the Woolf is at my door

January 20, 2012

i hate fashionable melancholy
i hate the way despair is romanticized for poets and artists
like it is some prerequisite of the creative impulse
instead of the death of ambition and articulation – of any impulse
of everything
i am terrified by stories of adult suicide
it is very sad when a younger person takes their life
but it can also seem (to me) somehow impulsive and understandable
(it is terribly cold to write such a thing – I’m sorry)
where as for some one older – well they made it this far
what finally pushed them over the edge.
i hate the story of Virginia Woolf
it terrifies me, pisses me off
she had the unfair advantage
and it wasnt enough
heart full of love pocket full of rocks head full of crazy
she wrote her husband a love letter, thanking him for his goodness
and then walked into the River Ouse
“Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ’til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.”
it is a beautiful letter
i could not write anything truer
damn, I love my wife
they didnt have kids – they knew better (I love my kids too)
Virginia Woolf was 59.
i guess i still have a number of years
till i reach a reasonable expiration date

let it be enough
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6 Responses to “the Woolf is at my door”

  1. Gail Brown Says:

    Shawn, my Shawn, I pray for you to find rest in sleep,
    the natural sleep
    beside your wife
    beside your children
    when the sun goes down in the west
    and darkness covers your part of the earth.
    God grant you sleep
    “to sleep, perhaps to dream”
    of getting to the happy part of your day
    filled with the love of your wife and children
    guitar in hand, music dance laughter
    filling the room, your dream, your life.

    Where there is life there is hope.
    God loves you, we love you!
    Mom

  2. Ryan Roling Says:

    I like your mom.

  3. dottie3030 Says:

    I love you, Shawn.


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