leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Crow and ghosts. I watched "The Crow City of Angels" last night. (Forgive the quotation marks if they're inappropriate. I'm rather good at grammar, but suck at punctuation and never remember what sorts of titles need quotations and which are to be underlined.) The movie sucked. I sort of figured it would, but I thought it was worth a shot. You should know I am a huge fan of the true Crow movie. Mainly due to it's heart-shearing beauty. Partially due to the fact that when it came out I was madly in love with a man who was into comic books. He collected and gave me special ones as gifts and we frequently attended comic book conventions. I had the graphic novel of The Crow (a first addition of the combined books), I also had all but one of the independent serials of it (as it was originally released in sections). I have the cards too (like baseball cards), and a figurine, and posters, but I digress. I almost can't bear to think about it. It brings it all back. Such a sad story. Not just the movie, but the whole thing. The author/illustrator who lost the first person who had ever brought light and love to his life. Then the story that became his rage-filled, heart-torn cry for what had been taken from him and the retribution he probably wished was his. Then the tragic loss of a precious young life while making the movie; a loss beyond description to a fiance that intended to spend the rest of her life with him and a mother that had already suffered an incomprehensible, untimely death of one she loved. I'm too empathic for my own well-being, and I feel it all and I balk at the inability to breathe. Simultaneously marveling at the magic that a story can cause. It brings D. back to me too. In all the pain and glory of the life we shared and then struggled to change and later sever. Ripping each other to shreds and loving one another and doubting fate. It hurts to this day and it was more than five years ago. This is the first I've written of him ever. (And I've spent much of my life before this journal writing letters that went nowhere. I never could manage to keep a diary -- it seemed too much of an obligation. But I've always kept notebooks with long letters to people {including myself, my guardian angels, the man in the moon, etc.} that were truly only meant for me.) I wrote many letters to him, but I've never written about him. I think it's almost time. 7:48 a.m. - March 07, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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