Warm Recollections #20
More from the Bitz Files
As introduced here, these Warm Recollections are random cullings from thirty years of notes files…
You never feel the mind and body split so clearly as when you’re grieving. The mind says it cannot possibly be interested in food: not as some vainglorious proclamation to the crowd — a “look at me and how sad I am” boast — but simply because the idea of eating seems genuinely irrelevant. When the world is that broken, eating seems alien. The body meanwhile moves the fork from the plate to your mouth and back again. It feels absurd, it feels inappropriate, but the body wins — effortlessly. The body knows the score. It doesn’t matter how sad you are, how much of a betrayal it feels, how badly the fabric of reality seems broken. You eat, or you die. You eat, or you end up in the same state of the person you are mourning.
“To be loved for what one is — that is the greatest exception”.
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Those books and objects and even items of clothing that represent a hope or intention. The book on Italian you bought; the paint set your partner bought you because you expressing an interest in finally having a try at it; the jacket that’s not quite you… but you think should be. All unused. And when you look at them they make you feel a little guilty, and melancholy, as if you’ve failed either yourself, or some more idealized version — the you that you think you should be.
People who almost never apologize, and if they do, only do so in offense: “I’m sorry I did x, but…” followed by a restatement of their initial position, showing they haven’t budged, don’t feel bad about whatever they’re pretending to apologize for, and aren’t sorry at all.
Sounds obvious, but different things rhyme in different languages. In French, ‘dire’ and ‘écrire’ rhyme — so you can have lyrics like “Comment j’pourrais te dire, comment j’pourrais t’écrire” [Marie-Chantal Toupin] — “What could/can I tell you, what can I write”.
You can say that in English, but it won’t rhyme — so it won’t be in songs as often.
As always, if you can think of anyone who might enjoy this Substack, please spread the word.
I am, perhaps, peculiarly lucky (considering my age) that I've never really experienced grief with the reactions you mention. The deaths most personal to me have been expected, so the knowing of it helps with the catharsis. Although I think the reality is that I'm way too self-absorbed to be affected in the ways you describe😇
Nice Goethe quote💗
I went and had a look in my shed after reading these recollections and saw my Chinese calligraphy set, my punch bag, wooden dummy and skipping ropes, a massive collection of antique maps and corkscrews, lots of unfinished Lichtenberg wood art and note books of the children's stories I was writing 25yrs ago. I found myself sorry I hadn't finished what I'd started but determined to get round to them still😋
I'm sorry that I don't apologise properly, but it's only because you are wrong.
You say the words rhyme in French? Not the way I speak it...
I know it's not in the remit of this substack but I wanted to share something with you that I saw posted by a friend of mine on LinkedIn. She's an SEO content writer and this was the start of her sales pitch in a post
"I'd love to get a hold of your web content and beat that bastard about - really give it a good seeing-to and iconoclastically smash its back doors in"
I thought you'd appreciate it and I bloody laughed my elbows off when I read it😂
Halfway through Blood of Angels. You're pretty good at this writing malarkey😘
Do you remember where the Goethe quote is from? I was trying to find the German original words, but couldn't (at least not with a quick google search). Thank you!