The darkness of her light

Say Anything • In Your Eyes • Peter Gabriel

Love and determination will conquer all.  Such quaint ideas.  "Write drunk, edit sober." so said Hemingway, yeah... the same guy who said "No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader," and "Writing is simple... all you do is sit down at a keyboard and bleed."  I prefer Kerouac.  He simply said:  "First word, best word."  Though later edits show that it may have been a lie, so it goes.  Some desperately hold on to lies so that the world makes sense.

This would be my song.  The song for her.  It goes back, she wasn't even there, when I saw this film.  Crammed into the theater where I saw it.  Forget the slightly sticky floors where someone had spilled a drink on a previous viewing that had gone uncleaned.  Those that were supposed to clean it were only kids with so much better to do, to dream, visions far beyond those that their measly minimum wage suffrage could afford.

There he was.  The Woody Allen of our age, John Kusac.  WOuld he get the girl.  Of course he would.  It was Hollywood after all.  There would be a friend, one who sacrificed all so that the one they loved could meet their desire.  What a lovely type.  The knind that would be gone to again and again in the films of the eighties.  Wonderful.  Til you find that you are that type.  The sacrifice... too much to bear.  But that would be another movie. 

It would never be her song for me.  No.  That would be Solsbury Hill.  He wasn't sure if it was a bit of truth, or merely an easy placard that she threw at him... to somehow connect, to somehow appease.  Her shell was so tight.  She had learned well at university to either get, or give, ahead as a precious little sister.  So precious.  So little.

Shells.  She had commented on them, at least part way.  She talked of how he could never be able to read... her.  She was too tough.  She wanted to know.  I saw the burn, the cloudiness caused by a father.  He was, and would be, forever absent, yet she struggled to win... somehow his love.  Forever absent.  Forever unattainable.  Yet still...

she strove.

Her live knew horrors, knew pain, that none could ever know.  Yet he did.  The grief.  So powerful... so inundating, that all she could could do was form a concrete shell against it.  Let it pour against that which is maintained, if only to keep ones sanity.  How did he know.  He knew because he had his own shell.

Yet each shell had its tiny fissures.  The cracks that let in the oxygen.  That allowed one to live although surrounded by death.  The creation of boundaries.  One could enter.  If only to visit a hollow atrium.  The laughter.  The giggle.  How much one wants to believe.  She played so well.  So long as none could notice her animated death.  Only problem was.. he did.  Not because he was better.  Not because he was worse.  But because he was.  Though the footsteps were different... he knew... if only the pain.  He knew the facade.  He recognized its uselessness.

But that is where she was stuck.

Love and determination will conquer all.  Possibly one of the greatest jokes of all time.  Speaking truth, were his gangrenous arms reaching out from a hell you had long forgotten too much?

Too much?

Beaten...

Beleagued...

Serenades of the past can merely be swept under the rug.

Regardless,,,

Grab your things I've come to take you home.