Past imperfect.
APK | January 20, 2010 | 6:05 pmI spent a while today looking at old entries. From LJ, not from adampknave.com (née hellblazer.net) that is. Back in 2001. Sometimes if you stare at the past it can overwhelm you.
On occasion that’s a good thing. Remembering roots, how things used to be, it can be educational. Sometimes not. Looking at old friendships that have faded out, old times that slipped away without reaching the potential you wanted for them, etc.
It’s a powerful mojo and not always a good one.
I’m not saying this right. Part of me wants to go back and wipe it out and start over but I won’t. I want to try and see this better. It isn’t that I regret my past, far from it, it’s that I miss parts of it, loathe parts of it, am embarrassed by bits of it and wonder, often, what the fuck drugs I must’ve been doing to have said half the stuff I said.
Wait, no, I think that about stuff I said last week, so scratch that last part.
So many people, so many friendships from back then are dead now. Almost none of them from anything other than neglect. On either side, mind you, but still it makes me feel like I’ve just got this huge wake of bodies and lives behind me. I think we all leave that kind of wake behind us as we grow and live. It’s a normal part of life. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I don’t like people. I really don’t. 95% of the people I meet I really couldn’t care less about. That 5% though I adore and want to gather them up in one spot and pick their brains and talk to them all day. So as they slide in and out of my life it can be rough to see the sheer numbers of them. How many people I’ve lost to time. They’re all still out there, living lives that I hope are amazing and wonderful. Maybe they think of me, too, on occasion. I don’t know.
Of course, my own hang-ups say they don’t. That’s just me. I’m sure they don’t spare a thought for me, or for the days gone when we did talk. Sometimes I try to send a letter, a poke, a hello and a chance to maybe strike something up again. Most of them go unanswered. Lives move on and they need to be let go.
Right now, though, the sheer mass of it kinda aches at me.
This too shall pass.
This reminded me of a poem (I don’t read much poetry, so be warned) by a norwegian writer. I’ve tried to translate it as best I could. I’m not good at translating poetry, but you get the idea, I hope… so here we go:
THE CHILD YOU WHERE YOU WILL NEVER BE (AGAIN)
the child you were you will never be again
no one can recall
the dreams that shaped you
the images that filled the summer night
with a green sun and yellow snakes
the child you were you will never be again
no one can open the doors
to the rooms you have left
you have left something behind you
you’ve lost something you loved
rooms that where warm
rooms full of water and floral wallpaper
the child you were you will never be again
no one can take you to the day
when the time was a mystery
when you knew all about fear and love
no one can give you that night
when play and laughter followed you into sleep
and nothing was impossible
the child you were you will never be again
who you are you will soon forget
Lars Saabye Christensen.