It’s been a while. Sometimes the pace of life creates a pull towards a darker shoreline, an evil reef waiting just beneath the surface to puncture my thin raft. So I apologize for stepping out so fully over the last few days. I started this to share my progress towards a goal, and hopefully to gain support along the way. So far, I have just about 50 excellent followers, all of which (all of you) I am thankful for. This is the reason I write and the reason I felt I could be successful in sharing my stories with a larger audience than my small town friends. And I am proud to come here and, hopefully, be read by you tonight or tomorrow or whenever you feel most interested in me.
My voice is quieter tonight, and with less power. Last night I took a trip to the city and screamed til I couldn’t scream anymore, but it was with a purpose. It reminded me, though it’s surely the shape of a clumsy metaphor, that enough people with enough communal focus can make anything happen, even earthquakes. Seeing your support and seeing a community make its own name counts as proof to me that my small goal of raising money for this project of mine is possible and within reach.
We’re still working on the art. It’s moving slowly but at this stage it’s more hobby than profession. I am thankful for Stephen’s help and I know this project would be nowhere without him (does that count as a pun?). I found out a couple of days ago that there is a self publisher right here in my tiny little town of Sequim. I’m hoping to be in contact with them very soon. There is so much promise here.
And looking up at the stars tonight is like a memory. It’s very cold this week and the sky is clear and full and powerfully rich with lights. I remember (it hasn’t been that long, really) my teenage years, in which I held a certain obsession with the stars. They were the perfect metaphor to me. The way they were so magical and bright and holy up there. Untouchable, or so it seemed. And yet we’d gather outside, like some national past-time, and we’d bring our blankets and lay them down to look up and watch the stars fall. Of course they aren’t stars falling, but to me the metaphor still stood. We’d ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ like we were watching fireworks, as these perfect, innocent, exquisite things fell from their places to a cold death on our ground. To me it was like growing up. We start with such promise-so much innocence and confidence. As we grow we are weighed down by our selves and by the expectations of others, almost like they were wishing on us, like we were stars, until it becomes too heavy and we fall. I felt like that was being an adult. We are just fallen stars in a place we never belonged.
I don’t think I feel that way still, but there is something inside me like it. It propels me to continue moving forward, to not burn out. It also allows me to see beauty in the fallout, in the destruction that is life. As Davey Havok once wrote “There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence. Of blue and grey.” That is my goal as a writer, to find that poetry and make it available. In fact, there might not be any one thing that has affected me so deeply inside (aside from my spiritual belief system) as the album Sing The Sorrow by AFI. This is where I learned to see the stars for what they are, and to see people in the same light. (another pun?) So I suppose I ought to thank Davey for that. I also recommend just reading the lyrics from that album. There is very little in all the world of poetry better written than those lyrics. So, to end this kind of overlong post, I’ll leave you with a couple of lines. This is from Death Of Seasons.
“I watch the stars as they fall from the sky
I held a fallen star and it wept for me, dying
I feel the fallen stars encircle me, now as they cry
It won’t be all right despite what they say
Just watch the stars tonight as they, as they disappear, disintegrate
And I disintegrate ’cause this hate is f****** real
And I hope to shade the world as stars go out and I disintegrate”