This blog is where my unspeakable thoughts find a place to live/remain/die. Like, the next time I am in bed with someone, and they ask me what’s on my mind, they are getting a recitation of either “and death shall have no dominion” or “she bitches about boys” and there is no inbetween.
The irony ofc is anyone hearing “she bitches about boys” likely will need interpretation support.
Anyway I can’t tweet this or fb this so here it lives. What do writers with other lives *do* with all the thoughts they cannot write into their everyday? Do we all have seekrit blogs?
I think about all the misery I could have avoided if I just relied in the truth of my own experience. Doubt is other people and doubt is hell. If you ever love like I love, it is always unconditional. Four years of trying to condition it just led me to a fiery expanse of a poem – four years and then Dylan Thomas. At that point of loving, there is no choice but to accept it. It is what it is. Stars at elbow and foot. Death really does have no dominion. The next time you ask yourself if it was real, try to tarnish it and see how far you get. If it’s still there, raw and pearl rubbed and as perfect in inception and even brighter, congrats, you discovered how to love unconditionally.
Ok, you ask. Ok but this person isn’t in my life? Do I just…have this now? Yup! That’s it! And may you find it again with less pain or expectation of reciprocity or building a future. Let trust fly out the window, let reciprocity escape. All you can do is love. If you value that enough, then unconditional love is more than enough. If you have screamed and raged for years “why won’t this feeling die?” Congrats! You have stumbled and bumbled into a place where death has no dominion! Oops! But also yay? That’s it, folks. Call it a wrap. There may be others as well you feel this way for. None of it means a life together is necessarily possible. But hey you barely sank never mind rose again. And now you have stars at elbow and foot, after the clean bones, gone – maybe, you think, maybe this ridiculous feeling will outlast your existence too.
And, if they don’t inspire you to recite dylan thomas in their ear like a prayer, like an oath – there is always marilyn hacker, waiting to land like an axe in some “high-strung, well-hung, penurious boy, not knowing what he’d get, could [have been] more generous.”
If I leaned into love that night, I would have believed every word he said about why this could not work. Maybe that is the better way: let cheaters live, let the cowardly have their cowardly ways, believe the lies from a place of love that does not care about the debts and balance and this for that and tit for tat.
Reciprocity is dead but love is not. Some monsters you just can’t kill. Draw a monster. Why is it a monster. Because I can’t kill it. I am tired now but happy too. My love is a monster and I am ok with that.