Keres, in full glory.
I got a guitar for the first time in maybe ten years this week. I named it Keres, the greek word for “choice” but also the mythological “fates of death”. It seemed appropriate for my current morbid state. The beauty is that I have been able to fall into that morbidity and see the absolutely gorgeous universe that will grow from it. My bitterness, my rage, and my sadness are simply nutrients for something else. Who knows what comes next? Who cares? Keres.
I am in a dark place tonight. Well, to be fair, for the past few nights. I have been in a relationship with a woman for the title amount of time, and though it has been rocky at times, we always manage to fight past the demons, etc. Sunday night, I received an anonymous email, subjected “READ THIS NOW”. Always a fan of potential mystery, intrigue, and spam, I did.
There was nothing in the email to indicate the sender, only a photograph, cropped to reveal a facebook conversation between my girlfriend and some other person. Always at the helm of the “defend my lady” ship, my first reaction was “are you nuts? that kind of shit has been used to get rapists off scot free!”
Then the rage kicked in.
For the next four hours, I waited and thought and pondered and TRIED to calm myself over what the right course of action should be. She was at work. I had, moments before receiving this, sent her a message to let her know I was thinking about her and I hoped she had a great rest of the night. I was pissed but would not interfere with her work. I sat in the dark, “what should I say? what should I do?”
When she came home, I did what I thought the best thing, and attempted to present her with an opportunity for honesty. No matter how mad I was, I still love her, and want to give her the chance to reconcile her behavior.
“I need to talk to you about an email I received.” But when I saw her eyes, when she looked at me, I could see the one thing I hoped not to. She knew what I knew. She was already trying to find a way to excuse this, to blame this on me.
“I don’t know who (name of other party) is, and I don’t care. These conversations need to stop. I love you, and I am going to try to get some sleep now. Do you understand what I am talking about?” She nodded, dumbfounded, and I turned and walked away.
Since then, things have, understandably, been strained. I have decided the best course is to walk away, focus on my art, writing, music, and work.
I want nothing but the best for her, I’ve devoted six years plus to her. I guess to some it is “pussified” or some such that I wouldn’t be filled with hate or malice, but fuck you. I would still beat the shit out of anyone who tried to do her even the slightest harm, and she will always be one I count among my friends. I just wish I knew who sent me that email so I could kick them square in the asshole.
Styrofoam Cup Sculpture by Tara Donovan
pretty shit next to ugly shit.
Work in progress.