day one

Narratives

Narratives

A reminder that perhaps some narratives matter more than others.

a groundhog year?

i hope not.

but the first few hours of the year were spent witnessing the ghastly violent conversations that are a sort of tradition in this household. do they despise each other so much because they recognise in the other the ugliness that they have succumbed to?

i used to think there is a solution to everything.  save this, there is no solution.  there is only escape.

and between then and now, i shall make the ugliness beautiful in the impenetrable place that is mine.  so this year, i will work harder to embrace the gifts, so many, that have been given me and to accept the duty that comes with each of them.  in the end, how should we all live if not honestly.  something so simple is beyond their reach, but not mine.

i am not ashamed that i weep easily.  i weep on just about every holiday, and every other day for which i have to share this space with them.  but for the tears, i would have been lost to madness; or worse, to rage.  i would become many times more frightful than these persons.  but for the music, i would have been lost to despair; helpless to muster a response to the psychological taunts and sadistic vindictiveness.  but for the words, i would have not permitted myself to feel the sort of feeling that comes to you when you are in that quiet place which no noise can disturb.

on the day my tears cease to fall in this place, i shall shut the door with no second thought, no backward glance and never come this way again.

“I understood, in a very dimly lit way, that I would need to find the place where my own life could be reconciled with itself. And I knew that had something to do with love

.”

- Jeanette Winterson

 

Jericho and other memories





29 December 2011 | Concert Hall, School of the Arts (SOTA)

a christmas soiree

ok, i confess – i find fooling around with typography mildly addictive.

text can be sexy don’t you think?