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in a dark clime - shadows of echoes of memories of songs — LiveJournal
j4
j4
in a dark clime
Is there a limit to how much a person can cry before they dry up, or pass out, or die?

If you try to strangle yourself, your body steps in to save you; you pass out and thus your grip loosens, you breathe again. You'd need a pair of hands which wouldn't have second thoughts.

To drown yourself, all you have to do is breathe out. Then you sink, and you keep on breathing out until you have to breathe in; you instinctively try to come up for air, but you can't get to the surface fast enough to do so. Your body intervenes too late. I can't help thinking that concrete overshoes would simplify matters somewhat; though of course there are aesthetic considerations. (There always are.)

Anything else involves the use of inanimate objects, things which are subject to our whim; with tools in our hands, we are all gods. The rest is silence: silence, and a sharp edge, and blood fanning out flames on the water's surface. Aesthetic considerations.

When I was a child -- I thought as a child, and so on. But the point I set out to make is that as a child I had a vision of a log cabin filled from floor to ceiling with fireworks. A vision of myself, anointed with petrol. A vision of the rasping invocation of the final flame. ... The reality would be a damp squib. It always is.

The other vision was slower, quieter. Frozen slowly. Darkened wholly. And I wore the prettiest clothes because I wanted to be beautiful at the end. The reality was full of teary phleghm and messy pain and retching guilt and dirty blankets, and it hurt, and it hurt.

Words are clean and can be manipulated. The body is chaotic, oozing; it observes no niceties, no boundaries. I wrap myself in words, binding the sterile signifiers tightly around the rotting, bursting flesh.




Current music: Placebo, "Every You Every Me"

Sucker love is heaven sent.
You pucker up, our passion's spent.
My heart's a tart, your body's rent.
My body's broken, yours is spent.

Carve your name into my arm.
Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed.
'Cause there's nothing else to do,
Every me and every you.

Sucker love, a box I choose.
No other box I choose to use.
Another love I would abuse,
No circumstances could excuse.

In the shape of things to come.
Too much poison come undone.
'Cause there's nothing else to do,
Every me and every you.
Every me and every you,
Every me...

Sucker love is known to swing.
Prone to cling and waste these things.
Pucker up for heaven's sake.
There's never been so much at stake.

I serve my head up on a plate.
It's only comfort, calling late.
'Cause there's nothing else to do,
Every me and every you.
Every me and every you,
Every me...
Every me and every you,
Every me...

Like the naked leads the blind.
I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind.
Sucker love I always find
Someone to bruise and leave behind.

All alone in space and time.
There's nothing here but what here's mine.
Something borrowed, something blue.
Every me and every you.
Every me and every you,
Every me...
Every me and every you,
Every me..

Current Mood: None, or other
Now playing: Placebo: Every You Every Me

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Comments
karen2205 From: karen2205 Date: September 5th, 2003 04:02 pm (UTC) (Link)
The rest of this is far too profound for me to even attempt to reply to it, but:

Is there a limit to how much a person can cry before they dry up, or pass out, or die?

Yes, there is, because I've done it, twice that I recall. I once cried so much I gave myself a cold. There does come a point when you won't have any tears left to cry - you'll go kind of numb.
bopeepsheep From: bopeepsheep Date: September 5th, 2003 04:17 pm (UTC) (Link)
Paragraph three makes me think of Virginia Woolf. (And, unhappily, of Nicole Kidman disguised as VW, too.)

Have had some very odd thoughts these last two days. They pass. I have some writing from a few years ago that I may email to you, if it won't be construed to be pressuring you to read it (last thing I want to do). If you don't say "no" to this comment I'll send it tomorrow, is that ok?
j4 From: j4 Date: September 6th, 2003 05:04 am (UTC) (Link)
Feel free to send it, I can't promise I'll read it. No idea what you mean about Virginia Woolf (only ever read Orlando, and that doesn't count) or Nicole Kidman, sorry.
lnr From: lnr Date: September 5th, 2003 06:25 pm (UTC) (Link)
It's too late for me to ring you now, if you're asleep I don't want to wake you, probably better to sleep. But if you need me then ring and I don't care if it's four in the morning or anything. And if you need me to give you space, to not make things harder, then just say.
j4 From: j4 Date: September 6th, 2003 05:04 am (UTC) (Link)
Replied by mail. *hugs*
lnr From: lnr Date: September 6th, 2003 06:33 am (UTC) (Link)
*hugs back hard* (I don't seem to have any mail other than spam and LJ comments though, can you send again? direct to chiark probably safest, Gah, technology!)
j4 From: j4 Date: September 6th, 2003 08:04 am (UTC) (Link)
You've replied to the mail that I meant so I assume you got it since posting that!
lnr From: lnr Date: September 6th, 2003 08:07 am (UTC) (Link)
Yes it's bizarre, it seemed to get delayed somehow inbetween lspace and chiark. Sorry about that, always the way that things arrive just when you've given up hope on them.
ewx From: ewx Date: September 5th, 2003 06:26 pm (UTC) (Link)
It was nice to see you at lunchtime.
j4 From: j4 Date: September 6th, 2003 05:05 am (UTC) (Link)
It was nice to see you too. And thank you for buying me lunch.
huskyteer From: huskyteer Date: September 6th, 2003 03:51 am (UTC) (Link)
> Is there a limit to how much a person can cry before they dry up, or pass out, or die?

'I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night; but if you have been - if you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you - you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.'

- C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe
j4 From: j4 Date: September 6th, 2003 05:06 am (UTC) (Link)
Years since I've read that. Thank you.
addedentry From: addedentry Date: September 6th, 2003 04:01 am (UTC) (Link)
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
j4 From: j4 Date: September 6th, 2003 05:09 am (UTC) (Link)
<weak grin> Thanks, Dorothy.
julietk From: julietk Date: September 6th, 2003 05:52 am (UTC) (Link)
If you need out-of-town support/sympathy/whatever, you know I'm here, right?

Hope this morning is, even a little, better.

(& yes, I too can confirm that it is possible to run out of tears. The trouble is, the running-out doesn't last all that long :-/ )

*hugs* seems somewhat weak, but.
j4 From: j4 Date: September 6th, 2003 08:07 am (UTC) (Link)
Thank you for hugs and support and stuff. Things are looking a little better today. ... God, sorry, that sounds so stilted and whatnot but I don't really know what else to say. :-( *hugs*
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