Tag Archives: grief

Tears in Rain: Love, Loss, Memory and the Reality of Things That End

Endings have a habit of travelling backwards. If someone does not want me now, perhaps they never did; if something lasted a week, perhaps it was nothing. I don’t think the final chapter has that authority. People change, futures collapse, witnesses die, and memory edits without asking. None of that can make Wednesday cease to have occurred. Permanence is not the test of reality. Small is not the same word as false. A thing can disappear completely and still have happened.

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And This Is Sid: Witness as Co-Authorship

Call Me Womble said I am the baker, and my life is the bread. Then Ian pointed out the obvious problem: there are other people in the bakery. This is an essay about my friend Dave, who stole my stories, helped produce them, blamed me when he died, and kept editing afterwards. Personality happens between people. Being seen is not a passive event. Usefulness asks what I can do for you; witness asks whether I am here. We make one another. We do not own one another.

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Goodbye Anne Marie

So Monday we said goodbye to Anne Marie, sadly taken from us and her loving family too quickly.

Sorry I wasn’t always there, Anne. I’ll see you on the other side.

Thanks to Nick and Teresa and Grace and all Anne’s family and friends. Bless you all.

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The Veil, the Soul Mirror, and Reflective Chrome Ghosts: On Memory, Music, and the Ones We Carry Onwards

Some works don’t end. They echo. “Apes Ma” and “Fitter Happier” gave us the edge of language, the moment just after sense unravels. But what follows? What lingers in the silence after the static? What shapes itself in the quiet? Memory. Not the nostalgic kind. Not warmth. Something stranger. Something inherited. Every time I hear “New Rose”, Dave, I salute you, brother.

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