Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The Foot Fist Way

My darlings, I apologize for the long gap in postings. I have had sweet FA to report, really, but that doesn't stop me from gasbagging through my day at work, so why it's making me coy as new bride here, I have no idea. And anyway, I do have stuff to report now, so roll up, roll up.

First. Big things! Meetings and Greetings, You Say Goodbyes and I Say Hellos. A Little Bit of Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me. Big Things!

21 July 09: Pasadena Rose Bowl Stadium

I still don't entirely get why, but Chelsea FC and InterMilan came to the States and played a match last week. E-friend Andrew Goodwin (aka the Professor of Pop, aka the Pimp of the Perverse) decided that the occasion merited some shaking of the hands and a good old-fashioned booze up. In attendance: the Reverend Mother (not to be confused with the Reverent Mother) and Susan. Susan is going to be Andrew's lovely bride. They were both a-dorable and utterly charming. Andrew turned out to be one of those people who laughs with his entire body. I think this might the Buddhist training. Whatever it is, he's going to do himself an injury one day, because he is constantly laughing about something. I've never met someone so willing to be delighted.

22 July 2009: Jeff Goldblum @ Aqua

So somehow, the Rev Mother and I managed to arrive at the club at the same time (about 10 minutes late) but where she panicked and went in looking for me, I panicked and stayed out front looking for her. It never occurred to either of us to move, and so after about 50 minutes, I bounced without seeing my boy. I did, however, see the sweet young thing Jeff has been trying to forget me with. Damn, family! He couldn't wait a little longer for me to get my shit together and move to NY? He had to throw this chick in my face? Trifling. As you would expect, she's about 20 and wee. Godspeed, Jeff! You have broken my heart for the next to last time!

23 July 2009: Stan Lee/Comic-Con party @ W Hotel, San Diego

I'll come back to this one. It's 3 in the morning and I'm going back to bed. But I'll leave you with this:

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Pass Me Over

My mother lies in an unmarked grave. The bare earth is appalling, looks painful. It's an abomination. But it's nothing compared to the holocaust of my mother's death itself, which flayed the skin from my face, my hands, my heart.

We couldn't face putting a gravestone up for her -- my brother, my father, and I.
We just refused. We refused to talk of it; we refused to think on it. Let her passing remain fresh and sharp and obscene in its inability to be reconciled with the world we thought we knew. Don't let grass grow over her, so that she blends in with others who have gone before her. Don't let her become just another name on another granite stone.

We couldn't do it. We simply couldn't do it. And can you imagine: the ground in which she lies is the ground that grew the cotton that scarred her hands. It is the ground she walked as a child, the most beautiful child of all God's children. It is the ground that grew the food she ate. This ground that raised up this woman now covers her and envelops her; and it is only now that it can support the physical or emotional weight of a marker. It is soft North Carolina dirt. It accepted her and now it carries her, but like us, it needed time to adjust to the offering and would not be rushed. This red, bruised ground has not yet settled enough for her to be covered - it won't yet uphold a concrete slab. That won't be placed for some years. But the marker needs to be there. So people know where to go to weep and wail and lay hands on the earth.

I thought that each milestone, each anniversary, would make it easier for me to start breathing again, but I was wrong. My aunt Nita says that she talks to my mom all the time. I want to do this too, but I don't know to reach for her and not feel her in my hands. I dream about her all the time, though. All the time.

Don't you see that this is all I have and God, please let me keep sleeping.