(no subject)
Life is not good right now but I'm not inclined to go into a lot of detail. I just wanted to write about cosmic connections and how the universe will sometimes thump you on the head with what you need when you don't know you need it. Lately my only escape from a brutal reality has been Doctor Who and I'm completely infatuated with Peter Capaldi. Well, why not? He's the same age as my Russ and as young men they bore a striking resemblance to each other with all the angular features and sharp profile and pretty eyes and crazy curly hair. Not so unexpected, really. He seems a genuinely kind soul and I love his Scottish accent.
The other day on Tumblr someone posted a link to a short story that had been on BBC Radio, based on Tom Waits' song, "Come On Up to the House," read by Peter Capaldi. While I listened, the combination of words and world-weary narration felt like a literal punch in the gut for me. One line still resonates. "I don't have hobbies. I don't like them...pretending I'm safe enough to play." Oh god. Not safe enough to play. My life right now. The author of the piece was A.L. Kennedy and thank providence I found her last night. Her words are like water while my soul is dying of thirst.
Today I sat with my parents and we had one of those family conversations that are like opening veins and helplessly watching each other bleed to death and trying to staunch the flow makes the blood stream even more quickly. I drove and drove and drove after I left them, no destination in mind, just trying to escape the pain, and ended up finding the Tom Waits song the A.L. Kennedy story had been based on. I've listened more times than is probably healthy for me:
Well the moon is broken
And the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
The only things that you can see
Is all that you lack
Come on up to the house
All your cryin don't do no good
Come on up to the house
Come down off the cross
We can use the wood
Come on up to the house
So thanks Peter Capaldi and A.L. Kennedy and Tom Waits and pitiless universe, for the threads that run through seemingly happenstance things and tie together a soul that is so broken right now.
The other day on Tumblr someone posted a link to a short story that had been on BBC Radio, based on Tom Waits' song, "Come On Up to the House," read by Peter Capaldi. While I listened, the combination of words and world-weary narration felt like a literal punch in the gut for me. One line still resonates. "I don't have hobbies. I don't like them...pretending I'm safe enough to play." Oh god. Not safe enough to play. My life right now. The author of the piece was A.L. Kennedy and thank providence I found her last night. Her words are like water while my soul is dying of thirst.
Today I sat with my parents and we had one of those family conversations that are like opening veins and helplessly watching each other bleed to death and trying to staunch the flow makes the blood stream even more quickly. I drove and drove and drove after I left them, no destination in mind, just trying to escape the pain, and ended up finding the Tom Waits song the A.L. Kennedy story had been based on. I've listened more times than is probably healthy for me:
Well the moon is broken
And the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
The only things that you can see
Is all that you lack
Come on up to the house
All your cryin don't do no good
Come on up to the house
Come down off the cross
We can use the wood
Come on up to the house
So thanks Peter Capaldi and A.L. Kennedy and Tom Waits and pitiless universe, for the threads that run through seemingly happenstance things and tie together a soul that is so broken right now.