I'll be watching something, or listening to something or remembering something while I am looking or hearing or thinking about something and I will start crying just for a minute or so, as though thinking by itself isn't enough to stay with something and in order to really see the inside you have to lubricate living a little in the eyes that you are living with and I am not a cryer, per se -- though I've had my moments. I've had my visions.
David Cromer's production of "Our Town" made me cry a lot. Looking at people live is something very moving in the particular way that Cromer presents this material to us.
And crying at other things, too: that shot of L.A. and Janet Leigh in "Psycho" blown up 1,000 times in a scene from "A Single Man" where Colin Firth is talking to the most beautiful man.
And crying at other things, too: that shot of L.A. and Janet Leigh in "Psycho" blown up 1,000 times in a scene from "A Single Man" where Colin Firth is talking to the most beautiful man.
When I cry, and if I'm with Andrew, he puts his hand around my wrist as if to keep me down, as if crying could make me go away. I've been crying a lot lately because I am always letting go. And I've started therapy again. The last time I was in therapy I met Andrew. I wonder what will happen this time?
When the poet, Jason Shinder had a memorial reading of his poems at the New School a few months after he died (was it only a few months? It could have been days), William Wadsworth got up and started talking about how Jason was such a good memorizer of poems and how one of his favorite poems was Auden's "As I Walked Out One Evening" and when Wadsworth got to that part of the story -- when he seemed himself to be holding back something that could have been tears -- I became hysterical in my chair -- suddenly and practically convulsively. Two of my friends had to hold me. Again, it was almost too much for me to stay down.
The extraordinary thing about crying is how closely it brings you into your life -- as though everything that happens outside the gravitas of that particular human act is, well, outside your own life. And along with pain, coming and sneezing, it's the realest thing that gets set off in us.
When the poet, Jason Shinder had a memorial reading of his poems at the New School a few months after he died (was it only a few months? It could have been days), William Wadsworth got up and started talking about how Jason was such a good memorizer of poems and how one of his favorite poems was Auden's "As I Walked Out One Evening" and when Wadsworth got to that part of the story -- when he seemed himself to be holding back something that could have been tears -- I became hysterical in my chair -- suddenly and practically convulsively. Two of my friends had to hold me. Again, it was almost too much for me to stay down.
The extraordinary thing about crying is how closely it brings you into your life -- as though everything that happens outside the gravitas of that particular human act is, well, outside your own life. And along with pain, coming and sneezing, it's the realest thing that gets set off in us.
How different a world it would be if we all had to cry at some point in every day.
How refreshed we'd become, slightly weary of having to keep going back and forth from hard living to deep living to light living to living with the lights on and living with the lights out.
I want people to cry more.
I want other people to see them as I have seen them.
I want people to cry more.
I want other people to see them as I have seen them.
3 comments:
I love you
Honest and beautiful. Thank you.
me too!!!
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