Tag Archives: james corbett jr

hello darkness


letter to dad:

Hello Darkness My Old Friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.
 
Well… I’m another year older… you’re nearly another year deader…
visiting dad
 
I’m sorry I don’t come around here a lot. I inherited your preference for solitude and don’t get out a lot… probably not as much as I should.
 
Mom’s up here regularly obsessing over your monument and visiting Me-honk… I know you don’t really care – but this plot of memorial  sarcophagus storage is well tended to.
 
I discover bits of you in my code regularly these days. Dormant, repressed or ignored ticks and peculiarities – I greet them with a smile every time,.. and think of you.
 
I’ve had a rough year. Chock full of mistakes and confusion demanding course corrections requiring an amount of courage I simply didn’t think I possessed.
 
You saw this coming and alluded to it all in that god damned cryptic overpoetic way you had… I’d brush it all off and you’d end your fortuntelling with a thousand yard stare and say “you’ll figure it all out”.
 
I’m trying pop…
 
Through this I’ve heard the existential silence that haunted you so… fucking deafening silence… which at times in recent history has turned this 40 year old man into scared little boy alone in the dark and crying for his father.
 
Your favorite song makes so much sense now… I only wish I could put that worn 45 on that you played the grooves off of when I was young…  and just hug you.
 
I’ll see you next year when I come to talk again….
 
until then I carry you with me every day – quite literally in every fiber of my being.
 
[wpaudio url=”https://jimcorbett.info/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/The-Sound-of-Silence.mp3″ dl=”0″]

_________

The last couple of years a new tradition for the season has formed…

The week of my birthday I purchase a pumpkin and sit it out… It gets carved on my birthday.

Three days later on Halloween – I’ll ghoul myself up and bring the jack-o-lantern and a thermos of mulled wine to the cemetery at sunset. I’ll spend an hour chatting with dad, having a drink and watching the sun go down.

The jack-o-lantern gets lit and left on the grave.

I say goodbye and happy birthday…

till next year.

 

 

greetings


Mum’s fine… Come to find out it was a GERD condition thrown over the edge by a very bad case of food poisoning she picked up at Mark’s corporate Christmas party. She’s sore – but will be just fine.

Heard from the guys last night… they’ve made it to their respective destinations safe and sound.

Meanwhile holiday cards keep coming in, including the electronic one (above) from dad… which… regardless of if you know my old man or not – will not make much sense… except for maybe the coulrophbia reference… (Chad’s deathly afraid of clowns)…. and here – you *would* have to know pop to understand that by making that the lead image of his greeting means he adores Chad.

I didn’t make the beer cheese last night… but through deft chromosomal donor manipulation – mum should have a batch for me tonight or tomorrow…

*squeee*

Cheese.

big wheel keep on turnin… proud mary keep on


Still preoccupied….. though I shouldn’t let that keep me from at least checking in.

So last Friday…. I drove to Tennessee… and back….

Here’s the typically “Jim’s life is weird” part of it… “To pick up my dad’s girlfriend”

He met her on the internet. She sells rare rock minerals and geodes… Pop buys such things…. (along with WWII weaponry, ancient coin restoration kits, paint pigment powders, furniture dollies, engraving machines, life-size wooden drawing models, pocket knives (400 of them), Afghanistani pajamas, markers, rare earth magnets, touch-tone telephone shells, high-intensity flashlights, trebuchet kits, Saint Bernard strap-on barrels, *gasp*… well.. you get the idea.

He also insists that they share little more than warm platonic companionship.

I don’t care of course… Hell – I think his head would benefit from a little schnogle… but that’s about as far as I can think about it because of that little psychological bear trap in our minds that prevents us thinking about our parents and sex.

Ahhneeway..

Dad’s disability (back injury) – magnified by his brain and natural penchant for defeat prevents him from driving down and fetching Mary himself.

Mary, a germanic blocky woman of sixty and some change, is soft spoken and from what I can tell – a chronic care giver…. She cares for her 92 year old mother and financially coddles three of her four middle-aged children. (*Coddle is an awkward word-choice… Some would perceive it as parasitic… I really don’t have enough information to evaluate / judge… as if it was my place anyway…)…. wait – yeah… it is my place…

I feel a certain obligation to “screen” my parent’s companions…. In hopes to at least steer them from danger…. Though I realize I can’t keep them from learning all those little interpersonal relational lessons the rest of us learned in our 20’s while DATING. (Babyboomers had this horrible tendency to get married and start families way too young).

The last couple of times Mary was in town, one of her kids drove her up here…. So – naturally – I guess it was “my” turn. I’m certain she could do the trek by herself – but she’s convinced herself otherwise.

If this long distance thing continues – I’ll be working on that.

The drive was an adventure – and while trying to find her house, (about an hour outside of Nashville), I got slightly lost.

It’s another planet down there… A land of great beauty and thanks to American monoculture and factory / mine closings, nearly bankrupt culturally…. I still passed what you’d call “pockets of unique regional culture”: Like the general store I stopped in to ask directions at… The town “elders” sat around a folding table drinking coffee and discussing (?).. The best spoken one, (the one with the buggy, out of register eyes), took a peek at my map and got me back onto the right trek.

The trip back was cordially awkward… Here we were, essentially two strangers, sitting in a car for six hours.

She had a hard time understanding my “fast northern speech”…. I had a hard time understanding her “slower, creative southern dialect”.

Nonetheless – we were able to pass the time chatting and I had her delivered to dad’s doorstep before 10pm.

I take her back next Friday… at least the next time I won’t get lost.

That started the weekend – which was also busy… but I’ll have to get to that later today or something…. Eeeeg… I gotta get outa here – it’s getting late.

(insert clever serial ending here)

rock show


*beep*

Last Sunday we accompanied my dad to one of the few events that pulls him out of his hermitage: A Gem and Rock Show.

I mentioned the man has several eccentric compulsions…. obscure great-war memorabilia, bladed weaponry, flashlights, figure study books and …. rocks… of which he has many…

I’ve always found them aesthetically interesting… I used plenty for form studies in school…. But it’s really only within the last couple of years I’ve cultivated something I can best explain as a “deeper respect” for stuff like fossils, crystals, geodes, etc.

I don’t think you can’t even begin to start wrapping your head around concepts like “geological time” until you’re in your thirties.

Now – I may never reach a wise-enough age to wrap my head around the EXTREMELY STRANGE CULT which is “Gem Show People”.

These exhibitions are usually staged in community center gymnasiums and feature a maze of tables with vendors selling… well…. yeah…. “rocks and stuff.”

Some are coke-bottle-glass-eyed geology majors who say things like “metamorphic” and “striated sentiments”… Others are retired men with Dremel tools and a serious penchant for carving toy-dogs out of hunks of jade…. Others are simply called “rock hounds” and look like extras from Deliverance.

My father seemed to be on a first-name, or at least creepy masonic-secret-society vibe first-name basis with everyone at the show.

We walked the show… bought a bowl cut from (?)…. and fought off wild thoughts of my father being part of some sort of subterranean cult.

*click*

*dial tone*