||[Oct. 18th, 2006|01:26 am]
|||||Dennis Bovell (reggae)||]|
I had a fabulous lady take a snapshot of my brain. Her words. I don't think I've ever had anyone relate so accurate an impression. Very flattering. I knew exactly who she meant when she spoke -- most of the time. And my brother showed up. Seriously. I was laughing and tearing up at the same time. Her description of a gesture she said a male figure was doing behind me. Well. It was him. He was as gruff and snotty as he was in life. tee, hee.
It made me wonder, though. It made me rethink the time of his death. Hospital smells. Reading the Principia Discordia over and over again. Him telling me to eat his food because he couldn't. Going to the hallway because I wanted to cry angry tears when he yelled at me for not arranging the pillows right for his legs, which at that point had inflated like balloons. The ANGER and pain he carried, man. Nearly overwhelming. And sadness and fear for his son. I thought about how my mom had put up with his anger for two years before he died. I withstood it for fourteen hour stretches at a time for two weeks and it didn't break me, but I wish I had thought to just say:
"Fucking HELL, will you set it down?! Set DOWN your sword and shield and be my brother again. Lay them down, you don't have the strength to hold them anymore anyway. I know you're in pain and you don't want to leave, but you're already dying. Use that. Make something of it. Be my brother like you were when I woke up in the middle of the night as a kid and you silently made me a sandwich. Be my brother again before you go. Tell me what you've wanted to tell us all. Tell me you don't want to go, tell me what you want for your son. TELL ME SOMETHING! Give me SOMETHING of you to keep! NOW! You've only got hours left. Stop FIGHTING and TALK!"
It sounds so selfish. I think had he actually cracked and cried and told us all that he had wanted to all those years, his death might not have been as ugly. So it's selfish and not selfish, that want to get to the real person, to know that they gave you some part of themselves to take forward as they leave. So. Yeah. My brother showed himself to me for the first time since he died. I had felt NOTHING of him since he died. And today I knew he was there. It was nice.
She didn't ask me anything. She preferred I not give her information. She told me what was up. Very refreshing. Shockingly accurate, she was, on the matter of my relationship with my family. We both concluded that they're tough people. She said that I'm tough, too. I don't see it, but I'll take it.
As to my personal life, we discussed that as well. It is the area in which I feel the least powerful. I don't gauge what others feel about me very well. Mostly it doesn't matter much -- but not in a cold way. I just love who I love. You can think me repulsive and I still love you. It makes me sad, but I still love you. In my love life, reciprocation would be a shock. It may take some mustering of energy, but I can go back to school. I can move across the country -- with or without Eric. I can challenge myself in many ways. How can you challenge yourself in an arena that involves the whims of another person? How do you note progression -- forward motion -- in this area? Well. Y'can't. Unless you've got a partner, right? A partner in Eros. Which I don't have. Does it make me less? Nah. Just disappoints me. Like that place where once was a tooth, my tongue goes here. Being as orally fixated as I am, it can't help but.
Thank you, madame_mage.