mental playlist

Indulge me.

My Big Nurse - David Byrne & Brian Eno (track 2)
You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby - The Smiths
(...and I've just discovered that there's also a cover by the incomparable Kirsty MacColl)
Eden - Hooverphonic
I Love Myself Today - Bif Naked

My Big Nurse
When the lake's on fire
With all the world's desires
When he shakes the stars above
When we lose the ones we love

When the seasons lose their grip
When the tightrope walker slips

I'm counting all the possibilities

When the past becomes the now
When the lost becomes the found
When we fall in love with war
When the angel fucks the whore

When the road we travel on
Takes us back where we came from
A million kinds of possibilities
For dancing on this lazy afternoon

In the comfort of the world
In the arms of my big nurse
From the science of the heart
To each animal and plant

Compact, relaxed, intact - give thanks
I'm counting all the possibilities
For dancing on this lazy afternoon
***
You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby
If you're wondering why
All the love that you long for eludes you
And people are rude and cruel to you
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why

You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
And I'm telling you now ...

If you're wondering why
When all I wanted from life was to be famous
I have tried for so long; it's all gone wrong
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
But you wouldn't believe me

You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
And I'm telling you now ...
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why

Today I am remembering the time
When they pulled me back
And held me down
And looked me in the eyes and said
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, my son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must stay on your own for slightly longer
You just haven't earned it yet baby
And I'm telling you now ...

You just haven't earned it yet, baby
Oh ...
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
***
Eden
Did you ever think of me
As your best friend?

Did I ever think of you?
--I'm not complaining

I never tried to feel
I never tried to feel this vibration
I never tried to reach
I never tried to reach your Eden

Did I ever think of you
As my enemy?

Did you ever think of me?
--I'm complaining

I never tried to feel
I never tried to feel this vibration
I never tried to reach
I never tried to reach your Eden

I Love Myself Today
You left me like a broken doll
In pieces as I took the fall
For you, you dumb chump
You left me free-fallin' like space junk
Burnin' up in the atmosphere of life
Well I sound like a philosopher
But I'm a fool who's off her rocker
'Cause I let you in my heart that one last time
I've had enough, made up my mind
I'm gonna get up, and out, and wild

I love myself today
Not like yesterday
I'm cool, I'm calm, I'm gonna be okay, uh huh
I love myself today
Not like yesterday
Take another look at me now
'Cause it's your last look
Your last look forever.

Well look at you--
You're all puffed up
In a big red truck
But you're out of luck this time
Oh well that's tough
'Cause I'm on fire--too hot to touch
With a chatroom full of lovers
on the line
I'll stand right up
Spit-shine my soul
I'm gonna be proud and loud and outta control...

I'm looking the mirror
And I like what I see
I've lost the fear and the horror
That's been eatin' at me
'Cause bein' with you was like a hangman's noose
I was livin' my life in dead man's shoes
I've had enough, made up my mind
I'm gonna get up, and out, and wild

I love myself today
Not like yesterday
You're dead, and gone, I'm gonna get my way, uh huh
I love myself today
Not like yesterday
Take another look at me now
'Cause it's your last look
Your last look forever
I love myself today

bad dream...

My new life feels completely unreal today, as though I'm going to wake up and things will be back to normal.

I guess it's one of the ways we cope with difficult information that's too big, too much, too overwhelming to take in.

It would obviously be unhealthy for things to go back to the way they were, but it's so hard to accept that it's just over--that he's gone, and that's it. Over three years of our lives, ground into shards under his retreating heels. Unsalvageable. No discussion, no negotiation, no chance to try. It's such a bitter pill to swallow that I don't think I've managed to choke it down yet. I keep staring at it in disbelief, thinking, "I have no choice?"

In the words of Yoda: "Do, or do not. There is no 'try'." There is no try.

Man, people going through breakups are boring. I'm bored with myself. It's only been a month, but I was hoping that I'd start to feel at least a little better. Instead, it's hitting hard all over again. Stupid merry-go-round of pain. Yoda, get me *off* this goddamn thing.

an observation

I've never been a big watcher of t.v. or film. I've always fled from both, instead playing games on my computer.

Since Tom left, I haven't felt very much like doing that, and have been trying to get out, read, write, and do other things.

In the last two days, though, I've watched the whole first season of Sex and the City--two sittings, six episodes per sitting--and I've realised something: If a body does something like that every once in a while, or has a marathon viewing with friends, it can be fun. But if this becomes a habit, a way to fill days, get lost in a fantasy world and not think, then it's no different than endlessly playing on the computer, or drinking, or sleeping too much, or having sex too much with too many people.

I might have spent a lot of time over the last few years numbing out by playing endless casual games on pogo.com, or spending hours running missions in Guild Wars, but I now realise that I wasn't the only one trying not to think.

The revelations continue.

march or die

I'm bemused that, from someone who's suffered from depression herself, my mother's parting words of counsel to me just before hanging up the phone were "march or die".

I really hope there are more choices than that, 'cos I can't hack marching right now.

why is the sky blue?

Who is this woman?
--this bundle of grief and hope and childlike coffee?
Who is that little girl?
Where did she go astray?
Who is this rose in a coffee shop?
What is this bundle of veins and nerves and fatty tissue that constitutes her heart?
Why is it empty? Why is it full? What is it full of?
Shame. Anger. Hope. Love. Blood.
It's an automaton, this body.
Just keeps moving and squishing and forcing continuation.
Is it the body that endures, or the mind?
Or neither?
What endures? Pure love. Selfless love.
Does selfless love hurt? Or does it become further refined through adversity?
Can it be battered and dented, or does a blow glance off it, hitting and severing heartstrings and synapses?
Does it fossilise or crystalise? I think not. It just is.
My new refrain--it just is.

transit on the brain

More questionable poetic musings. They're just spilling out at the moment, imperfect and trite as they are.

Stationary transfer
We entered and exited virtually every station together: I counted.
...King, Queen, Yonge, Coxwell, Broadview...
We stalled somewhere below ground--
lights out; no announcements.
You used an emergency exit.

By the time I got to Union, you'd already gone on,
the rumble of your train dying away down the tunnel
as I swayed numbly on the platform,
an invalid transfer crumpled in my hand.

I hate St. George

I'd have liked him but for the dragon-slaying thing;
He always seemed so holy and noble.
Now he conjures up a Gordian knot:
I hear his name, I see your face.
I search the crowded platform--though I pretend not to--for you.

...and so it goes

Doing a little better. Moving from grief alone to anger mixed in, and a terrified sense of adventure. Apartment-hunting. Contemplating packing. Growing ever-angrier at his cowardice, at being transformed into the unknowing receptacle of everything that's wrong in his life--frustrated creativity, father dying, mother failing, turning 40, being overweight, facing the void--how easy it is to simply run away, to change his environment, rather than do the adult thing and try to face what's in himself.

Everyone's been so generous in their kindness these last few weeks. People I don't know very well have responded when I've reached out, old friends are re-emerging, and I am deeply grateful.