#that also hit some other stuff he lacks the emotional wisdom to grasp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grace-esque · 5 years

Text

Word Vomit

I always read the last sentence first. Fuck the first sentence of nearly anything other than Moby Dick. The truth is that the first sentence is usually bullshit- a façade enticing the reader or just something menial the writer chose to initiate the story they know they want to tell but don’t know where or how to begin. Sometimes both. Knowing a story that’s worth telling is easy. Introduction of a story, much less of a thought process, is Crippling…Exhausting…Freeing. The anticipation of reading the last sentence of a written work- whether it be a novel, article, or fucking Microsoft word document- makes most cringe. Instead of uncertainty or confusion surfacing from that “last sentence” knowledge, I’m filled with comfort. Comfort of knowing, comfort of piecing the puzzle together. Hell, I hate puzzles and the last sentence is nearly useless the first time one’s eyes skim, reread for a second (or possibly third) time, while the mind processes, while the mind makes connections to express or grasp an emotion and articulate a response. Regardless of understanding, the comfort is found in knowing there is an ending.

There is no comfort in this ending, love.

As far as first sentences go in the realm of us- you were mesmerizing. You were bright; you were fucking glowing. You were the person engulfed in a violet aura outlining the energy that I woke up to in the middle of the night weeks before I physically met you. You were what I had always wanted, asked for, and eventually begged to encounter. I searched so long for you. Twenty some odd years of begging to meet my other half, soul mate, twin flame, or whatever defined name you associate. You were it- everything. The search is over, you’re right fucking there, and I wasn’t prepared for you. And there you were, lighting up a single room with your blinding purple ambiance and contagious laugh. I heard you before I ever saw you. It was the most intoxicating, soul-enriching sound I had ever heard. I heard you baby. Then, I saw you. I typically have a decent memory but recalling the first time we hung out is a blur. I can’t see the memory play out like a movie; I just feel it. I feel you, all of you.

Most of the time.

I also feel the homeless person standing on the corner holding a seemingly effortless yet pride-shaking sign, the stressed mother walking down grocery aisles failing to soothe her child and refusing to acknowledge the prejudice present in strangers’ eyes, and the young boy who just needs someone to look into his eyes and just fucking listen to what he says without fear of repercussion…fear of judgement. I feel everyone all the fucking time, love. Empathy is simultaneously my greatest strength and weakness.

And you know this.

You see something in me that I’m familiar with, yet don’t completely recognize nor understand. Anyone could take advantage and most do. You haven’t. I might be second-guessing your motives because of my own subconscious, painful experiences, or confirmation from outsiders. Ahhh outsiders, right? They can see from the tower looking down, yet they don’t see the look in your eyes when you’re laying in my bed asking me not to hide. They aren’t there on my porch when your eyes are filling with tears of concern and shame. Or, even better, when we’re laughing about mistakenly smoking Marlboros on the 5thfloor. They aren’t there, but they’re in my ear. They’re telling me things my head denies my gut and my heart.

“Grace, he’s playing you.”

No, he’s real he’s honest he sees me

“A man would take care of you, especially if you’re his mistress.”

Mistress? No, it’s not like that! I’m connected to him. Take care of me? He does.. he teaches me a lot “Oh you have a connection with him? What do you get out of it? He’s mentally stimulating?” …..

“You’re not benefitting from this…relationship? I mean what is it, Grace? He’s obviously gotten a lot out of this thing y’all got going on. What do you get?”

What do you mean what do I get??! He’s my…he’s my other half…he’s not playing me he just….I do benefit and….

I feel uneasy. I feel that I constantly question you as well as myself. I feel unsettled that I am a fucking mistress to a man I sincerely fucking adore. A side piece who has solely given up things for the possibility of…fuck I don’t even know…love, maybe? Missed opportunities due to “it’s meant to be.”

You told me one time that everyone has a motive.

With you, my motive is that you’re the one I’m karmically tied to and have been waiting for my whole life. Not so much a motive as a fucking magnetic forcefield in which I lack control.

I skip work, leave my children with the babysitter, and put my life to the backburner because why not- it’s love, right? It’s fucking extraterrestrial shit that should be focused on and appreciated.

I’ve done a lot for love. I’ve struggled for love. Because I love to do stuff for love and out of love. As Hallmark channel as it gets, I genuinely cannot think of a better reason to justify actions. You’re myheart. I’ll sacrifice time and resources because there is nothing I enjoy more than being with you. “It will be worth it.”

Worthy mental, physical, and emotional stimulation- no doubt.

Yet…there is doubt. Overwhelmingly so. When I look in the mirror and see myself slacking for love, I hate what I see. I feel guilty for entangling myself with you as hours of productivity pass. Because the hour will come when you’re detaching from me to go home while I scramble to make up for the time. Scramble to shove my feelings deep down because I know you’re leaving, unsure if you’re coming back, unsure where we stand, and “why the fuck am I doing this”. It’s selfish and self-destructive. I know you love me; I do. I guess I just feel empty…naïve…gullible. Confused.

I feel like there is this common fucking joke that everyone has heard, but I’m still waiting for the punchline. Everyone anticipates the same punchline because of previous jokes they’ve heard. “You haven’t heard this before?!” If the punchline is the same- well fuck, Grace should have paid attention.

Should have been smarter.

Should have not been so trusting.

Should have….fuck, done something.

BUT

if the punchline is different…it could potentially be the best fucking joke I’ve ever heard.

And I love a good joke. That’s all it is, right? A witty line and, hopefully, a thought-provoking answer. If there is any weight to the joke- it’s nothing life altering. But, what if one joke had the opportunity to drastically shift the listener’s perception regardless of intention?

“Grace, the punchline sucks. We’re telling you that it sucks, but you’re going to have to hear it on your own.”

I’m going to have to realize that I’m a mistress without all the clichés. Why would I listen to a joke that is supposed to suck, and why the fuck would I be a mistress without the clichés? I mean, the clichés are the “perks” to being the one he quietly loves. Two completely different topics, but the answer is simple. I’m hoping it’s different. As anticipation increases, hope remains. Futile, no doubt but could be fucking worth it so why not? Why not bet it all on red when black hits 5 consecutive times? Nothing to lose, maybe. Maybe there’s everything to lose.

Why not say, “I don’t want to hear the joke” or “I don’t want to be the mistress” or “fuck gambling”?

Those responses reveal either lack of curiosity, wisdom, or responsibility. I have a responsibility to myself and my children, as do you. It fucking kills me that I can’t financially take care of them the way I used to before I met you. It fucking breaks my heart trying to do what I need to do for my children and myself while trying to take your feelings and this relationship into account.

I’ve been writing this on and off since 4am. I left work last night with tears in my eyes because everyone made me feel like I had betrayed myself. I was the stupid side-chick who says, “he loves me, yes he’s still with his wife, no he doesn’t financially support when he knows I’m in a bind.”

“You can file for bankruptcy”

Do you know how fucking stupid I felt? “Bless her heart” kind of stupid. I know you and don’t think it’s like that, but what the fuck do I know when I don’t even know myself?

I don’t know myself, love.

#writblr #writers #writing #excerpt from a book i'll never write #artists on tumblr #art

1 note · View note

teacherintransition · 3 years

Text

Inner Healing Rarely Comes From a Medicine Bottle

Confronting the pain … the loss … often alone helps you see that hope is still there.

My nephew is following the path of the ancients when life takes a devastating turn… the pilgrimage, the sojourn, an odyssey a journey to reconcile his desire for joy in life in the face of mind numbing loss…

In the early morning hours of the 28th of February, 2021 the Rich family who followed after my father, Roland Rich; my wife, my three sons, their wives, my grandchildren, my sister’s son, my brother, his wife, his son, his daughter, his daughter in law, his grandchildren all were peacefully sleeping through the last moments of the world as we knew it. By 9:30am of the 28th, the existence of what we all knew was gone, ripped from our grasp in the form of a violent, horrific car accident that claimed the life of Matthew Paul Rich. Matthew, my brother’s son was twenty four, a husband and father of two little children was no more … the twenty five and more members of his family plus dozens of close friends, in a year where death had been all too prevalent due to a pandemic of historical proportions, were now dealing with a personal loss of a young who was a boundless source of joy to all who knew him. Nothing would ever be the same. But, …. This isn’t Matthew’s story …

No, this isn’t a story about Matthew Rich, though the laughter and joy he brought could fill volumes. I’m not writing about his beautiful wife and lovely children. These words have little to do with a father who had lost his son. This is the story of Matthew’s brother and best friend… my nephew Cory Patrick Rich, whose loss of Matthew created a unique devastation of spirit yet, awakened in him a refusal to relinquish the happiness in life so often provided by his brother.

Cory was born on the 12th of July, 1991 to Brian and Vickie Keith-Rich in Conroe, Tx. He was and is still to some degree a loner but in a healthy manner. He graduated from Klein Oak High School in 2009. My nephew is intense… he LOVES his family, he loves deep intense conversations with them, which is a trait directly inherited from my dad, his grandfather, Roland Rich. His intensity also showed sometimes in his temper, “il peperoncino fa scaglie nel culo,” and like many young men who are eighteen or nineteen, lacked direction… and it caused him a little trouble. Despite this, Cory has always shown the ability to make sound decisions in stressful times. To get some focus, Cory enlisted in the United States Army and served in Kuwait during time of war. He knew that many of his family members whom he deeply respected followed a long tradition of military service: his grandfather was a twelve year Navy veteran; his cousin, my son, is a USMC veteran; his step brother served in the Army for 8 years; his second cousin on his fathers side was in the United States Navy SOG (Navy Seals); a great uncle who retired from the USAF; and an great uncle who served in the Navy during WWII… and on back through time to the American Revolution. The discipline and focus was exactly what he needed … Cory knew that.

When he left the army he, like many young men, pondered what would they do with their lives, but he had a rock that kept him grounded: his brother Matthew. Often brothers have rocky relationships. My brother Brian and I have been known to butt heads, some have distance that is sad to see. My sons love to provoke each other and argue much too much. Then there’s Matthew and Cory. Did they fight? Yes. Did they argue? Yes. They were, for much of their lives, raised apart as many children are due to divorce, but there was something special going on there. I have seen men who were close brothers; I have seen brothers who were best friends, but rarely have I seen many who were incredibly close brothers and best friends to each other. Separately, they were funny guys and opposite sides of the same coin. Matt was laid back, cordial, a peacemaker and genuinely put everyone at ease; Cory is curious, a seeker of ideas and often a bit hot headed. They played off each other’s strengths and assuaged their weaknesses. They looked out for each and dreamed dreams with each other. My brother and I haven’t always gotten along, but now, at 55, we’ve found a commonality of thought, even though that tension lurks just beneath the surface. Matt and Cory were a team … a powerful entity when together. Then, with the precision of the marking of a calendar… they weren’t.

This piece will not rehash the horrid details of that awful morning, or share the agony of a young widow or the pain of a mother who lost her baby. This is a story of the path of a lost young man. Dr. Elisabeth Kubler Ross in her timeless study on how humans cope with grief, wrote there were five stages we go through when we lose a loved one. I observed Cory experience four of them: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. The final stage: acceptance was stopped by an emotional brick wall. In all honesty, Cory, Brian, me (although my pain was to a much lesser extent) did all the right things to cope and some of the negative things you would expect. We argued, we cried, we drank too much, we self medicated, we had nightmares….remember my mention of Cory’s intensity? It was as you’d expect. My brother answered the call of being the patriarch and set the example for his family, I was there to help him when being the solid foundation was too much. Cory jumped in and took on the role Matt’s kids desperately needed. He spent his free time with them, took the son to soccer practice, helped Matt’s widow cope, comforted his mother … he showed a maturity and responsibility beyond expectation. All the while, Cory was so very much alone in processing his loss while attending to his loved ones.

My brother wisely planned a family trip to California to visit his wife’s son. The intentions were perfect, a family taking a step towards normalcy. From my own struggles with mental and emotional health, I learned that when situations approach a calm, the deep seeded pain that you haven’t been able to face, will rise to the surface as the progress that has been made will have your mind tell you, “ok, it’s time to deal with more stuff.” This happened on their trip. I told my brother that this wasn’t a setback but a step forward to deal with a loss that no human could take on all at once. Cory had taken no time for himself. He was spinning his wheels and the pain would not abate. I mentioned earlier that Cory had shown sound decision making in the past during times of emotional distress, he was about to embark on what I view, as a courageous, healthy, well thought out, wisdom beyond his years path towards healing. Cory was going on the road with his little dog Chewie in search of peace.

Like Homer, Ibn Battuta, Strabo, Xuan Zang, Thomas Jefferson, Isabella Byrd, Michael Palin, Jack Kerouac or Anthony Bourdain … Cory was not going on vacation, Cory was not going to “party.” The travelers mentioned above were seeking truth, understanding, community…Cory was going to find a way to live with the loss of his little brother. All to often, we will wallow in self pity and depression, harm ourselves or drop out of living altogether. Very few of us have the courage to go headlong and face our fear and pain and conquer it by seeing others in our world contend with tragedy and be inspired. To seek comfort traveling alone and realizing that none of us are truly alone is a daunting task. I would say that most people have dreamed of hitting the open road to “find ourselves “ and carrying a little regret at not having the balls to do it. Cory has no time schedule, no mapped out path, no preplanned itinerary…his heart and Chewie’s needed pit stops are his only considerations. Well, in truth, there is one destination and hundreds of ways to get there. Matt went on his honeymoon with Rachel his wife to Colorado. He was in awe of the beauty of the vistas. They returned home and, of course, he made a pact with his brother, “Cory brah, promise me that we will climb Pikes Peak together.” Cory promised… Matt is there on the summit ready to embrace his brother and tell him, “it’s ok dude, I’m good, thank you for caring for my family. I’m ok brah, go live …go live…go live …for me.”

My nephew has been gone for three weeks. His path on the map looks like pretzels. He’s been to New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, California, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Illinois, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Maine, West Virginia, Missouri and numerous places. He is heading towards Pikes Peak today …something powerful is going to happen …and Cory Patrick Rich had the courage to face it. I know this entry in my blog seems quite incomplete. “Where’s the details of the place he visited? What’d he eat? How’s he doing?” are questions that are being asked. I’ll let you know when he gets back. I also kept many of the names of Matt’s family unwritten so as to focus on one man’s personal sojourn. Each of us have a story through this nightmare we’ve experienced, but this is Cory’s and he still has many miles to travel before he can rest.

"Kathy, I'm lost", I said, though I knew she was sleeping

I'm empty and aching and I don't know why

Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike

They've all come to look for America

All come to look for America

All come to look for America*

*Simon, Paul; “America;” Kobalt Music Services; 1968

https://youtube.com/channel/UClK_MAvZtDiLmlp-4HIN7NA

http://labibliotecacoffee.com/

1 note · View note

davidmann95 · 7 years

Note

Age old comic questions to ask: in the old debate regarding "which side of Superman is the real person whole other one is the fake identity", I consider Clark Kent the real person and Kal El/Superman his mask. What's your opinion?

In spite of being such a profoundly significant aspect of him - arguably THE significant aspect of him - I actually have two pretty irreconcilable answers to this one. In part it’s a matter of a multitude of fundamentally incompatible takes on him being presented over the years, and to narrow it down to a single vision in terms of legitimacy is impossible after 1940 or so. But if we’re being really honest, it also has to do with my mood at a given time, and my frustration with how he as a character is often treated.

The first answer, what I’d call the proper answer for a modern mainline take on him, is both of them are real. Or, depending on your standards, neither of them. He doesn’t just turn off who he is, or spend half his life pretending. When he’s slouching in a bad suit and pretending to be near-sighted he can still count and mentally sort by size every dust mite in his field of vision in a picosecond, he’s still listening into police band frequencies, he’s still fighting for truth and justice. He’s still being Superman. And when he’s wearing a leotard and holding up collapsing bridges, he’s thinking about hitting deadline and feeling bad about bumping into that one guy from accounting and remembering how to make the recipe he tried on a recent time-travel trip that he’s sure Lois would like. He’s still being Clark. And at the same time he can’t be angry or bold as Clark, or scared or awkward as Superman, same as you might have Work You and With Your Friends You and With Your Family You, and they’re all real but not whole. The ‘truest’ guy such as he is would probably think of himself as Clark, but that’s the guy who knows how to drive a tractor and has been tinkering with a one-man Multiversal transportation unit in the Fortress and is wondering if he’ll ever write another novel, not exactly fitting with either of the above. And you could count on your fingers all the people in the universe who interact with that side of him on anything like a regular basis. Ultimately, they’re both meaningful and valid expressions of who he is, Clark the part of him that feels awkward and alien but determined to do the right thing in spite of the limits even he possesses, and Superman the very nice godling raised by the Kents to help people because he can.

…but there’s another answer too. If you’re enforcing a more rigidly-defined take on the identity binary, if you’re focusing on one side as being a ‘truer’ expression of himself even if neither encompass all of it, if you’re picking between the Silver Age Superman or the Byrne Superman as a more valid expression since they both decide on one, or if I’m just particularly frustrated with DC’s treatment of him on a given day and feel they need to flip the script - if one way or another, you’re being forced to pick one. In that case, my answer is definitely, unquestionably that he has to be Superman who sometimes pretends to be Clark Kent, not the other way around.

I know that goes against 30 years of conventional wisdom - especially since Kill Bill/Quentin Tarantino’s argument to that effect left a sour taste in a lot of mouths - but like the old narrator says, he’s SUPERMAN, DISGUISED AS MILD-MANNERED REPORTER CLARK KENT. That’s how Siegel and Shuster made him, that’s how the majority of his most critically-acclaimed stories portray him, that’s how he was for 48 years until John Byrne kinda-sorta-maybe broke everything forever, and of all the things he changed for the worse, Clark as the unambiguously true character of the two might have been the most destructive. ‘Power levels’ can be adjusted, he can start fighting bigger and stranger or smaller and more intimate threats, Krypton and the presence or lack thereof of Ma & Pa Kent in the present can be retconned, but that’s a fundamental change to the innermost core foundation of who he is, and while it arguably led to the more well-rounded “they’re both real” take down the line - though I’d argue it was headed that way anyway and Byrne actually significantly delayed it - at the time, it absolutely, catastrophically cut the character out at the knees. I would sincerely say that DC accepting it as the True Canon take on the character has been one of the biggest reasons he’s struggled to regain a foothold in the public imagination.

For one thing, if Clark’s the ‘real’ guy, he’s probably not going to be that different from Superman. He has to be brave and charismatic and unwilling to let injustices go unaddressed no matter the cost, because those are all clearly fundamental aspects of who he is, and Superman has to be capable of all those things too. The problem of course being that that makes him a Superman who isn’t doing cool Superman stuff, and unless you really zero in on the office drama or reporter intrigue as equally relevant and exciting parts of the story - which most don’t - that makes a Clark who’s real ironically a distraction from the real event of him being Superman, a set of interstitial scenes to break up the robot-punching. And it takes away the drama of him having a secret identity if they’re both the same: of course he spends half of his life as the guy he truly is when he’s not being a superhero, for the same reason Peter Parker doesn’t just take an Avengers paycheck and spend all his time as Spider-Man. Him willingly spending his time acting klutzy and insecure when he’s actually Superman is a fascinating insight into his character. If nothing else, it hits on the primal motherlode of relatability that is “to be normal and accepted he has to pretend to be someone he’s not”; there’s no overstating what a long way that goes in making a borderline god someone who you can sincerely empathize with, and everyone on Earth can do that with that experience. Handsome Hero Reporter Clark Kent fighting crime on the other hand is an obvious thing that character does if he has superpowers, and nothing more. It cuts him down from having an interesting motivation for each identity to one for both, and undoes a lot of potential complexity in the process.

American Alien is the one story to come down entirely on the side of Clark Kent being the real one that I know of to really, powerfully work, and it rewrites a ton of how he functions to make that fit. In spite of some of what I said above still applying - the story is about how he becomes Clark Kent, superhero, his decision to put on the suit being an ancillary aspect of that, rather than him going down two parallel tracks that converge in interesting ways - it actually turns out well; it’s arguably the best Superman story since All-Star even if I’ve personally preferred a couple others, and in the isolated context of that story, it works incredibly well. As a Superman who’s meant above all else to address the specific themes and aspects of who he is that this story wants to go into, it goes perfectly: he’s a Clark who can still believably do Superman stuff, but because he’s really Clark that image ends up cracking, yet when the chips are down Clark is still tough enough in and of himself to get the job done. It’s absolutely a fair-game reimagining for the sake of what the creators are trying to do.

But just the same, while it fits for that one story and any possible sequels, I don’t think it fits with the broader portrayal of Superman as an icon, for a very important reason: one of the big things at the heart of his story is the idea that it’s our best selves that are our truest selves, at least in his eyes. Jor-El isn’t just the guy who failed to save Krypton, he’s the man who gave us Superman. Jimmy Olsen may be a dope who wanders into danger so often he needs a signal watch to summon the most powerful man on Earth to regularly save him, but he’s also a quick-witted crusading action reporter who’s decent enough that the best guy on Earth considers his best pal. Perry can be a dick boss, but he’s he’s a crusading journalist of integrity who wants to bring the best out of the people he works with, and because of that Clark looks up to him. Lex has done horrific damage, but Superman above all thinks of him in terms of the kernel of goodness inside him being squandered, and all the wonderful things he could do for the world. In Superman’s world it’s the best in us that’s the most essential part of who we are; he…screw it, Morrison put it better the way he always does:

“In the end, I saw Superman not as asuperhero or even a science fiction character, but as a story of Everyman.We’re all Superman in our own adventures. We have our own Fortresses ofSolitude we retreat to, with our own special collections of valued stuff, ourown super–pets, our own ‘Bottle Cities’ that we feel guilty for neglecting. Wehave our own peers and rivals and bizarre emotional or moral tangles to dealwith.

“I felt I’d really grasped theconcept when I saw him as Everyman, or rather as the dreamself of Everyman.That ‘S’ is the radiant emblem of divinity we reveal when we rip off our stuffyshirts, our social masks, our neuroses, our constructed selves, and become whowe truly are.”

The essential truth of his story is that inside every Clark Kent - the person our fears and vulnerabilities make all of us be, even him - when the time is right and you tear your shirt open there’s a Superman who will emerge as your highest, truest self to make things better. Not that behind every seemingly-magnificent Superman there’s the moments where he has to calm down and stop rocking the boat and go back to being scared, vulnerable, mild-mannered Clark Kent. You can rectify that by presenting Clark as a profoundly appealing figure in and of himself - Superman’s really just like you too! (though isn’t he just Spider-Man at that point?) - but like I said earlier, while Clark should be admirable, past a certain point that runs into some major problems of its own, and Lois is supposed to be the one to show how a normal person can be super anyway. Again, I think the best path forward is for both of them to be true. But if you’re making a decision, Clark may play his part…

#Superman #Clark Kent #John Byrne #Grant Morrison #Superman: American Alien #Spider Man #Lois Lane #Opinion

245 notes · View notes