But see, here’s the thing…
I can quote all the cocky lyrics I want, and I can understand the necessity of engaging in Roshomonics at an intellectual level, and I can make myself appear by turns witty and bitter and sympathetic to you, the reading public…
But there’s nothing quite as frightening as knowing that there’s no one to turn to, that you’re completely alone, when you’re feeling pathetic about yourself and your work and bewildered by your industry, and dawn is coming up, and you can’t catch your breath.
I loved this person more than should be allowed by law. I realize, of course, that that doesn’t matter. Human beings are guided by their individual instincts and imperatives. They do what they must and go where they must, and, in the end, without resorting to a gun or a baseball bat, there’s nothing any other human can do to stop them. Hell, that’s why I never even tried to prevent her from getting in the car at parking slot 68. Maybe I should have. Yes, she would easily have beaten me senseless and left me bloody in the street — she was very butch — but at least I’d have demonstrated the depth of my feeling…
It’s too late for musings like that, though, too. It’s too late to do anything but pick up the fucking pieces and try to reassemble them into something that looks like an existence rather than a parody of one.
(I have to stop and smile for a moment, picturing Mary — my writing partner on *Hard Time* — reading this, appalled. She’s such a private person that when she gets back to town she’ll probably castigate me for having just revealed that she’s such a private person. I’m sure she’s completely aghast that anyone would parade their emotions around in public like this. Well, yeah, I am too — but what the fuck?)
Having said all that, my thinking somehow seems a little clearer today. Maybe the antibiotics are working after all. Maybe all the purgation lyrics are having an effect, as well. And maybe, as a result of the meds and the music, I’m coming to the realization that I’ll never be able to love someone that way ever again, because there really is no one who could ever replace her…and, frankly, because I’m getting too old for this shit.
The purgation lyric of the day is the entirety of “For No One” by The Beatles, 1966. It’s the last purgation lyric I’m going to cite, because no one else has even come close to saying it as succinctly, or as heartbreakingly, or as well. Funny thing is, it was one of her favorite songs.
Mine, too — but not my favorite on that album (*Revolver*).
That would be “Tomorrow Never Knows”.