This is complex. I think we were all tired, I think the ideology of our beginning had hit reality, and in very real terms we held people who were very mentally unwell. That and the normal frustrations of cohabiting with any group began to take their toll, hierarchies emerged, jealousies and suspicions, and all of the complaints landed at my door. I wanted out, and I found it in the form of a very handsome, very funny and very wicked Jesus.
Your writing, especially the way I am reading it in groupings of 10 or so a night, is like being on a wave in all of its iterations - wild and blustery, tall and dangerous, calm (but on edge) and mature - all the extremes.
Thanks Jo. I wrote each postcard at 4am each morning, that was the challenge I set myself; no forward planning, turn up and write what I remember in that moment. In hindsight, it was the only way I could trick myself into getting it out. I'd carried it with me for so long, it felt like a mountain to climb, where to start, how to do it. One minute postcards written before dawn turned out to be the answer.
What changed? What do you think was the tipping point that took it from beautiful to frustrating?
This is complex. I think we were all tired, I think the ideology of our beginning had hit reality, and in very real terms we held people who were very mentally unwell. That and the normal frustrations of cohabiting with any group began to take their toll, hierarchies emerged, jealousies and suspicions, and all of the complaints landed at my door. I wanted out, and I found it in the form of a very handsome, very funny and very wicked Jesus.
Oh, Jesus. He saves.
Your writing, especially the way I am reading it in groupings of 10 or so a night, is like being on a wave in all of its iterations - wild and blustery, tall and dangerous, calm (but on edge) and mature - all the extremes.
Thanks Jo. I wrote each postcard at 4am each morning, that was the challenge I set myself; no forward planning, turn up and write what I remember in that moment. In hindsight, it was the only way I could trick myself into getting it out. I'd carried it with me for so long, it felt like a mountain to climb, where to start, how to do it. One minute postcards written before dawn turned out to be the answer.
Sure did.