It’s as simple as the feeling of emptiness when someone who inspires has left this world. Heath Ledger was a great actor who dared to explore. He made us laugh and cry, entertained and made us think, countless times on that beautiful silver screen. Now all we can feel is silence, and it is ok because he has carved his presence in time and will never be forgotten.
Heath, rest in peace.
Jan 22, 2008
Really, how hard can it be? To put pieces of the past and present together. They say time wont kill love, but timing will. A small play in London I have no chance to see before it was over, music composed by one Neil Codling. Maybe I should go to London, just for a while and connect the dots. Before that, here in New York, an era ended with a night of refined denial, we were all so experienced in playing the game and forgot usually the best swimmers drown. You see, If I could take it all back, I would. And if time stopped the moment we met, remembrance became just a formula, then I would have moved on with no regrets. But just between us, life went on, it was sad, yet somehow, years in the making, still made sense. Love? You called it first.
On my walk home on Tuesday night, I found pieces of memories hanging on a colorful tree. It’s a poem, a song, a shadow, the torn plastic bag shivering against the wind, the long shadows of Dekalb, the music of your touch blowing against my windsheld on 95, and the places that no longer had names. I buried you, but haven’t forgotten about you. It’s December again. It’s the thought of you that feared me, and sometimes I wonder if I should walk away from the end of this beginning.
week 2 of insane stress. bloody brilliant.
back in the states, back in nyc, without my doggy, without the soul part of a soul searching travel. stumbled onto grad school, a week of trust falls and catered food, a week of encounter the new and parting the old. then intense lack of sleep due to apt and my bro. sadness of ayesha’s departure. missing hanging out with the girls. want to sit down and write but have no time. wrote a script but discovered later can’t shoot on most of the locations because of… LAW? and ayesha starts to dream of harry potter… haha… mission accomplished. cris tells me i should wash the lettuce i bought before eating it. heather is taking care of a homeless dog named Foxy. my new mates at school are too kool for school. i thought tom chaplin and rupert grint are bloody fit. wong kar wai is still a god. i miss having a cook.
all my friends are evil, naturally.
after finally breaking through, proxy style, i was internet literate again. what was worth writing down? nothing more than a world of glitter covered pretty faces, actors, dancers, singers, models, and men who enjoyed the cloudiness of vain cuban cigars. i sat wearing my think-green t-shirt, jeans and flipflops, more unpolished than my worst bohemain intent, trying to smile like not-so-teen spirit. someone brought me a hookah, apple flavored, like it was a joke and i smoked, taught the pretty faces how to inhale such intoxicating fume. it wasn’t any specific person that intrigued my memories at that very moment, it was a feeling, like the honesty of an autumn night in fort greene, like that special song played on the brooklyn bridge.
i wished it was the truth that would inspire me again. a truth so close to love like the melting of vocal molasses, the rare realness stored in the museum of earthly regrets i no longer planned to visit.
gotta book 2 sets of plane tix, looking for someone to sublet my apt till september, get out of my lease, get taytay on the plane, PACK, dealing with my bro’s high school and NYU, get my hair done, shopping, SEE KEANE AND MANU CHAO, feeling bad for missing 311, and many many farewells…
so much to do, so lil time, gotta stop caking…
sometimes you must erase the date to update. so this is now, and this is me, only he is no longer…
he is like the moon in Sweden’s early spring, bathing in Pandora’s unborn innocence. I watch him walking away, like Sade’s voice, coloring Jupiter’s shadow, foreseeing the plot of 2046. i open my soul to see his eyes, his lips, hands, his scent, blending with tender flaws. He is oh so special, for me to write a poem, and let it flow as snow spring rain tangoing rivering down the night sky, could never truly show the world what a beautiful man he is.
