Are Pointed Heels A Cure For Sorrow?
TEST PATTERN OCTOBER 27th Rock N Roll Poetry of James Crane. Plus Halloween costumes. It should be a kick ass night of poetry and spoken word. This reading is long overdue for James.
I got my second rejection letter from Slipstream. I must start to work to get more writing out in circulation. I have been using school as an excuse; but I shouldn't. I do have time to get my work together.
I am working through some things right now. I am trying to figure out where I belong. I have thought about moving so long I have thought myself out of it. In the summer, I'd like to take a week long class at Naropa and check out Colorado. If I don't make the decision to leave, and do what it takes, I'll be damn fifty. I just can't see moving without a practical job or life situation. No one runs away from their problems by moving. That is for sure.
I might adopt the title of this as a personal adage. I bought a pair of pointed heels at a vintage store today. They are black alligator and are not me. I am more than contemplating the tattoo. I believe I am going to chop my hair very short. These could all be reactions to John and I pretty much being finished.
I don't know. A friend of mine, Liz's birthday is today. We haven't talked in a while. Loss doesn't happen when someone dies. It happens when a guy who might have asked you out has his engagement picture in the paper, you aren't talking to a friend who you miss terribly but are afraid to call back, fearing she might ream you out.
And, then, you lose your friend/"lover" in a stupid fight when he wouldn't stay the night.
I am sick of losing people. I am tired of the emptiness of loss. Grief doesn't start when someone stops breathing. I believe it's all around us. The alone of sitting here typing into cyberspace proves my belief in the fact that we don't just mourn the dead. At times, lately, my pulse is moving, my body is going through the motions of work, but I am grieving people I love who are still here, and can't contemplate my heart is out of synch. Who will belong to my skipped beats?
I got my second rejection letter from Slipstream. I must start to work to get more writing out in circulation. I have been using school as an excuse; but I shouldn't. I do have time to get my work together.
I am working through some things right now. I am trying to figure out where I belong. I have thought about moving so long I have thought myself out of it. In the summer, I'd like to take a week long class at Naropa and check out Colorado. If I don't make the decision to leave, and do what it takes, I'll be damn fifty. I just can't see moving without a practical job or life situation. No one runs away from their problems by moving. That is for sure.
I might adopt the title of this as a personal adage. I bought a pair of pointed heels at a vintage store today. They are black alligator and are not me. I am more than contemplating the tattoo. I believe I am going to chop my hair very short. These could all be reactions to John and I pretty much being finished.
I don't know. A friend of mine, Liz's birthday is today. We haven't talked in a while. Loss doesn't happen when someone dies. It happens when a guy who might have asked you out has his engagement picture in the paper, you aren't talking to a friend who you miss terribly but are afraid to call back, fearing she might ream you out.
And, then, you lose your friend/"lover" in a stupid fight when he wouldn't stay the night.
I am sick of losing people. I am tired of the emptiness of loss. Grief doesn't start when someone stops breathing. I believe it's all around us. The alone of sitting here typing into cyberspace proves my belief in the fact that we don't just mourn the dead. At times, lately, my pulse is moving, my body is going through the motions of work, but I am grieving people I love who are still here, and can't contemplate my heart is out of synch. Who will belong to my skipped beats?
posted by Jennifer at 1:44 PM
9 Comments:
Losing people you love who haven't died is a big one. I've lost a couple this way myself lately and am contemplating some ceremony to help me with letting them go and putting our relationships to rest. Even if they were to come back to life in the future, they would certainly be different relationships.
Oh, get the tattoo. It will change you. It did me. But make sure you know what you want before you get it. Make sure it's meaningful. Make sure you realize that once you sit down in that chair and you hear the buzz of that needle and feel the pressure on your skin (it doesn't hurt a bit, I promise) that you will want another one the instant the ink sinks into that first tattoo. I've got two and I swear, I want more. More, more more.
Your comment about grief being all around reminded me of one of my very favorite songs by Depeche Mode. Perhaps you know it:
Death is everywhere
There are flies on the windscreen
For a start
Reminding us
We could be torn apart
Tonight
This post reminded me of my new year's resolution, a resolution I'd lost track of. This was the year I was going to be un-me. Un-Laurel. Thanks for the kick in the ass. There's still time for me to become the un-me.
Chop off your hair, wear pointy shoes, move, do whatever you have to do to be a new you. Or, an un-you.
And damn, get that tattoo. It's a powerful thing. You realize when you walk out of that parlor that you're marked for life, that you're taking this thing with you through the rest of your living days.
Do it.
(smile)
Laurel,
Thanks for the cheering on the tattoo. I am thinking about a
the word poetry in small purple
letters right in the middle of my back.
A small white peony or
this is the crazy one---the silhouette of woman in a martini glass with a nun's habit. I got this crazy idea from a short story collection that was divided by tattoos called The Falling Nun.
If someone could copy Chagall's angel In the Fall of Man--hands down that would be the one I would get--or the top half of a piece called La Joie--with the two lovers floating above Paris.
I should definitely take the museum
cards and see what the tattoo artist can do. Then, I'll make a final decision.
Thanks for helping me get the well needed incentive to really get going with getting a tattoo.
I need to be more "un-me" more often.
P.S.
Thanks for the mention of Depeche Mode...
I would hold off on the tattoo, the body is already a work of art, I don't think you need to mess with it.
I think there should be a "virtual hug" to send to folks. If there was, I'd send one to you. Hopefully, the thought of it has helped!
Wow. Those are some swell ideas for tattoos. I especially like the peony and angel ideas.
Do you know where you'll get your tattoo? I got my first tattoo on my back, on my left scapula or wing bone. It's one of those kanji symbols--it means strength, power. Rather small. A safe first tattoo. Still, I walked out of there feeling high almost. Geez, it's such a good, strange feeling. I can't describe it. And the second the fresh air hit my face, I thought, oh, man, I need another one. I got the first after my father died. I got my second, this totally kickass dragon on my left upper arm, after I graduated. The dragon pleases me to know end. It's covered up if I wear a short sleeved t-shirt, but man---I see it every morning when I get out of the shower or when I put on my workout clothes, and I swear, it makes me feel powerful, and different and unLaurel. At my uncle's funeral year ago, I was a pall bearer (because my older brother couldn't make it to the funeral and because I thought, hell, I've never seen a female pall bearer before so why don't I just go for it) and because it was a hot August day, I wore a sleeveless black tshirt to really show off my tattoo (my uncle would've loved it) and I swear, it felt like the most beautiful piece of jewelry I'd ever worn. I loved showing it off like that. I got mixed reaction from the family of course since very few of them knew I had the tattoo (interestingly, most of the female relatives loved it and alot of the older males disapproved--go figure) but I didn't care what the hell anyone had to say about it.
I still fucking love it every time I see it every damned day. I've heard of people regretting getting tatttoos but I think that only happens to folks who get them for frivolous reasons or don't really think about what design they want before wandering into a parlor.
Which is why I say know what you want before you go to a tattoo artist. And know why you want it. Don't just get a tattoo to get a tattoo. Mark yourself for a reason. Make sure it's meaningful. The reason and the design.
Oh, I want another one. I've been wanting another one since I got the dragon. I've got a couple of different designs in mind. But I'm still waiting for a reason, a good reason, to get one.
Laurel,
I am sorry I didn't respond to you right away. The peony has a few meanings---first of all---something that I loved---and still loved---gave me peonies when we first started seeing each other.
Also, there are the poems from Mary Oliver and Jane Kenyon about peonies that I just love so much...
The Mark Chagall angel probably has something to do with just an obsession with his use of color and combining spiritual/sensual images is such a lovely way. He has this painting of two lovers that is called La Joie. They float through the sky and their expression is contentment. That picture is my idea of what love should be, in the most ideal of situations I suppose.
I do want the tattoo. I do. My third idea centers around meeting the idea of spiritual/sensual in a much crazier way, a nun's face on the silhouette of a pinup girl. I got the idea from a collection of short stories called The Falling Nun.
There is an amazing story in the collection about the implications of going to get "marked". If you are doing it for the right reasons, it is not just going to get it because it's the trendy thing of the moment.
I just got through with a session at school. They are adding an MFA to our MA program. I hate to say this; but I mostly feel comfortable with people who don't steep their whole existence in getting published or being the flavor of the moment. Granted, I'd love to have a chapbook, but I'd love to have a relationship and family more.
Like a tattoo, those we love can't easily be erased, even after they pass. Sometimes, I use words as a substitute for what lives in the white space of a poem. There are situations that move beyond words. I found out that someone I started with in my writing program is very sick with cancer. And then the conversation about curriculum goes on without much pause.
It makes me want the tattoo all the more. Thinking about her drives me to some sense of permanence, the ink drying along my skin, someone to hold in my fingers instead of the cool grip of the Papermate pen.
Thanks for listening to this rant....
The name of the short story about that tattoo in that collection is called "Tat". It is a sweet collection of linked short stories and navigating your way through life's small celebrations and quiet losses.
The book just celebrates the simple things in our lives: how tenuous and beautiful connection is in this world.
However long, short-lived or even hurtful.
Hey, it's December, lady.
Are you still out there in the big, bad world?
Did you ever get your tattoo?
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