Rust
January 16, 2005
Rust has a way of eating metal. In the bitter cold of a Saturday morning, I found out it can also fuck up bicycles. My back wheel refused to budge even though I was in a hurry to catch a bus full of smiling WLUSU people. Swearing and screaming, I ripped apart my bike, lubricated sprockets and derailleurs, and yanked chains. Despite the agony of my frozen fingers, the WLUSU bus took off without me.
Which was good — it gave me time to think as I walked through the city with the wind biting my face. The days before were filled with anger and energy. I hated her; I loved her. But Saturday morning I only felt sadness and loss. I fucking missed her. I bought a mask to hide my emotions and decided to pick up smoking. I want lung cancer; I need some visible mark of my sorrow.
“We all leave stains on each other’s lives,” she once said. Bodies should be stained too — they should be canvases of lost loves. Emotional scars should be transformed into stigmata … piercings and tattoos should mark the sites of pain … rust should make our metal hearts rupture in our chests … hair should be dishevelled and eyes glazed with pain.
When we break free of our bitterness, sorrow will make us wind-swept and beautiful.
Posted by Tudor at 04:13 PM in Friends & Lovers | TrackBackUm, as far as visible marks of sorrow go, lung cancer is probably a bad choice. Yeah, you might start coughing soon, but it’ll be many many years before lung cancer starts to show.
Posted by: David on January 16, 2005 at 06:41 PMI agree with David.
A scar could be interesting, if you want something permanent and dramatic and painful. Tattoos and piercings also would work, as you’ve mentioned. Or you could have fun with Sharpies. I have 13 different colours, if you’d like to borrow them.
Posted by: Laura on January 16, 2005 at 09:11 PMIt’s not so much the end result, but the process that interests me. That’s why smoking attracts me.
But yes, some day we’ll have to play with sharpies — I need to figure out what to tattoo on my body …
Posted by: Tudor on January 16, 2005 at 09:20 PMi can relate to recent bike losses. it sucks about your bike, even more those deeper sadnesses that seem beyond your control
Posted by: w on January 16, 2005 at 09:27 PMtattoo “lung cancer was here” on your chest :)
Posted by: w on January 16, 2005 at 09:29 PMperhaps a broken heart within a closed heart, for there will be many within it all…
Posted by: helen on January 17, 2005 at 03:21 AMoh dear, a closed heart sounds dreadful. but, um, please don’t take up regular smoking, either; there are better ways to suffer (like future loves-losses-loves).
Posted by: red on January 17, 2005 at 07:35 AMYou sir, are a poet. Thanks for your words. I have more faith in your spirit than to believe you’ll pick up the habit, but dayam, if it isn’t right to want to sometimes.
Posted by: martin on January 17, 2005 at 08:50 AMTudor,
I feel your pain. Don’t start smoking. If you really want to hurt yourself break your hand with a hammer.
If you need a break you’re more than welcome to come visit me in Kingston.
Peace,
David w
Posted by: David on January 17, 2005 at 07:24 PMDave, I’d love to visit you at Queen’s and see all the other lovey Kingston people too. But you must promise not to break my hand with a hammer ;).
Posted by: Tudor on January 17, 2005 at 09:24 PMFrom Daily Afflictions: The agony of being connected to everything in the universe, by Andrew Boyd…
Loving the wrong person
Let our scars fall in love.
—Galway Kinnell
We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”
I will find that special person who is wrong
for me in just the right way.
Thank you for that wonderful, wonderful insight. I gave up looking for the right person two years ago when I realized we’re all fucked up our own way. And I was hoping to find someone (as you say) “wrong in just the right way,” someone who realized how wrong I was and could live with it.
But all I got were more scars. It would be lovely if scars could fall in love.
Posted by: Tudor on January 29, 2005 at 09:23 PMAhh, then you need to read “Fucked by love” from the same book. It’ll blow your mind with it’s cynicism and hilarity.
Posted by: Meghann on January 31, 2005 at 01:02 AM