silence? this silence? there were few things to say after it ended. too much cider & too few regrets. just let it die, just forget it. pretend you hadn’t dreamt it. the constant curling, curling. of strands of hair, bodies, of body, away, away. waking, cold & shivering amongst nothing, amongst everything. where are you now? i’d once scream. i don’t think to ask that question now. it’s not numbness. it’s forgiveness, or forgetfulness at best. another life, one other’s life. are you happy? i hope, i hope. are you happy now, as i am? i hope, i hope.
james yorkston, king creosote & the pictish trail, all on the same stage tonight. that’s one thing to tick off the life wishes list. (i’m really sorry you weren’t there…x)
it might just be the bottle of innis & gunn on a near-empty stomach, but i’m feeling very happy & even slightly euphoric right now. oh gosh, that was a really lovely day, wasn’t it?
seeing bon iver at the usher hall was wonderful. the songs from the new album make so much more sense now that i’ve heard them performed. i thought the production was very polished originally, taking away a lot from the raw beauty that made me first fall in love with justin vernon’s music, but every sound is replicated live. our seats were in the upper circle, so we had a clear view of the entire stage & being able to see everyone playing at once really made me appreciate the musicianship involved that much more. very, very impressive. perhaps more importantly on a personal note - the old songs have never sounded quite so beautiful. i’ve struggled to listen to ‘for emma, forever ago’ that much recently, because it still reminds me of a time i’ve tried to forget, in all honesty, but on saturday night those songs more than transcended any memories i may have attached to them. i feel so fortunate to have been there.
it’s long past midnight & i am finally by myself again. sitting cross-legged on a deskchair, messy hair & bleary eyes, smudges of ink on my hands from a day of relentless writing. not the kind i’d like of course, it rarely is these days. the need is different. the pressure of a dissertation is quite different to the usual compulsion that grips me & i’ve lost my muse for the latter, regardless. it’s at these hours when thoughts of him would plague me, solitude in the silence of a bedroom he once slept in. i’d toss & turn in a bed we once shared. no longer. tonight, i mourn the loss of another lover. you. in those hours, i’d try to turn agonising into something else. laptop light, don’t wake the flatmates, all i wanted was to scream. but i couldn’t, rendered silent & so i’d write. the catharsis of pen to paper, fingertips to a keyboard. i’d watch feeling become words & sentences that existed outwith my body, transformed. there you’d be. he is all but forgotten now, but still i look for you. not quite yet able to find.
close the doors, open the windows. listen to the rain fall, i’ll close my eyes. fingertips tracing blue on the inside of a wrist, the freckled trail on the back of a neck. drawn closer, drawn closer. to distance, distance. this is nothing to do with love, though i wish & you feign. we’re just strangers, trying to forget another. and i try to keep hold, with eyes closed. eyes open, you look away. the forth spits disgust on the windowpane. are you okay? you’ll whisper. and i, and i, stay silent.
13th september, 2011
this dissertation will be the death of me & i am very tempted to take myself away to edinburgh this evening to see spectrals at sneaky pete’s. hmm…x