Stuff...
Dear mum,
last night I had a trippy dream. I know that's not unusual for me, as I make movies every night I sleep. But this one, it was the most random one in awhile, yet quite poignant.
So it started with me getting to meet Blue October. I feel like my love for them, from the age of 16 when I first heard "Hate Me", turned to obsession after you passed. They always got me through, as if their music was a vital piece of my survival. A coronary artery, keeping my heart in check. Maybe I tried too hard for that to be the case for you, too; theirs being the last music I would constantly play for you, jumping from one song to the other, while all you wanted to do was rest after your chemo. Keep going, mum...
Anyway, I don't know how I managed to get a chance to meet them in my dream, but it was happening. Only, ten minutes before, an announcement came and a scene played out where Justin, the lead singer, was approached by a man wanting his jacket. Justin didn't want to give the jacket up, and told the man he could have some money instead. But as Justin reached into his pocket, the man pounced at him, and fatally stabbed him.
I was distraught, refreshing Google for all the news articles, hoping it wasn't true. But it wasn't a hoax, and he was gone. It was like losing a close relative, the way I mourned for him in the dream. And I imagine, it would be the same in my waking life. A terrible loss for many reasons.
I got to meet the rest of the band, and they asked me why I was crying. I was dumbfounded - why would I not be crying? They told me, if I want to celebrate the man he was and his art, there would be no tears allowed. So I didn't follow them when they left. I sat, crying and then drinking. I drank myself to a near stupor.
When I started to steady myself a little, dad was sitting beside me shaking his head. Then in walked the actor, Gary Sweeney, who took a seat beside dad and proceeded to shake his head, too. Disappointment. Disbelief.
"Small Faces," was all I could slur to him - that's where I recognised him from. Small Faces.
He held out his hands in front of me, and his fingers were all purple and twisted. "This'll happen to you," he said. "Just you watch."
Aye okay, I thought, and removed myself. That's when the dream changed. There was a flash of your face, mum, then it was gone. You're gone.
I walked into a room, classroom-like. It had tables set up for debates, and there were a lot of topics I didn't understand. No one really wanted me at their table anyway, as I was slurring, stumbling and I didn't have a pen to take notes.
"Nobody is sitting there," a man finally told me, and pointed to a seat with a jacket. The jacket, mum. Justin's. I sat there. What was the topic? Beans. Bloody beans of all things. The guy didn't seem impressed, as it was the last table available and he wanted something more challenging. What could we debate about beans?
"Remember, they're not just beans," I shook my finger at him, thinking I was being all profound. "This is the only meal for some people. For others, they just scrape it off their plate. Discuss."
Aristotle, I am not.
Socrates, not even close.
But I was on to something. I asked myself the question, "who am I crying for when I cry?" For my my mum? For Justin? For me?
For me, was the answer. I was crying for me. For what I lost - and I was losing sight of what I still had; had I continued on the drunken path.
Yes, it's okay to cry. It's okay to miss someone or something so deeply that you get stuck in the one place momentarily. But I wasn't appreciating my beans, so to speak. The figurative meal, still keeping me going. And although I wasn't just scraping them off my plate, I wasn't really taking in their nutrients either.
No more crying for myself. No more me, me, me.
I have so much to live for. And as for the jacket, it represents the material. Stuff is just that - stuff. It made sense to me with everything going on right now. Don't leave behind just stuff.
So tonight, mum, I raise a toast to you; a celebration of life to live, and the life that goes on after.
Wish you were here...
last night I had a trippy dream. I know that's not unusual for me, as I make movies every night I sleep. But this one, it was the most random one in awhile, yet quite poignant.
So it started with me getting to meet Blue October. I feel like my love for them, from the age of 16 when I first heard "Hate Me", turned to obsession after you passed. They always got me through, as if their music was a vital piece of my survival. A coronary artery, keeping my heart in check. Maybe I tried too hard for that to be the case for you, too; theirs being the last music I would constantly play for you, jumping from one song to the other, while all you wanted to do was rest after your chemo. Keep going, mum...
Anyway, I don't know how I managed to get a chance to meet them in my dream, but it was happening. Only, ten minutes before, an announcement came and a scene played out where Justin, the lead singer, was approached by a man wanting his jacket. Justin didn't want to give the jacket up, and told the man he could have some money instead. But as Justin reached into his pocket, the man pounced at him, and fatally stabbed him.
I was distraught, refreshing Google for all the news articles, hoping it wasn't true. But it wasn't a hoax, and he was gone. It was like losing a close relative, the way I mourned for him in the dream. And I imagine, it would be the same in my waking life. A terrible loss for many reasons.
I got to meet the rest of the band, and they asked me why I was crying. I was dumbfounded - why would I not be crying? They told me, if I want to celebrate the man he was and his art, there would be no tears allowed. So I didn't follow them when they left. I sat, crying and then drinking. I drank myself to a near stupor.
When I started to steady myself a little, dad was sitting beside me shaking his head. Then in walked the actor, Gary Sweeney, who took a seat beside dad and proceeded to shake his head, too. Disappointment. Disbelief.
"Small Faces," was all I could slur to him - that's where I recognised him from. Small Faces.
He held out his hands in front of me, and his fingers were all purple and twisted. "This'll happen to you," he said. "Just you watch."
Aye okay, I thought, and removed myself. That's when the dream changed. There was a flash of your face, mum, then it was gone. You're gone.
I walked into a room, classroom-like. It had tables set up for debates, and there were a lot of topics I didn't understand. No one really wanted me at their table anyway, as I was slurring, stumbling and I didn't have a pen to take notes.
"Nobody is sitting there," a man finally told me, and pointed to a seat with a jacket. The jacket, mum. Justin's. I sat there. What was the topic? Beans. Bloody beans of all things. The guy didn't seem impressed, as it was the last table available and he wanted something more challenging. What could we debate about beans?
"Remember, they're not just beans," I shook my finger at him, thinking I was being all profound. "This is the only meal for some people. For others, they just scrape it off their plate. Discuss."
Aristotle, I am not.
Socrates, not even close.
But I was on to something. I asked myself the question, "who am I crying for when I cry?" For my my mum? For Justin? For me?
For me, was the answer. I was crying for me. For what I lost - and I was losing sight of what I still had; had I continued on the drunken path.
Yes, it's okay to cry. It's okay to miss someone or something so deeply that you get stuck in the one place momentarily. But I wasn't appreciating my beans, so to speak. The figurative meal, still keeping me going. And although I wasn't just scraping them off my plate, I wasn't really taking in their nutrients either.
No more crying for myself. No more me, me, me.
I have so much to live for. And as for the jacket, it represents the material. Stuff is just that - stuff. It made sense to me with everything going on right now. Don't leave behind just stuff.
So tonight, mum, I raise a toast to you; a celebration of life to live, and the life that goes on after.
Wish you were here...
