Loss

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Jimmy Dean

Happy Birthday! And another repeat performance. Yet another loss. How we might have enj0yed him through the years. Not to be.

“The acting of James Dean is more animal than human. For this reason, it is unpredictable: what will happen next?” Francois Truffaut, Cahier du Cinema

“Jimmy may have had crabs, but he also had durable charisma.” Kenneth Anger, Hollywood Babylon II

Born on this day: cinema’s bongo drum-playing quintessential doomed 1950s bad boy, James Byron Dean (8 February 1931 – 30 September 1955) – one of the most lusciously photogenic actors of all time. Pictured: portrait of Dean by Roy Schatt, 1954.

Posted by Lobotomy Room.

Someone once said that Dean was not at all the same person off camera. You would not know what you had until the camera made love to him. And indeed it did. It made him larger than life. Someone else once said upon meeting him you knew he was doomed. He was just plain too much and too small for this world. It was impossible to sustain.

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Loss

The Beauty Of Planet posted this poem. I thought it was worth posting. I also think it’s worth noting that it’s not death we’re dealing with, but loss. It isn’t that they’re dead, it’s that they stay dead.

YOU DON’T JUST LOSE SOMEONE ONCE
You lose them over and over,
sometimes in the same day.
When the loss, momentarily forgotten,
creeps up,
and attacks you from behind.
Fresh waves of grief as the realisation hits home,
they are gone.
Again.
You don’t just lose someone once,
you lose them every time you open your eyes to a new dawn,
and as you awaken,
so does your memory,
so does the jolting bolt of lightning that rips into your heart,
they are gone.
Again.
Losing someone is a journey,
not a one-off.
There is no end to the loss,
there is only a learned skill on how to stay afloat,
when it washes over.
Be kind to those who are sailing this stormy sea,
they have a journey ahead of them,
and a daily shock to the system each time they realise,
they are gone,
Again.
You don’t just lose someone once,
you lose them every day,
for a lifetime.
Credit: Donna Ashworth

by

This

What it is like until the other dies. And why it is more than final when gone. And why longing has new meaning, a new edge. Another part of self erased.


“I know now, after fifty years, that the finding/losing, forgetting/remembering, leaving/returning, never stops. The whole of life is about another chance, and while we are alive, till the very end, there is always another chance.”
Jeanette Winterson – Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

Posted by Ravenous Butterflies

Richard Bergh – Nordic Summer Evening, 1899-1900
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Janis

NPRdjanis

Posted by NPR

She died some time this week, 47 years ago. Forty-seven years. I was driving down some street in Iowa City on my way to university when I heard the news on the radio. And there it was. The first thoughts are…No…No…what now?…who will sing those songs for us…who will know?…No…

When I got to the classroom it was silent. No one saying a word. The students in their chairs, the prof standing in front, leaning against the desk. In that silence, in that room on a beautiful day in Iowa City, we were struck. In the confusion of loss and sorrow

APjanisJoplin

AP—Janis Joplin, Woodstock

it was as if we all knew, all at once, that words could not—should not—be spoken. There was that current underneath, that whirlpool of something else that made words insignificant. There would never be enough, never enough of anything. No one else spoke Soul to Soul. No one else could sing the Blues. She was lost to us, and it was we, we who could not save her.