Friday, November 18, 2005

Everyone's Waiting

Did you catch the series finale of "Six Feet Under?"

Do you recall the final scene?

As Claire drove toward an uncertain future in New York, viewers were catapulted through decades to witness the final moments in the lives of each of the show’s central characters, ending with Claire’s own death at age one hundred and one.

(I hope I didn’t give anything away—I mean, everyone knows this already, right?)

Playing in the background was Sia’s haunting "Breathe Me."

Such an affecting song. So many endings.

Why, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

This scene is something of an in-joke with Mitzi and me.

She has replayed the conclusion so many times that she could act out the death scenes, one by one—a bravura tour-de-force for this up-and-coming actress—as she bewilders with trivia about minor scenic details.

(Like, did you notice that at Claire’s wedding, David was seated with his two stepsons, one of whom had a female partner, while the other had a male partner? I missed it, but not eagle-eyed Mitzi.)

One day, as we goofed about this via instant messages, Mitzi sent Sia’s song to me. I downloaded it, but never got around to playing it.

I neglect downloaded files too often, actually.

It’s a hazard of my life as a pervert.

When you run sex parties and cruise online as assiduously as I do, you are forever downloading photographs of aspiring partygoers and prospective fuck buddies.

My desktop can get a little messy with accumulated files that need to be saved or deleted.

The other day, I decided to procrastinate by getting my files in order. I opted to save photographs of people I had actually met, and to delete those that, for whatever reason, didn’t pan out.

In the process, I uncovered Sia’s song. I had forgotten all about that, I thought, as I clicked the play icon.

The familiar opening bars—keyboards, inhale, exhale—struck as I began to trash photographs.

Help, I have done it . . . again
I have been here many times before


Each file was opened, and in a glance I judged each image as trash or memento.

Hurt myself again today
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame


Cock shot followed cock shot into the void, followed by a steady stream of jpgs titled with variations of the word “me.”

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up


I sorted and trashed absentmindedly, recalling the erotic frisson of the moment I first viewed these images. I relived the potential of each correspondent, and the tristesse of those wasted emails leading to nothing.

Unfold me, I am small and needy
Warm me up . . . and breathe me


The song brought me back to the closing moments of “Six Feet Under," as this unconventional family died off, one by one.

George cries, holding Ruth’s hand. Keith is shot. David gasps at Keith’s ghost as he collapses.

I found myself feeling sad.

Then I laughed.

Ouch, I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found


I realized that I was enacting my own sequence of endings, and fate had provided a loaded soundtrack.

Yeah, I think I might break
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe


Goodbye, I said, to the bi-curious Columbia student whose curiosity did not get the better of him with me.

Rest in peace, submissive Brooklynite, who found my blog but never found time for the coffee she requested.

Fare thee well, handsome husband, whose wife seemed so intent on giving me to her bi-curious beloved as a birthday gift.

All will be missed. The unlogged hours of love left unmade, the friendships left stillborn, all abandoned, gone, gone, gone.

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up


Still, long not for the departed, dear mourner, for there is cause to rejoice.

Saved, the handsome German tourist, with his smooth tender nipples, thick uncut cock and deep mouth that promised more on future visits to the city.

Redeemed, the cheating man and woman who found, in my home, a place more inviting than hotel rooms.

And sing choruses, angels, for the blonde tease who lights in a shared heaven of devil-may-care perversion.

Unfold me, I am small and needy
Warm me up . . . and breathe me


Our individual fates await.

Our shared futures as yet unknown.








5 comments:

Framboise said...

Oh, oh, oh! I weep every time I watch the ending. And the obits are on the HBO site.

May you, like Claire, live to be a 102!

Blondie ? said...

Sorry I missed you this week. I look forward with much anticipation for Christmas break when we may be able to actually get together :) Until then have fun, keep writing, and we'll talk soon :) XOXO

Deidre said...

Hello Jefferson,
I've been a voyeur of your blog for a few months now and I must say that you give me reason to come back and read again and again.

I've not seen this series that you referred to but I'll definitely check it out on DVD (as its available). You've got my curiosity now...

Thanks for the blogging; helps a girl keep her voyeuristic skills toned or is that tuned? lol

- Deidre

Jo said...

this was a great post. visual, aeural (sp?), everything.

Meg said...

in your candlelit living room, this song and your "dramatic reading" set the tone for what turned out to be a wonderful evening with a wonderful group of people.

and now, after a few hours of travel back to my own apartment, wearily reading these words and listening to the song once again. the perfect way to put an end to this lovely weekend and return to the rest of my life.