This year was wild.
I’m talking about it like it’s over because for me & my Septembrian cells a new one has begun but…
So much good has occurred in 2018, so many dreams laid out like the little muscles under the big ones that truly give definition have been walked out and experimented with. I look back and see I really did format ten art books to the point of the next round on the project being able to be pure gravy-and while cHaos was trying it around me. I really did Live for a time in Venice-and well, &my first ten dark fantasy book children really did get born to spec there, where I’d always said they somehow would. I really did go and beautifully return Home to NYC…and it was made bizarrely sacred in even a secular sense by how it all went down…& I got to give back to the NYC realm that made the possibility of AOLAB even exist in me. I learned to celebrate myself in a whole new way, to emit joy over victories fought so long and hard for that I’d become ambivalent about the actual war…and this year’s Pon Farring has been insanely satisfying, the most pragmatically decadent ever.
But in all this celebration & shy exultation…I owe someone an apology, and of the highest order, too. And that’s been carried with me throughout the second half of all this “Dear God kind of good.”
Not one of those phony “I’m sorry IF I made you feel~” bullshit apologies reality tv has helped us pretend are okay. I mean a real one, the kind I’ve gone out of my way to Never Do anything that would make me HAVE to give.
And it doesn’t matter if I know I’m forgiven…which I do. Or if it’s bygones, which it is. Why? …Because the person didn’t deserve the behavior I justified on the path to what I thought I wanted.
So~ Yom Kippur started talking to me.
Not to make me feel “guilt.”
It’s not that game.
YOU know when you’ve fucked up, whether it gets glazed over or not.
Yom Kippur started talking with me based on what I was feeling in my heart…which was actual, and simple Repentance…and Yom Kippur gave me a framework to understand that sensation from.
I need to say “I know what I did, I know I (not just “it”)was wrong, I understand it if you won’t…but can you please forgive me?”
…to someone who, if they’re as much like me as they seem in some ways, may very well say “Fuck you! Yeah you were a pushy, brazen lil asshole! I accept your apology but I still oughta whup yo a**!”
…but I can’t even bring myself to approach & broach. So many letters have caught fire in the aftermath of this, so many words turned to ash. &that’s not writerhead angst. That’s finding the wrong words then going “they deserve better than that,” &instead of beating myself up over loss of words( making it about me and MY angst), I’m beating the shadow of me up because This person has been out in the world for months possibly thinking I actually have no respect for them at all due to what I did, when on a very real level, they’re one of the few I truly do. I just…fucked up.
Yep…I was THAt big of a dickhead. I Don’t even enjoy the aspects of it I enjoyed! And all of it could be rationalized, too. But wherever you go, be it the side of a mountain or the craggy edge of the world, there YOU are.
I’d actually forgotten what Yom Kippur was really about. We live in this world like what this day celebrates or commemorates no longer has to be done…&it’s one of the reasons this world can feel fucked, cruel & cold. The decency In really putting the onus on you for the shit you know damn well you do has been allowed to evaporate…so when anyone DOES call out our actions to say “Hey!fix that shit!” or “Pick up that litter!” The litterer claims they were attacked and they get held until the bad man passes, leaving their garbage in the grass all the same.
It should be every day, this yom Kippur head. It once was.
So for me? I started with sundown yesterday. & I can frame the accidental bloodletting of this morning as atoning.
It’s like deserving an arm burn from the older kid you secretly know is NOT going to let you off without giving your ass the just due of the arm burn for your own psychological development…&if he Does let you off, that the friendship will never recover.
…so I’m fasting to (not) drink on the balls…to offer my fn arm & make them reconnect with their inner rage & burn the F out of it so we can maybe really be weirdo friends again lol. &their hands are fn huge & heavy so it’s going to suck! But I’ll take it…because it’ll mean they really forgive me…and know I know exactly what for.
But all jokes aside, they may never trust me to value their pov or officially forgive my behavior. But I’ll recall repenting every time the wound throbs or the scar catches my eye.
And maybe by the time the sun goes down today I will have finally found the words &the way to say them in private.
…feels like an adulting master class for sure.