Chuck, keep besetting my heart like this …


You harass my heart, Chuck … but inexplicably, in inexplicable ways. I do hope when I finally make it back to Portland you will allow me to buy you a coffee in an anonymous diner so we can chat about that everpresent underbelly and its inherent and confounding beauty. I finished Diary early this morning. This was not the usual one to two night read because I felt so much for the main character, Misty Kleinman. Just as I felt sympathy pangs of pain from Monica Drake’s Nita (Sniffles) in Clown Girl, I felt so about your character, Misty.

It is funny and interesting that even in a realistic unreality like those in Diary and Clown Girl I found an odd sense of solace in knowing someone else grapples — sometimes blindly, sometimes not — with similar emotions and thoughts that permeate everything in my life. And the terror comes when you begin to think: So who am I anyway? Am I the one I was yesterday? The one I am today? This is the terror of unbridled and out of control emotions and thoughts. I think that is why I find beauty in the darkness, in the terrifying … sometimes we become used to the parts of ourselves we wish were not there, had never come, but they’re there … and you get used to it like you would eventually get used to a suddenly missing limb.

Then, you attempt to find your center … the filtering funnel.

The other day I went by a sweetly modest looking church and they were selling strawberries in the lawn. My first thought: Ah yes, strawberries for Jesus. My second thought: If I eat a Jesus strawberry maybe my center will be instantaneous. And perhaps that’s why everyone in that lawn was beaming … laughing … and they were so genuine and lovely. I didn’t stop … it was after another one of those 20-plus hour sleep marathons I am having often these days. And as often happens, days later … I am regretting that I passed up holy berries.

But I had my Palahniuk … and Misty Kleinman to break my heart and invigorate my mind … thanks to you Chuck. But … keep besetting my heart like this and it will be no better than a worn-down futon mattress. Love, love, love to you, my imaginary reader named Chuck.

Published in: on June 19, 2007 at 11:24 pm  Leave a Comment  

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