Grieving for the loss of your health, through music
September 2, 2012 § 6 Comments
When my mother died, I couldn’t listen to music for a while, I don’t know why. I just couldn’t bear to. Somewhere inside of me I must associate music with happiness and it seems wrong to grieve and listen to music.
When I was diagnosed with dermatomyo-shite-is (dermatomyositis) the same thing happened. This time though, it happened with a twist. I still couldn’t bear to listen to music, but instead I had a song that played over, and over and over again in my head, day, noon and night and that song was the most obscure and strange song I could imagine. It was a song from the album ‘Hunky Dory’, by David Bowie. A song right at the end of the album, an afterthought almost, called ‘8 Line Poem’.
Why, oh why, did these words run through my head:
“The tactful cactus by your window
Surveys the prairie of your room
The mobile spins to its collision
Clara puts her head between her paws
They’ve opened shops down West side
Will all the cacti find a home
But the key to the city
Is in the sun
the branches to the sky”
Those words have stopped their incessant haunting of me, thankfully. Drove me mad there for a bit, but gone now, mostly anyway.