Tuesday, February 20, 2007

death of a soul

I am having another of those tragic days.
I can’t write.
I can’t string three words together.
I published my first work at the tender age of thirteen and now when I have lead a life worthy of these lofty ballads I can’t put a single word to verse.
It’s a sin. My dad is turning in his grave!

I realized something tonight while I stared blankly into the pixels of this terribly small monitor, I realized that I know why I can’t write.
It didn’t take months of soul searching or meditation, it didn’t require a single session at a shrink or even vast amounts of vodka.
All it took was one of those rare moments of reflection that passes so fast that you can’t lie to yourself.
In this single split second I remembered telling a song writer that in the real world money always triumphs over love, I remember telling a lover to be realistic and I remember telling myself that to hurt is weak.
And in that single passing instant I knew that when I drove the idealist from myself I drove with it love hope and heart. I killed the feeling that fed a human soul until it became easy to rely only on my opinions and logic to feed only my mind.

I just stumbled upon the true meaning of tragedy.
Its like death in a way, when you dye your soul departs and leaves just a shell, a physical vessel that the earth ultimately claims

I had a great love once
But I never tell you about it because I fear the force of a broken heart.
I never tell you that he had chubby hands and that he bit his nails.
I don’t write about how he sacrificed new underwear to shine his bike.
I don’t blog about his funeral and the red roses on his coffin for fear that hysterical confusion of utter and complete loneliness may swallow me again.
I have not committed a word to paper about how, when they found the accident he had his arms around me and how they had to pry my little sister from his body because she didn’t understand why the medics weren’t seeing to him anymore.

I had a hero once
My dad had a good heart and wonderful mind.
I never grew out of thinking that my dad could do anything,
He always understood me because, they said, your just like your dad.
But I haven’t written that he had bushy hair or that he had no wrinkles only smile lines.
He called me princess and told me not split ends.
I never say out loud that I still come home and wish he were there for me to test my new theories on, how I wish for his open minded intelligent answers.
My dad was a lecturer, the best you’d ever find (and Grem will agree) he gave everything for his students. Neighbors called him doctor Bernade because he took in and cared for every stray youth who came around.
And there is not a word doc nor a piece of paper that erupts with my feelings of how unfair it was that it was kid that killed him that night. A kid in mommies new Beemer who only had a learners.
I don’t say these things and I simply cant write them because I don’t let myself feel these thing
Emotion is weakness I don’t allow myself or those around me

And deeper the rabbit hole still gets
I have a great love now.
And I don’t have the courage to shout from the rooftops that I love him.

I wish I had “moral of the story” ending to this blog or that I could tell you that now that I understood it I could change it.
But truth be told I have no intention of deviating from my emotionally detached views, as they protect me.
I will simply let live those who are lucky enough to afford the luxury of idealism.
Perhaps one day I will face the demons inside, but for now I will only let the monsters of the mind scare me enough to inspire.
After all, as I said to Etain, The writer needs the pain


Donsie said...

Ek dink n ding wat mense baie bang maak is om onvoorwaardelik lief te he, veral nadat iemand van jou hart geruk is. Om iemand vir wie jy so lief is deur die dood te verloor, begin jy vrae vra soos, as ek hom nie SO lief gehad het nie, sou die pyn nie minder gewees het nie?
En dan kom jy voor 'n nuwe besluit waar daar 'n nuwe mens in jou weg staan vir wie jy diep binne weet jy BAIE lief is, maar jy is te bang om daardie liefde vry te laat omdat jy bang is die een word ook van jou af weg geneem en jy nie seker of jy sal cope om vir 'n tweede keer deur daardie pyn te gaan nie, veral omdat die eerste pyn nog nie verwerk is nie.
Elke mens verdien om lief gehe te word. En elke mens verdien om dit te ervaar, beleef, te geniet en daarvan te weet. Jy hoef nie op die 224 te staan en te skree sodat almal jou kan hoor nie, maak net seker die man vir wie jy so lief is, weet dit.
En ja eendag gaan jy weer seer kry. Maar as jy by daardie graf staan, moet jy kan terug dink en se, hel dit was n moerse ride en hy het geweet ek is onvoorwaardelik lief vir hom...

etain_lavena said...

Babe, we all get our hell, it makes us stronger and yes you did tell me the poet needs the pain.
It is very hard Chicky, and I wanted to cry for you, not just for you but everybody that loose people they love. For people that are amazing beyond believe and that we are only allowed to see in the next life.
Strong's Chicky.

The pain will fill your soul
the black will not stay
tomorrow when the sun shines
you wont ever be alone.

Dino aka Katy said...


thanks for stopping by my blog. I love the pictures on yours. As for pain and the arts.

I don't know much about writing songs or poetry but I do know it helps me when I write about things on the blog. It helps me understand of who i am and what happend in my live to make me that person. thats why I keep two - one for every day and one for the heavy stuff that sometimes takes me a long time to get out but after the tears are dry I feel much better.

Gremlin said...

Sore topic, I'm excusing myself from here...

Arlene said...

Holy crap! You said you were having trouble stringing words together. If that post is trouble, I'm just going to stop writing now!!
You're amazing, in a non emotional kind of way ;-)
Seriously though, I'm sorry for your losses. They both sound tragic...not that loss of any kind is easy...

Claudia said...

I don't even know what to say...I don't deal well with death at all and I've never been in your situation; I have no idea how I would react. I know what you mean about the shell being left behind...when my aunt died, even though it was her body, it wasn't her anymore. I'm so sorry....

Nosjunkie said...

Wow guys your comments are almost as long as my blog.
I excuse grem from commenting here I think we have exhausted the topic.

Thanks for the support and all

JR's Thumbprints said...

We all need our pain, imagined or real. Some times it takes more reflection to write about tragedies in our lives, and sometimes forgiveness is part of that process. "Write" through your feeling and you will discover thing you may not have known about yourself.

SaM-GiRL said...

Oh my gosh Lee.... Youve got me crying now.... I never knew all these things about you...., I knew that your bf and dad passed away, but i never knew how.... it is true that you keep these things to yourself... you actually have me in tears now, and I HATE crying when I read ppls blogs that I dont even know personally...but really, and the way you explained what type of man your dad was.... He was probably a great man.... really... And I hope that drastic measures were taken with the little prick in the F**ck#*g beemer! who has probably carried on with life as though nothing happened!! I respect you for the way you carry yourself around, and for the fact that after all this, you havent been consumed with hate, but STILL have it in you to bring smiles and laughs to those around you who also need it.... Good for you hun...!! I just wish I could give you a hug right now.. But I know that youre strong and you dont need one, so, I wont stress about it that much.
Really beautiful blog!

Odat said...

Your dad sounded like a fantastic guy...I lost mine too...I miss him terribly too...I was his lil princess and altho it happened a long time ago..my heart strings are still moved when I hear certain songs or certain expressions....Use this to move you like you have in this post..It was beautiful...

Novel Nymph said...

Your post rendered me speechless...mindless...

...I felt like I was reading parts of myself...

I given up coffee, but I have gotten you!


captain corky said...

Amazing post! You definitely still have the words. I'm a bit naive at times but I still believe in hope. I hope you find it again. I look forward to reading a lot more of your stuff.

Nosjunkie said...

@Sammy, your right hun, the guy who killed my dad left on his matric holiday the very next day.

@O-Dat anything by CCR reminds me of my dad especially "who stopped the rain"

@Novel, I suppose this is what they mean when they say Roses grow from ashes. in all this sadness Ive made a new friend. Glad to have you here

@Corky I loved your blog, there is hope in both of those scan pics you have up there.
Thanks for that

SaM-GiRL said...

Yeah, shouldve guessed.... F*$k

Lyrically speaking said...

This is very profound