Well of its own desire
Going into last weekend I read a post from one of the web logs I
read regularly. The person was describing a collaborative relationship
she was trying to get to work. In this case it was to play in a band
and to write music together with someone. It wasn't or didn't seem to
be working as she had hoped or wanted. There seemed to be things
getting in the way. Things from the past or future, even the present.
Certainly part of it was the guy involved opting to shut down
communicationally (I'm not sure that's really a word either), and
emotionally. I kept thinking about that over the weekend and into the
week here. Guilty conscience I suppose. I've been in a situation
similar to this and am aware that the woman involved thinks - thought
then, thinks now, that I am a complete jerk. Jerk, is not the word she
would use. It's not the word she did use. I had my own view of
things, my own position, my own words. Beyond all that I had as well
the notion lingering among the columns of the imagined nobility of my
own motivations that the story could only lie between her and my way of
things.
Every situation is different. I can't read TTT's situation in
light of my own and claim knowledge by it. I only know the prick of
conscience I felt reading it. I had known my friend, Micaela., all
through college and beyond. For many years, during one of which she got
married. Then there were a few years when I did not talk to her. But in
a world - the world I know at least - where you share a deep
connection, with multiple interests, with understanding with few
others. There is a temptation to try to convert or
re-purpose a relation to other ends. She wanted me to write for
her - initially for a web zine she was trying to get off the ground.
She offered to edit my writing. She knew as I did, it sorely needed it.
She with keen eye and J School degree, could supply professional
consideration. Eventually we would try writing together, perhaps trying
to run the magazine together. But thats not what she did, she looked at
writing I gave her and commented on content and intent, she expected me
to reciprocally examine hers in return. I had no desire to replicate a
writing workshop, definitely not between us. That was part of what she
saw this accomplishing.
All writing is self confession and self examination. I am
aware of that as I write, even with what little I write to atomized jr.
At the same time I hope it does not seem obviously so on the page.
Thats not my intent, the theme or narrative should have the moment for
itself. This was not happening between us. I had the feeling that
we were always looking for signs, validation, answers to
questions. I began to pull back. I told her it was just a little, but I
knew I was pulling all the way back and out. It wasn't working and I
knew she didn't have any greater idea on how it might than I did. It
seemed like work, not work that lets you feel completed or
realized, It seemed like copy cataloging. It seemed like a
burden. It returned nothing for no peace of mind.
I know that on some level she understands, and reached the
same conclusion herself, but her protocol does not call for naming the
ways we understand each other. Nor for allowing or admitting to the
presence of necessity other than her own. She staked her will against
it. It was like two taxi-cabs trying to fit down the same narrow alley,
we could only pin each other against the wall. I recognize
that I have been disappointment. Sometimes the bridges are not long
enough for appointments to be kept.
11:24:58 PM  ;;
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