I should have taken more pictures like this one. I am putting this up tonight as Mr. Fixit will be here bright and early as he was this morning which kept me from posting. Things go slowly. I am fucked and in the dumps. I'll explain sometime. . . later. For now, in case I can't write in the morning, there is this.
(link)
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It seems I have a bit of time this morning before Mr. Fixit arrives.
I am breaking down. There seem no positives in my life right now. My routine has been exploded for over a month. My house is a wreck of construction materials and dust. I spend my days with Mr. Fixit, either gofering or hauling or simply making coffee or getting food. And there are questions I must answer. Too many decisions to make. My health is failing me. I won't go into it. Mentally, I am exhausted. I cannot hold things together much longer. I see no lights at the end of the tunnel. There is only tunnel.
I remember being frivolous. It was fantastic.
I remember being in love.
I read this morning that the number of suicides in a single month in Japan is now greater than the yearly death toll from Covid. I read the article wanting to know the most common form those suicides take, but no such in formation was forthcoming. The article pointed to Covid-19 stress as a major cause, this though Japan has never shut down. The article spoke of social isolation, though. Hmm. More than 23,000 suicides per month in a country of 126,000,000. That's million, not billion.
Well. . . Mr. Fixit lied. He has come early once again, so I must become the company factotum. It is how I exist.
ReplyDeleteMy research says hanging and jumping from tall buildings.
The name of the poem book I made for T. is called "The Breaking of the Jewel".
It comes from the Japanese soldiers belief that:
"A true man would [rather] be the shattered jewel, ashamed to be the intact tile."
An ancient belief about the banzai charge - going back to the 7th c.
T wrote: "The jewel itself is an inability to accept the unacceptable, to embrace death rather than adapt to changes that conflict with a core belief. Hence, to break the jewel one commits an act that frees the soul to become lost in the eye of God."
He was much concerned with the Middle East at the time of this writing. Well, always. Suicide bombers etc. But more - I think it was the deep divide & differences between Eastern and Western thinking - philosophies on that "inability to accept."
He probably believed there was little that could be done to mend the chasm. Other than love and acceptance - which were very much at the core of his belief system.
I used to get so anxious about him when he didn't respond to a text if I was off working. Sometimes I'd stop and drive over to make sure he was ok. Usually he was either - working in the garden - or more apt to consumed by the thinking he was doing about whatever subject it was at that specific time.
I saved the texts from the day he died.
Anyway. You shouldn't commit suicide while your mother is still alive. I mean you shouldn't do it anyway but as a reader and long time blog friend, personally, to you, I've talked and talked about your worth to the world, about being rescued, about how much you "did" for the the world via the factory work,
which I suppose is just stupid cause people do what they want to do and hear what they want to hear - and not usually what other people advise.
People are who they are, mostly. Except when real work is done - by the individual to make the changes for a better this one life.
It is difficult for a cheerleader to put away her cheers, ya know. Even losing teams have cheerleaders.
Still, I hope you don't.
The Breaking of the Jewel
The Exit winks.
bright red when the powers on.
The poet lounges against the walls
gangrene settles in.
Other stand in the hot sun
lost in the eye of God;
Genet, sweet Jean
is laughing.
Only the marble seems permanent
even in rubble
and dust.
Such wise
are the children, dying
uncomposed.
(you would have the woman
speak, but she is mute,
and beatific).
Superimposed upon your fusion
where laughter remains tin-like
(Jesus skipping stones across Jordan,
a baby girl I knew before it began.
the raining of the metal
and the hot stones.)
....and Jean of course,
fucking the virgin
wraps her in his white tunic
emblazoned with a crimson cross.
Unwashed
it will become brown in time
become sackcloth,
a mournful oath
while the city burns.
un-God dies in a trailer blaze
dog-like
with his paws on a grenade.