Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Raw nerves


Listening to Little Birdy, `Brother' off the Confetti album. How come some people can get all of it into words and music? I'm reeling from dealing with a friends personal tragedy tonight and my emotions feel very exposed. I wonder if those singers go over and over the emotions each time they have to perform. That would be so exhausting. Do they pluck them and pull at them so much during the writing period, that by the time they've performed the tune a few times it's all gone? I guess they get so that they can distance themselves from the original event that germinated the art.
I find little spaces to box stuff up into. Whether it's pleasure or pain. Mostly I think about pulling out the pleasure stuff, reviewing the memory. Mostly it's little things like the sky at sunrise or filled with winter colour. I've a picture memory tonight that's going to take a while to store away, a friends face in transition towards death, and the distress of his partner. I don't know if I can overlay it with the beautiful winter sky I saw as I drove this evening. I feel so inadequate as she tells me she thinks he's got much less time than they said at the hospital. I don't know what to say, because I know she's right. His face was somewhere between life and a death mask and you could read it there in front of you. I don't know how to help.

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