Dust & Ashes
I'm not exactly sure what happened. Sometimes the fights are so numerous, preceded by or followed by drinking, that one blurs into the next, and days become days. This time, pictures were taken. Pictures from when we were together or pictures simply of him. Pictures I thought were safe, so I left them in the box in which I keep all the trinkets that seem important: a 2nd-grade reader that belonged to my 60-year-old aunt, pictures, cards, articles, stones, crystals, pieces of jewelry. One, I didn't think he would know that I had them. And, two, I didn't think he would find them. He didn't want them.
That period in our lives were so painful. These pictures were from the happy moments - the moments in which D, E, and T weren't fucking with us or my head.
When I returned home after this fight, he told me upfront that he found the pictures and burned them, that I needed to get over it. To let it die. To evolve so that we could become something better. I know my limitations: I know that it won't happen until we are apart for a while. Or at all, these pictures were to keep me sane in the in-between time in which he has just left and when the world will come back to me. And now they are gone.
Then today, I found the ashes. And left over bits of photograph. It seems that they had blown out of the flower pot in which they were burned and left on the sidewalk for me to find. The only picture I could make out was the one of me lying across our bed, the blue comforter stained with so much lube. The walls a baby blue. The apartment several apartments back. Back when, even if it was out of not knowing himself, he wanted me.
What's more difficult is the juxtaposition: what else these songs mean to me with the more recent pain, the more recent ashes with the early 20-something past. Mazzy Star's So Tonight I Might See will be forever associated with the lover I had my second year of college - the lover for whom I wrote a poem - the poem that I read once to another song on this album - "Blue Light" - the lover who contracted HIV a few years after I knew him - a few years after we shared a bead and a shower in my dorm. The shower was divided into two showers by two curtains, but if your brought the curtains together just so, two boys could have one large shower in which to kiss and suck and play and touch. He died in 2005.
I started listening to this album again after it was called one of the best makeout albums ever - and it is. And to have those feelings, and the feelings "Into Dust" has always brought to me - of dissolving thankfully into dust, of becoming dust - put next to the pain of my own HIV, and Boo moving, and the pictures gone - today has been a day: sadness and anger and the desire to keep jerking off because in that too too brief moment of cumming - only then is everything turned off enough.