02/13/2013

It’s funny looking at the nature of a site like this, I’m glad for a lack of readers and comments, but I wouldn’t write this just for myself, it has to be more than a simple diary it’s meant to be an exposition of things I think, I have no memories of my thoughts, does that sound peculiar? I remember places, events, seasons, times, but I don’t remember thinking about things, or realising things, sometimes, rarely when it’s a nice easy epiphany or demonstrated to me, like playing that chess game as a kid, or something so easy to understand. Sometimes I think even the weight and value of memories only comes later with a bit of perspective or if not that much distance.

I still can’t think how I’m going to tell people Terence has died. Alex, John, Gemma, Kieran, Sam found out because I was caught out down in Orange, at Ninny and Pippies, Kevin, Francis, Stewart, Joanne, Sam, Brent and I, they asked how Terence was and I gave a hesitant answer, something noncommital, Stewart brought up all the smoking he did and he asked is he still smoking, I said no, he had stopped, which is true. When, Stewart asked, a couple of months ago I replied. Everyone was astounded. I looked to Brent, who knew, he’s the only person I told electively, because Brent loved Terence, really loved him, and it was his loss too, he was entitled to know. The last thing I want is to be pitied, or worse yet to feel sorry for myself, I’m able to function this way because I maintain strict perspective, because I’m determined to be grateful and glad for the time I had, and not sorry for the time I will miss, people. I said to Brent, should I let this go on? He said, I don’t know. I said, what would you do, he said, tell them. So I thought a moment, because, god I’ve written this and thought this a thousand times in the last few months, how do you tell someone your father is dead?

Do you try to convey the weight of the meaning? Be matter of fact? Sad, lyrical, happy about it? Cold and numb? How the fuck are you supposed to express as a functioning human being that the most important person in your world view, isn’t here anymore? How is that even possible?

So, I told them, and, Brent, seeing me, the situation, knowing me, decided to protect me. I don’t know, if that means much to a stranger, but it’s, not something I expected but in saying that I wasn’t surprised when I realised it. I do love him, honestly, he, more than anything else, properly understands me, for who I am and who I want to be. So to change the subject he began talking about his pornographic work and his girlfriends and her being in Game of Thrones as a whore and all the rest of it, Stewart then joined in, talking about finally leaving the wife, Joanne as well spoke, every single person in the room, other than Sam, told to the group something they were keep secret or close to themselves.

I do love Orange, I love the sort of person it produces.