In his hand a note.
Sometimes I just don’t feel much of anything. Right now is a time like that. Like I have run my emotional battery right to nothing and I cannot feel again without a break or separation from myself to let the dynamo charge the battery. They say this is a common symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. And I would have to agree with they.
Though last night I watched “Last Days”, Gus Van Sant’s gorgeous and slightly disturbing depiction of Kurt Cobain’s last days. Starring Michael Penn as Blake (the Cobain character) which is done beautifully and with so much connection to the character that I feel familiar with him. And it’s strange because I am in some ways similar to him too (the mumbling and sort of drifting from room to room and the desire to avoid even people I know). Someone once told me that Adam Sandler must have studied me to get the character right in his movie “Reign Over Me”, they might be correct. But I think maybe if I squished together the two fictional beings you’d have a non-fictional me.
There you go. Now you know I am a strange pinball man bouncing of the walls of his mind. And my hands float away and my eyes hurt to look in yours. I talk to myself to quiet the static and echoes inside my head and I constantly look to the horizon to avoid looking into my heart. In fiction it is charming and quirky. In life it is lonely and people don’t understand, a human cannot present and close himself in a neat 120 minute package. All issues resolved and all love found or that which is lost is made clear and acceptance is had all around. To most people I am just some kind of shadow I think. One they see but seldom take account for. I mean that in love. I am not saying I am not loved either. There is love. And there are people who I think value me. But I am a sort of drifting thing that is kept at arms length, mine or theirs depends on the day. A story that won’t finish being told.
Oh wait….”Last Days”, yeah I was talking about the movie. The most incredible scene is the suicide scene. It’s not done at all gory or violent. In fact the film assumes you know what he is about to do and it’s quite striking and almost pretty. And I wish I could go with him. You see it as a freedom. Or maybe just I do. But it makes me feel trapped inside.
Sometimes I wonder what I do all this for. What reason can I give? And all I ever come up with is, I do it to be heard, to connect. To know what that feeling of travelling together is. And maybe I do this because someday someone may want to look back and see what I was or where I was at times like this.
There’s something to be said for old pictures and words I guess.