November 2
Chrysa L., age 51, France
November 2, 2011
In those early days, I was carrying too much shadow, too much shame. I bent, swayed, nearly broke under the weight of it.
I’ve been living behind a death mask, pretending that wasn’t so, pretending it was alive and functional. The mirror cracked. Boom! death mask split asunder. Thank god. Down on my knees, I thank god for splitting asunder the terrible joke that was being played on me. Freedom-a long hard road, grief, pain, a dying one more time. The loss of the existent body, failure, down, down, down even further. What more could be asked of me? Surely there is no lower to go? Wrong. Plunged down and down into darkness, bleakness, inability. The body refuses. The body still carrying shadows which swamped it. The body couldn’t breathe. The body could no longer live. Overtaken, over run, the rats ran wild. Fetid. squalid sewers. Sewers of my mind, sewers of my self. Death once more. Or death averted.
My whole life I’ve waited to be born, my whole life in limbo, my whole life dying, trying, resurfacing, emerging, sinking down. What is this uncomfortable energy? This dismissiveness I feel, this avoidance? I project the father. He thinks I’m stupid, not worth talking to. Indeed, in the transference I feel myself stupid, nothing to say, nothing of note, of worth. A part of her attempts banter, and fails. Obviously it is the wrong approach. I do not need the blessing of the father to be ok, even as my father slips away.
Chipping away at the external structures in order to get to the cold. Let me carve you. Let me sculpt you. Let me make you anew.
I always cry in art galleries, museums, touching my aching soul which still does not express as much as it needs. I know I need to write a song to my mother. And I need to make it real, to put it into music, not to just have it be some idea. So many years I have journeyed with the father, and mainly they have been shadowy fathers, fathers with dirty secrets, fathers who share their secrets with me and expect my silence. Always I have given it. I say no more, no fucking more.
I scramble blindly in the dark, always hoping my senses won’t let me down this time, will keep me safe this time. Down on my knees. Down on my fucking knees, crawling along, always crawling. Nosing out what is, trying to discern what stories it is the walls are whispering and what are the warnings they have given me, on dark shadows some stories cast. Dark, long, tall, over engulfing shadows. Where’s the light? Where’s the fucking light?
Me, I couldn’t draw death, or carve death, it’s too close, not yet detached from me, hovering urgently at my feet still, always waiting for the opportunity to reign supreme, to darken the skies, to have the final word.
I’ve been swimming in troubled seas too long, this malaise which has swamped me takes me further into its depths, bids me plunge further in: let go, let go, let go into the inky sea.
Everyone’s looking for gods. Where do we go to find them? Me, I went inside first of all, I went outside. I scoured the hills. I sink to my knees, I am filled with the grace of flowers, of love opening like flowers, of hope, of heart, of dreams, of desires. Give me peace.
I have to hold my face up with my hands. My hands are my voice, they’re so tense always, gripping, holding on, fearful of being pushed off, dismantled so they hold on desperately.
Laura M., age 15, North Carolina
November 2, 1997
Up at 10:00. Went 2 Weaver St. Market with fam. Had lunch. Came home. Did homework and yoga. Courtney came and I went 2 her house a little. She took me home. Shannon M. called and said people think Brittany B.’s bulimic.
Anna L., age 75, Illinois
November 2, 1960
Dwight slept late, ate and Lo took him to C.L. I went along. Pink came while I was doing dishes. Sorry to have missed D. Had a sandwich etc. then went to see Lo and on to his work. Mrs. B. came over. So very cloudy and gloomy.
Marcy S., age 14, Tennessee
November 2, 1938
Practiced. Went to chapel. Usual classes. Anne Buchanan’s house caught fire and she had to go home. Mrs. Cummins made me mad. Home for dinner. Daddy there. Read in afternoon. Jr. class sponsored “The Count of Monte Cristi” at the Palace. Mary and Elma went. I didn’t. After school I went in the auditorium, accompanied by Betty, to see Mrs. Gallihar. I was the only one there for the Music Club since most had gone to the show so we didn’t have it. I waked up the hill with Betty. When I got on our street Ella, Jim, Martha Jean, Charles and some others were talking. Soon Helen and Allan joined them. When I came out H. came to me and we went over to wait for George. When he tried to come out the front door, Helen and I held it. When we heard him going out the back door we ran down to Jim’s. When everyone had gone H. got my sleeping beauty costume and we played Civil War in my back yard. About 5:00 I went up to Mrs. Julian’s with her and then home and studied. Mother was over at Mrs. McClure’s fixing some curtains. I practiced and studied. Mother came soon. I went up to H.’s with some magazines and borrowed some of her movie magazines. At 7:00 (with dishes done) I listened to One Man’s Family. Sad. I think Anne died. Then I read and later took a bath.
Henry S., age 26, Michigan
November 2, 1887
I made some doors for our new cupboard, this morning. Put latch on outside kitchen door. Mr. E.C. Coates came this morning with the fruit trees I ordered off Irvie. I planted the pear trees and heeled in the apples and peach. Hitched up after dinner and Kate and baby went up town with me. We took baby carriage along. Kate visited while I taught. Received a letter from ma tonight and a postal order for some money for Kate. Have been studying again tonight.
*(R. Henry Scadin Collection, D.H. Ramsey Library Special Collections, UNC Asheville)
Cornelia H., age 26, North Carolina
November 2, 1862
Cool this morning but pleasant now at twelve o’clock. I suffered a great deal last night with my jaw & teeth. Mr. Henry got up & sit with me by the fire. I put some mustard to it & got some relief till I got to sleep. I felt very badly this morning for awhile but feel as well as usual now. Mr. Henry is so kind to me, ’tis such a help to me. I can bear the pain better when I see he sympathizes so much with me. It is now 12 o’clock & dinner will be on before long. We have apple dumplings for dinner. Mr. Henry is very fond of them. I want to take a walk this evening if Mr. Henry is willing so I will stop for this time. Mr. Boyd came just before dinner & says he heard that E.P. Night was accidently killed a short time ago by a gun. Mr. Henry & I took a long walk this evening over through the widening & around by the store house. We went in the store house & got a few apples, some Quinn gathered for him. Some are very nice. I brought a few large ones to the children.
*(Fear in North Carolina: The Civil War Journals and Letters of the Henry Family, Eds. Karen L. Clinard and Richard Russell, used with permission.)
Samuel P., age 34, London
November 2, 1667
Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning; at noon home, and after dinner my wife and Willett and I to the King’s playhouse, and there saw “Henry the Fourth:” and contrary to expectation, was pleased in nothing more than in Cartwright’s speaking of Falstaffe’s speech about “What is Honour?” The house full of Parliament-men, it being holyday with them: and it was observable how a gentleman of good habit, sitting just before us, eating of some fruit in the midst of the play, did drop down as dead, being choked; but with much ado Orange Moll did thrust her finger down his throat, and brought him to life again. After the play, we home, and I busy at the office late, and then home to supper and to bed.
*(The Diary of Samuel Pepys M.A. F.R.S., edited by Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A., London, George Bell & Sons York St. Covent Garden, Cambridge Deighton Bell & Co., 1893.)