20 April, 2011

About The Locket You Wear

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those only of the author and may only coincidentally reflect those of Mystic Metals, its employees, or associates. All responses should be posted as comments here, or mailed directly to the author, A. Robert Basile, at ihatebasile@gmail.com. Mail sent directly to Mystic Metals will not be read.



About The Locket You Wear

4.19.11



I’ve written a couple books in the past. I self published them so that I was assured they’d be released since, you know, I’m not a great writer. Last year, I finished a full length novel that I’m not going to self publish because I think it’s actually really good and deserves to be picked up by a publisher. I’ve been looking at agents to get me signed, and man, it’s mind-numbing and deflating. But you cats and kittens can help. If you all go to www.blurb.com, search A. Robert Basile, and buy my books, that would look great for me to get an agent. If an agent sees there is a demand for my work, then he’ll be more likely to sign me. By the way, the book titled, “people i know” is really good. You should buy it. Each purchase comes with a hug or a handshake redeemable upon meeting me! (No purchase necessary, hugs and handshakes non refundable, not endorsed by www.blurb.com)


I got modded on Saturday for the first time in a while. Thank you Mark; you’re the best in the business. I got modified because I wanted to be modified, and also because times are tough around my house. I like to modify in times of strife because it reminds me, when the strife has vanished, that I survived a trying time. Whether that’s a good reason to mod or not is not in question. I don’t really care. What is in question is that my father lost his job of thirty-five plus years, my grandmother is dying, and I have very much trouble contributing to society because of my disability. That, and you know, the greater arcing bullshit like wars in Africa and an economy that has dried up tighter than a ninety year old cat lady. Even if I did pay into social security, I’ll never see that money again. So I modify to remind me that trying times are happening and will soon be behind me, trapped in the dying synapses of a brain trying to disassociate itself with woe. This is where the tone of this rant changes drastically.


The hope there is very specific. The hope is that this strife and struggle will, indeed, be behind me. And it must be. I will not get more able. My old man won’t get his job back. My grandmother won’t get more life. As one resolution it may be, or possibly another, these tally marks on the timeline of now will eventually be carvings on a cave wall of a long gone man.


The trouble (as if there is only one such trouble) is that there is collateral damage along the sorrow soaked field of life. I have detached certain friendships entirely unintentionally because my focus has been other things. My work suffers because of lack of interest. I sleep constantly. Things fall away because new things are larger and occupy more mass than the others. It doesn’t mean that the first things are less important, it just means that these two masses cannot occupy the same space, like any pair of masses.


So I modify to remind me that there are good things in life. There are things that I do for me because I am important as well. I wear my badges in order to remind myself that my points of view, my likes and dislikes, my beauty is still a living thing. Like yours. Real life is an unsatisfied whore. It takes from you and asks for more, but at my age (31), I ought to know this by now. The problem is, I have trouble choking it down. It’s a pill that goes down sideways, as I like to say in therapy. There is only so much strain that the buttress can take before the cathedral collapses, right? Funny how those cathedrals have stood for hundreds of years. And you and I will as well.


We have modification. A simple changing of what we are. It is my armor, my sword, and my horse. It is my thing that I use in battle to confidently conquer my adversity. It helps my strength, like the locket your lover gave you to protect you before you left for the battlefield. The locket does nothing. It isn’t magical. It isn’t powerful. It can’t swing a sword or cast a spell or fire a gun. But it grants you power. It grants you safety and confidence as you plunge into whatever it is that is your adversary. What is your locket?


Our locket should always contain our beauty. It’s hidden away in there, clasped and forgotten because we placed it there on our first birthday. It is the first painting you placed on the wall in your house when you moved in. It is hung there, being seen by you everyday as you fumble through the door coming from work with your laptop bag, your umbrella, your sack of groceries. Fumbling and falling about yourself, the painting catches your eye because it always does. It is still beautiful, but forgotten. In your locket, you place your beauty. Also in that locket, your successes. You achievements at your job, at your hobbies. The sweater you just finished knitting, the paper you just finished writing, the song you just finished recording. Successes as examples of your greatness. They are in your locket. Your lover. She is in there too. Her soft skin and touch, her cute laughter and smile. The feeling that washes you when you see her walking from a half of a block away to hurry into your awaiting car. The hello kiss, and the hand holding as you drive away. The love that may be. Or the love that is. Your husband. The silent couch sharing as you watch whatever. The game, the reality show, the History channel program about whatever. You curl your legs beneath your thighs, and rest your head onto his chest. Saying nothing, but feeling contented. This is in your locket.


None of our lockets are empty. Perhaps there is no lover, no successes; but your beauty is in there. And there is reserved space for the successes and the lovers. Our lockets are doors that open to an immeasurable space to be filled with whatever it is we need to surmount the hard, the woe, the strife. Our lockets are impervious to tarnish or corrosion, and they are indestructible. No one can steal them, and you cannot sell or gift it to someone else. The chain hangs softly across your collar bone, and sometimes it feels as if it is not there at all. We forget that we are wearing it. Then, as a seemingly scripted happening, we bend to do something, and the locket swings and waves a hello to us. I’m still here, it reminds. And we tuck it safely back into the shirt, closer to our hearts where it belongs. We ought to take time to open the lockets from time to time. To remember what is inside, what we placed there and why we placed it there. Our lover is in there. Our successes, and accomplishments, our modifications, our beauty, our joy and laughter. We ought to remind ourselves of these things. When we open our lockets, the strife and struggle and woe and hard shrink like moonflowers in the daylight. At least for a little while. What’s in your locket? What does your locket look like? What woe does it combat? Remember your locket, kids. It is as beautiful as you are. Stay beautiful, kids.







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