mornin ramble

funeral day. it’s rainin. i love that for her. she hated the rain. “ruins my day.” as if her day was the universe’s problem. now she’s gettin soaked on her way outa this world. i really can’t help but find bit of poetry in all of that. but somedays i still find myself thinkin like a vindictive drunk. old habits. but this moment in my day isn’t bout her or not completely anyway. i went to bed early last night. slept whole four hours. we call that success round here. then i laid there with nietzsche pickin at my brain. weirdest shit always slips in when i’m not sleepin at 1am. amor fati. love your fate. maybe there’s connection here. maybe there’s not. but i’ve been havin this same damn conversation with ol freddy’s ghost since i lost my shit back in 2013. always picture him that magnificent bastard sittin by candlelight with his elaborate mustache that i’m bit envious of writin away. “amor fati. that one wants nothin different. not forward. not backward. not in all of eternity. not just bear what is necessary but love it.” fuckin love it or some shit. remember first readin that and wantin to rip the page from the fuckin book tear it to pieces and swallow it. fuck that guy right? i’d sit at the…where I was at the time…lookin at my surroundins and think love this? really? love this? love the manic episode that burned me down til i wound up here? love the desperation to drown out the sounds to run from everythin that put me on this path? love the depression? love the anger? love the hatred of everythin round me? really? fuck nietzsche and his amor fati. went thru a phase where i thought i finally understood it and have found myself bouncin back and forth between that’s the most genius idea in the entire fuckin world and wantin to go dig the bastard up so i can give a swift kick to his bones. somethin in his words haunt me. pop up in random places usually gone not long after they’ve arrived. i find myself believin them most when i’m playin somethin little bit more delicate. satie…maybe or writin out thoughts in my head on a good day. and suddenly i’d understand it like epiphany strike of lightenin illuminatin what he was tryin to say. on multiple occasions i’ve acknowledged that the music that flows thru me only really exists b/c of everythin that happened. the things that made me vulnerable to the crushin lows also gave me moments of soul fillin connection to sound. how the extremes of my existence have carved out bit of deeper capacity for experience. how sobriety didn’t turn the world unbearable but simply removed the fog that kept me from bein able to see it clearly in the first place. and that my brother and i only have a relationship b/c our mother decided to abandon him at my door. he was a responsibility that i never asked for but has become anchor to a piece of my purpose when i might have drifted completely if he hadn’t been here. then come the days when i can feel the weight in my bones settlin there makin itself at home and i fuckin hate nietzsche again. lovin my fate seems like a cruel fuckin joke spat out by privileged philosophers who’ve never had to pick up broken pieces. this mornin as it’s on my mind again and i’m able to sit with it not in hate or some divine understandin but just sit. i’m thinkin that maybe there’s a truth in amor fati that isn’t bout findin permanent state of acceptance but recognizin that our relationship with our own bullshit is just as interchangeable as anythin else. some days you can look at your scars and see where they brought you wisdom. other days those scars fuckin hurt and they’re hard to carry. and that’s fuckin life. nothin more. nothin less. just be in it. i dunno. i know that i’m ramblin. i need to get into funeral mode. celebrate the final disappearin act. it’s like it came outa nowhere but then abruptness kinda defines her entire presence in my life. i’m not wearin black. refuse to feign grief when i actually feel this unsettlin mix of anger relief and empty space where some kinda attachment should be. jared cried a bit this mornin. i wonder if he knew somethin bout her that i didn’t or if he’s just grievin the mother that he wish existed. i have nothin to contribute to the service except for a checkbook. thought bout playin something. fuck. i thought bout playin debussy’s claire de lune. not b/c it was her favorite. i don’t even know what kinda music she actually liked. but it somethin that’d describe how we both feel melancholy and light. it accepts lack of hamony while pushin towards beauty. maybe it comin to mind has nothin to do with wantin to play it for her at all. maybe it’s as close as i can get today to amor fati. acknowledgin the complicated the pain in our history and that somehow despite it all and b/c of it all i am who i am. back there maybe the point isn’t to love what hurt us but to find freedom in our past bein unchangeable and the only power that we have at all is to move forward. i feel like i’m brushin the edges of it. if i reach a little further i could actually sit in it for just a moment before i swing the other direction. the whole idea i hate it but kinda need it and sometime it catches me off guard and i understand it. amor fati? fuck you nietzsche for ever puttin that shit in my head. but you know thank you.