Ok, I'll admit it, my creativity didn't die. It was suppressed. By me. And by "creativity" I mean the creative alignment of words and expressions - the topic itself is too fucking real. It's something I've avoided for a over a year now and despite yesterday's best efforts, it came roaring back to me today.
Yesterday, while innocently checking in on the music schedule in town, I came across a website for a celtic punk band from Corvallis who are insanely popular around here. At first I was peeved. Nothing cool ever happened in Corvallis when I was there! Not fair! So I browsed their history and found out that they had played at Eric's funeral. The funeral I didn't go to. Witnesses say it was a good one, if that's possible. So I downloaded some of their music and thought about Eric. I considered writing, but found errands to run and beer to drink and bars to drink more at later.
This morning I woke up hungover and slightly depressed over the weather. So I sat down at the computer, read a few blogs and let the playlist run. The band came on and I knew, just knew, that this was one of his favorite songs. And then I realized there were fat ugly tears dripping on my keyboard. I put my head down and cried for a good long time.
After that and some furious pacing I sat down and hammered out the thoughts that needed to be thought. The results I don't think I'm going to post. Certainly not today and maybe not ever.
But I will say that Eric did not "fall" in Iraq as people so politely like to put it. He was blown to fuck by a madman and he died 7,000 miles from home.
Eric, I miss ya buddy.
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2 comments:
Sara,
Always thanks for your kind words and support and for reading my crap and actually liking it. It means a lot to me, especially coming from someone who knows...
I hope you find a way to express your energy and channel it, let it pour out. I've seen some beautiful stuff here, and I remember finding your website for the first time. I was like... right on!!!!!!! It was a real kick.
Thousands of voices have been silenced through this insanity, this sick twisted perverse madness. We cannot allow the perverts who started this shit to define what it is they have put us through. We just can't. If we owe anything to anyone, we owe it to the people who have been silenced to speak out. So our voices will not be extinguished, or shouted down, or drowned out, or worst still... ignored.
There's so much pain now, it's got us all in its grip and we have to struggle through this. But there's no shame in reaching out, there's no shame in shouting out, crying out, in raging.
I know we're in your thougts Sara. And you're in our thoughts too. And Eric. And a few others, sadly.
I'd want to say more, but words hardly measure up under the circumstances, I know.
Just to let you... respect and thanks.
short-timer
Thank you for that note, short-timer. I was already feeling better when I drug my ass outta bed this morning, but your comment cheered me even more. Thanks, bro.
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