pessimism pivot to promise? When is the uber-second where destruction is displaced by hope?
Tell you one thing. Earlier in the evening I was online looking for a motorcycle while smoking a cigarette, and, sometime later, thinking of a future as I had never imagined it.
Sunday, August 7, 2005
Me with my nephew, Conor
Conor looks a little drugged out here, but it was only because he was being passed from person to person for pictures, was hungry, and probably getting ready to poop. Trust me, he is the coolest baby ever, and this was the first time her ever met Uncle PK. By the way, I hate having the title "uncle" before my name. Not because I don't love babies (I love babies). But because I just want them to call me PK. The only title I want is "Dad".
Saturday, August 6, 2005
Post eyeball, footsie, mental and teasing and gentle.
Post I love you.
We’re essentially asking about and hoping to help to hold each other’s luggage.
Are we a confident, combined strength?
Our to-and-forth, “I love you,” rings of musical intonation while reveling upon that back-and-forth vibration.
Hours without uttering other words.
How long does heaven last?
I feel alive.
Friday, August 5, 2005
Riding the bench
There is normally a process to these things.
Normally.
What is happening now is less a process than a phenomenon.
It is organic and fluid, as one would expect a process to evolve.
Yet it defies the senses by uniting them.
It is a marvel, a singularity.
It is the awakening exponent of an explosion.
It is momentum.
It is as sudden as a miracle appointed in wonder and chemistry.
It is a blessed angel materializing from thin air.
It is terrifying.
It is mesmerizing.
It is slow motion in fast forward.
It is three hours of pretzel logic without the tick tock of time.
It is life and how to live it.
It is an instance of forever etched,
stretched out over a balmy breezy evening
on a boardwalk bench on the beach in Belmar.
