The Execution of All Things

I've been listening to a lot of Rilo Kiley, specifically the songs from their album The Execution of All Things. The whole album is about broken things: people, memories, lives, marriages, families.

There is one song. "A Better Son/Daughter." I can't stop listening to it. I told my therapist about it. He says that it's a symptom of my grief over my mother's death. She died a few months ago. He says I still haven't processed it. He recommended that I start a journal and put all my feelings and stuff in it.

But I am nothing if not a narcissist, so if I'm going to share my feelings and whatever, I want to show it to other people. Hence: a blog.

The title of this blog comes from one of my favorite poems, Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden. I'm sure my therapist would have something to say about that, too. Anyway, this is how it goes:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public

doves, 

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

See you later,

Lonny.