Reflections

 

 

http://bradkunkle.com

"...if a bird with a broken neck could fly away, what else might be possible? Water may be older than light, diamonds crack in hot goat's blood, mountaintops give off cold fire, forests appear in mid-ocean, it may happen that a crab is caught with the shadow of a hand on its back, and that the wind be imprisoned in a bit of knotted string.

And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery."

- Annie Proulx, The Shipping News 

On Being Not Dead/That Thing

There are people that you know, you just know, that if you met them you'd feel that thing. That subtle click of easy compatability, of moment-by-moment understanding, of eager rhythm, of total yes. People that see the world with the same set of eyes and heart that you do.

These are the kind of people you lock eyes with across a crowded room at a party when something awful or funny or sad just happened in another corner. Right then you look up in embarassment and catch this person's eye, and they know exactly what you're thinking, and you know exactly what they're thinking, and the relief that floods your chest is big and warm. In that moment the world feels a little less like chaos and a little more like art.

That feeling is terribly rare. I've learned that when you find it, you should grab it with both fists, no holding back. What's the point of restraint, anyway? Life is so stupidly short and senseless. Moments like that - people like that - sometimes feel like the entire point. They are my navigation in the dark.

If I met the writer of this op-ed piece in the New York Times, I'm sure I'd feel that thing.

Read it here: On Being Not Dead

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,

   In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

   By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

   I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

   My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

   And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

   In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

   Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

   In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

   Of those who were older than we—

   Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

   Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

   In her sepulchre there by the sea—

   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

I take writing classes through an organization called Gotham Writers' Workshop. They held a contest, which I did not enter, for 91 word flash memoirs. This is the winner, highlighted on The Daily Beast's website.

This tiny little snippet of words, of a human life flawlessly encapsulated, makes me so fired up/angry/hater/jealous that you know it's just amazing. Amazing. Find a word that isn't powerful and perfect and right. I dare you.

It's probably unflattering to admit that I get the jealous writer angries, or the jealous singer angries. However, if that is your opinion, shut up. The best work from others inspires you to get your hands dirty, to work harder, to be better, to fucking fight. I love this feeling. It's where I get work done.

I wanna punch something.