Thursday, March 30, 2006

I don't care, by Shakespear's Sister

Thirty-seven hours have elapsed since the time I last slept. Yesterday was not the best day in my life; that is for certain. Not a good day, nor praiseworthy questions. After driving a few miles, a trip-up encounter.


The sound of their tears, an intimate mourning. For a moment it all resembled an amerciable appropriation of pain. A purloined affliction that the afflicted ones had once disdained.

A painter, a photographer, two daughters, a loud lady, a spectacle-lover wife, & a ghost; I.

His corpse, the embodied Fall of Rome. Orally unknown, scriptedly known. Despite an unacknowledged familiarity, he was not a stranger. No. Despite thy self-willed-private undertone, thou were not unknown.

Silence dwelled. Small talk became an affirmation of reaffirmation. A story told repeatedly. A peaceful death. One last sigh. An interpretation of one last smile. Arms that could finally let go.

Do your worst get it all off your chest
I’ll hold my breath and swallow

A reunion. Two sisters reunited through a death. Silence again.

We hurt the ones we love the most
It’s a subtle form of compliment

A conversation held photographer & ghost. Names of bands sprinkled the air.

"& Shakespear's Sister?" ghost asked. "They're the best," photographer said.

I still remember.

One brother & one sister used to sing "I don't care" at the top of their lungs.


I don’t care if you talk about me
I don’t care you can write it out in stone
Whenever I fall, I land on my feet
I don’t care, I just don’t care, no

Their father had just perished. Another battle against cancer lost.

But yes—& yet—, I still remember what he said, "Morir es un instante eterno, tal vez."

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