punch in the gut
27 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in thoughts
It’s just… it’s just like a punch in the gut, you know? I’ve lost so many people over the years that were dear to me. I’d just gotten back on my feet after losing Isa and Precious. The scars on my heart are still very fresh and they still ache when I think of all the beautiful, wonderful people I’ve lost over the years. Not just these two… but also Anna… Lya… Forest, Daniel, Laura… countless of people that I still miss every bloody single day.
I was just getting back on my feet, goddammit. And then this happens. Three people with that vacant look in their eyes. And not just some people. Not acquaintances that have brightened up my life.
Maritza, who is my bandmate, my friend. The one who offered me a chance of salvation while behind me the ship that was Rebel Justice was still burning. She and I were born on the same day, we’re both from Los Angeles, we’re both Modern Rock bassists. I suppose the fiercest differences between us is that she’s monogamous and she speaks Spanish fluently. For the rest, she might as well be my sister. My sister, my bandmate. My friend. My lover, if she’d let me.
Walter, who is like the brother I never had. Who gave me monkey slippers when June was born. Who was the one person responsible for me picking up a frigging bass guitar in the first place. Whose drum solos are still inspiring me to this day. Whose outlook on life has made mine so much sunnier. Who always managed to make me laugh, even when things seemed at their darkest. I wouldn’t be who I am if it wasn’t for him. There aren’t even any words. Losing him is like losing Isa. Losing my adolescence, losing the last part of the 10 dB’s – which is what shaped me, what made me a musician. He’s one of the few people that still remembers me as Sweetling, dammit. He still calls me Sweetling, too. And he still gives me monkey slippers when he sees me. At least, when he recognises me. June told me she went to visit him the other day, but he hardly recognized her. She was heartbroken. Walter is like an uncle to her. He’s one of the main reasons she plays drums these days. It’s just so unfair.
And Jean. Oh, Jean. I never thought this would be such a punch to the gut. You’re such a bright and blessed free spirit. I feel lucky to know you, to have been in a band with you. You’ve pushed me to become a better musician than I am. One of the three major musical influences in my life, next to Walter and Stephen, I suppose. Definitely one of the main MALE influences in my life. I mean, shit, he gave me Reece. And despite the hell I went through, I don’t regret anything. If there’s anyone else, next to Steph (or Walter) whose child I would have gladly carried- it’s Jean’s. Knowing and hanging out and getting drunk and making music and playing poker with Jean is a life experience that everyone should have. And I don’t know what to say about it, but this is a profound ache I had not imagined to feel. I always knew he’d leave me… us… some day. It was never me and him like it was me and Steph. But there was something, and it was something so different. I was devastated over losing Isa- but this is a completely different kind of pain.
They could still wake up. For the love of Kobe, please wake up.
I’m not sure I can go through this again, dammit.
it is like a curse
27 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
To see those empty, vacant eyes on someone you love very much. It creeps up on all of us, like a cancer or a disease. It starts without even noticing. Absent mindedness. Missed phonecalls. Missed shows. A bit of a depression. And suddenly they go quiet and start wandering aimlessly, drawn to graveyards and ghosts.
And then you know that the end might be near. Some stay in that state for years. For others, it’s a lot shorter. It’s shite and I hate it.
Please wake up, Maritza.
Please wake up, Jean.
Please wake up, Walter.
:’(
a room with a view
22 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in all that glitters..., thoughts
This hotel room has a great view. I’m sitting on the edge of the railing of my balcony with a glass of whiskey in my hand. If I look to the east, I can see the old Festival Grounds.
They’re all but forgotten. I just did some counting, and it’s been fifteen years since some of the best memories of my life were created. Since the intense love I felt on that stage. Since playing my heart out for Stockholm and all the party people. Since dancing in the rain and singing along with every band that performed. Since mudfights with Isa. Since Senna was conceived.
Fifteen years.
I don’t often feel my age, but tonight I do. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, though.
My memories give a golden glow to the clouded evening. And tonight, all is good.
sundaymorning in copenhagen
19 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in all that glitters..., symphony of agony
Sara and me and a hotel room in Copenhagen, entangled in sheets.
“You go talk to that journalist, I’m way too comfortable,” I murmure with my eyes closed.
“No, I did it last night. You go talk to that journalist.”
“You’re bandleader, they’ll be more inclined listen to you.”
She laughs softly. “We’ve been away too long for those kinds of things to matter at the moment, Lianne. They’ll listen to you too.”
She’s leaning up on her elbows, looking down at me. I look up at her and smile. The sunlight from outside makes her sleep-and-snuggle-tousled blond hair look like a halo. I give her a kiss and stand up from the bed. The airco gives me goosebumps. “Alrighty then, time to shower. But only because you’re too pretty to refuse you anything. Ice is a lucky man.”
She laughs behind me as I walk into the bathroom. “I’ve heard that before.”
I look over my shoulder and smile at my bandmate. “Of course you would, pretty girl.”
The water of the shower is hot and scalding on my skin. Another day, another press meeting. We’re back on the road, alright.
mesmerizing kids
12 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in family
I caught up with Reece during lunch this morning. It’s getting weirder every day; he’s such an attractive, reliable quiet young man. Despite being still a teenager, he radiates this feeling of trust, of getting things right. Wildly talented and artistic of course, with is not strange, when you consider who his father is. But to look into his hazel eyes and just see him… he’s such a weird mix of Jean and I. More Jean than me, I suppose. Completely different from his half-siblings too.
I found myself asking if he could keep an eye on June when he said he was going to join up with her Heavy Metal folk band. He’s ten years her junior for crying out loud! But June is all fire and ambition and intense emotions, she needs an anchor after she lost Vijole’s quiet, steady presence. Even if it is her half brother that’s nearly ten years younger.
Strange, how these things go.
