Chapter 1: In Which I Paraphrase the Philosophies of Others and The Favorite Verse of My Mother
- Before each history there must be an evolution. This is necessary and an unspoken rule. Actually it is a spoken rule, to have any history we must first have words which are the record of all our memory:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
The same was in the beginning with God.
All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made.
In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
- The evolution which was what brought about the birth of words, is that which brought about the birth of memory. The urge to create the words can only be compared to our desire to preserve life, which is that which makes us human. We are descendants of cave dwellers who fought cave bears and carried their hurt tribe to care for them in caves where there were no bears. We know this because proto-men have been found in the ice and bogs with famously healed femurs long before homes and houses were made.
- They fought fire to contain fire, to heal their hurt and give life to children who could not crawl away from these cave bears which were scared of fire. By the guide of fire was found time in the night. On nights where there was fire there was time to learn the words. The time of the night was where the record of everything known became painted into rocks. Look it up, these things are known.
- The light in the darkness is to know the loss of darkness. This is to say that the memory of something is an urge to preserve when something is not to be found there anymore. The essence of being human is knowledge. Knowledge is only understood by the experience of loss. Loss is most felt when it is the experience of beauty, which is also known as the feeling of love.
- The urge to preserve life is that which is the urge to preserve beauty which is that which is to celebrate the losses of death which is that which is to create the language to know the words to preserve the knowledge of love. This is the evolution which created the words. In the beginning of our memory was the word, before the word there was nothing, after the end of our words there will be nothing else.
- The Christian God(s) have long become cruel. The Christian words have long been salted and an enemy of fertile earth, but still in my imagination is the memory of Eve. Hand-cut from a rib from dust to hold the heart and all the beating parts. Hand cut to seek out that which is knowing, she that was made in the image of the God(s). The God(s) who are made real by the end and beginning of words. Tell me, whose words are those which make the songs which remember the days of creation?
Chapter 2: In which The History of My Loss of You Blooms To Encompass the Loss of Everything
- I often think that I wish I could remember the first time I spoke to you. But all I remember is that I wanted to befriend your sister first, I liked her, she was mean and funny in the way I’ve always appreciated in people. And also her husband. I would flirt with them, and you would tower behind grinning like a ghost into your beer. I always thought your sister was older. Once you had a date to karaoke and your sister sang beautifully. Your date cackled about something else and drew you in by the chin. I thought it was strange she kissed you with so much passion while your sister was singing.
- I knee the triple sink to kiss you over the bar just after midnight. It is the end of 2019 and I think I have just learned loss, fresh free from a fiance, fresh back from a road-trip around the west to clear my head while my ex cleared out of my house. It is cold and I am wearing an ugly 80’s party dress. I kiss you again against the merch case, backed by koozies and dusty t-shirts screaming GAINESVILLE FUCKING FLORIDA in bright white block letters. I kiss you by the door in front of everyone.
- I have forgotten the definition of “crush”, how it is between a pang and a pull. I’ve forgotten how it is all instinct, a little reflective gap in an old mirror between the copper bleed patina. How it is a stinging joy. How it is an etching. How it is somehow always a scent which I know will remind me of you if I pass by it again in the right wind or the right room. How it is the color of light coming in around your ears. How it is the tunneled silence of anyone else speaking.
- You take me in a canoe to see alligators in a dark lagoon in the very bottom of the Bible Belt. Here, I will tell you all the things I believe in. You show me freshwater eels for the first time, three of the biggest bull gators either of us had ever seen, and I dream of these creatures for many months after.
- In a few months I will learn both of your laughs: one is a fake to let people know you are listening and happy to be spoken to. The other is real, a gentle chuckle in the base of your throat with your head back and your eyes nearly closed. I know you loved me for a little while because I brought about that second laugh often.
- After a hurricane, after a flood, after a house fire. After your dog dies in a heatwave. I will sit in Asheville with a hangover in a negligee and write. There will be someone else trying to love me in the next room. I will distract myself with apple brandy, weed, and sunsets. I will continue to write. I will feel like a bad country cover of a Kate Bush song.
- When I return home, I will write this history of us down, all of it. I will use hyperbole and metaphor in the most masochistic ways. I will compare you to the moon: you will become epic, corny, and derivative in equal parts. After months of crying I will again taste food with joy, I will again become curious about anything. Finally, I will know what people whine about when they name moments bittersweet. I will know my tongue’s loss of your salt, of tasting.