i have known more than one guy who Hates (to some degree or another) his mother, and for reasons none of them were ever fully willing to even try to articulate, it just seemed to me to be some weird pseudo-macho reason they had for all the reasons they were/are fucked up, and it was all just very inevitable and not even worthy of discussion.
tonight's pilfered quote of choice is for those guys, should they ever happen by this humble blog; thank you MR, and Ian Brown for soliciting the piece and editing the book, which is just So Great.
"When a man speaks of hating his mother, it strikes me as an unexpected tragedy. I resist the notion that "bad" women could somehow also be bad mothers... it's like being angry with the stars—what on earth have they ever done to you but moulded your poor dust into life? ease up. even if she's a coked-up crack whore who beat you daily with a willow switch and let your poor little ass get so red and chapped it almost fell off, she's still been through a lot, and she's still your mother...
she built you in her body, man."
...
in my own non-quote-worthy way, i had a moment, standing and chatting on Spadina tonight, thinking about the Miracle of Close Friends, So outweighs my farcical tragedies and frequent complaints, and how Recent some of these have unfolded, been discovered even, in the last year like That, and what exactly am i thinking when i try to convince myself that somehow these friendships don't exist anymore for the taking, that they were reserved for when i was in high school...
(strum of a violin in the distance) eat your heart out, Hallmark, this is the Real Shit.
and my evening spent at a breakfast cereal party drinking strange concoctions of earl grey and gin, discussing science's connections with the real world and outgrowing creative projects but finishing them anyway (which is where all the growing is), and business card art shows with a man of no importance...Shannon Gerard and Scott Waters, you (and your fellow guests) Rock my world.
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