We made a pact. For three months we tried an experiment. We decided to write to each other every day, "You are beautiful, and I love you" - just to get used to it, ya know, just to get used to how it feels to be loved. And we promised each other that we would not put up with not being cared about and loved by the people in our lives - especially in our romantic relationships.
And it really helped. A lot. It meant a lot. Coming from her from my fractured family, it meant a lot.
I've been listening to Diamanda for the last few hours while I work. She embraces darkness so fully, and sings of topics our society tends to turn its back on—"her works largely concentrate on the topics of AIDS, mental illness, despair, injustice, condemnation, and loss of dignity." (wikipedia)
Photo of Diamanda Galas - photographer unknown
"His eyes were wide open. I was holding in my arms the person I loved the most in the world, and talking to him as he died. His heart stopped. He wasn't afraid. I had gotten to walk with him to the end of the world. Life – so beautiful, painful and dazzling – does not get better than that. And death? I believe that the purpose of death is the release of love." - Laurie Anderson
You’ve got to look at things in a new way. You have got to do whatever it takes to change your perspective or you’re going to stay stuck . . . left sitting on the fence obscured by mist while the horses run free and leave you behind.
Dying, a dance, on a hot spring night. Its flood. The flood. The levees broke and bodies on top of cars, on roof tops, in trees, in the water, on the ground. Just there. No place for them. Where was Bush?