the 11th month

christ

i’m all fucked up

i miss my son lucas 

it’s almost been eight years

and the hole is sucking in 

much of my will to at least try and be content

fear not i tell myself

i insist on living as glorious life as possible

but the years play tricks on me

there is no rationale to be taken from the grief

i thought i was past this

i thought time would smooth

i’ve never been more wrong

i tried shrinks

but the task at hand proved too great for them

the dire pointlessness of their sorrowful ears

couldn’t be articulated

thus 

the same old versions echoed

‘how does that make you feel?’

paper tigers with academic validation

the real world is fire

the crippling begins with lucas’ beginning

i was the first one to clean him

and in the end

when he was home in my care

i was the last one to clean him

this is one of the mind darts that stings with precision

i don’t retreat to music or art in these moments

i leave the house

sometimes the city

sometimes the country

i bravely run away

hollow eyed and hearted

i put on my mask and have weightless conversations

with old friends

shopkeepers

and bartenders

never letting on that the grey tarp above the black dog

is drooping 

fucking november

the worst month of the year

even before luke’s passing

i hated november

the only thing it ever gave me

was the will to quit smoking

other than that 

november remains the most isolated month

i would smoke right now

just to spite the 11th month

perhaps i’ll choose never to say it’s name again instead

i like caring for my mum

she’s close

she gets rubs and pets and kisses from me

and i feel like we’re both rewarded 

that’s the love i’m capable of right now

divine is patient and thankfully wrapped up in production

still 

she’s too smart for my phoniness 

she gives me space

and she in turn is affectionate 

mostly patient

and that’s a good thing

i blend into my company

taking on tasks and annoying my staff with my suggestions

and a squirrel like attention span

i know there’s still a few nuts buried in my garden

i’ll find them and grow them

i have never lost vision

or passion

or context

but i’ve lost so much more

my wife - susan - we’re still married

(divorce is pointless)

i know she sinks towards the abyss

she has little to do with me

stray conversations and quick texts

we’re the only ones who know

our sorrow mirrored

who wants to be around that?

i’m glad she’s mostly with jackson

all of his strength of character should be credited to her

i’m the wanderer

he gets that from me

tonight i lied to divine

i told her that i was going to the show in kitchener

and i pretended i was

but deep down i knew that i was going to make dinner

drink half a bottle of wine 

and hit the couch

what i didn’t plan on 

was this blog 

it’s strange

but feels good to get this out

i am well aware that no one will read this

i think that’s the point

craig martin

nov 23, 2023

cheese pasta with olives and red wine