Static

This week has been a little light on my eyes running up and down some poetry. The best thing I’ve read this week has been a dear friend’s dissertation for their MA, but I’ve missed out on the good going on in the world of literature.


But, that said, I did see this in Rust + Moth this week: Diminishing Returns by Kieran Collier. Here’s how it starts:


You can read the rest here. It is a little too sparse to repeat completely in your inbox.

The poem takes on a few of those concepts we all have to deal with in the grief that we all individually find ourselves (however universal or connecting the act of grief may be).

Here the concept of static is mentioned, that there’s a reduction in the quality of grief. I know that I was disappointed in myself when I ran out of tears for tragedies in my own life — and I mean that literally. There is a point after a great shock where the tears are simple, soothing, and flowing freely. But this stops with an almost biological kind of certainty.

Maybe I should have been better hydrated.

I’ve personally always thought as memory in the same way as the tapes I used to make, and record over endlessly. After a time, there is a ghost in the recording, a hum of the original thing, but you may have lost the fidelity along the way.

Every time you play back a memory you have to recreate it. You have to stage the play every time you want to think about those you miss in your life. And that’s a lot of work, the more you skip in each set up and rehearsal, the more you forget about the details of the reality.

That’s how I interpret the comment of static here, that the grey areas of what you thought you would always remember start to fuzz and fray.

There are times in the distance of grief where you have to accept that your grief will never be understood, and that the worst damage of it is that you will never be able to make this person exist for someone else. You can’t force someone into reality, you couldn’t even with surgery.

You have to accept that you have this lonely little feeling of a broken connection to the way the world could have been, and move with the stream of the world as if everything was indeed fine.


Sometimes honesty is the best policy when it comes to writing acknowledgements.


Thanks for reading Etch To Their Own. Remember to dress for the job you want. This newsletter was written in a newsletter-like form, not scrambled. As always, the typing was done by your boy @CJEggett — and he’s so sorry about the typos. It was inevitable that it would go this way. But what I really want to know is, is this sponsored content?

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