it's 2:48 a.m., on 2001-05-30 - melancholy and post buffy.
~
It's two-sixteen in the morning, and I'm putting off both the Itty Bitty Archives and writing anything more than Ethan in Hell until tomorrow.
I'm listening to music that's putting me in a depressed Izzy mood.
*
It's not that Izzy doesn't love other people.
He does, in fact, and he loves them even more the more he's around them. He loves their smiles, talking to them, touching them, being with them. Izzy is fundamentally a people-person.
But he has problems, too, believing that they love him as much as he sees, which isn't very much at all, sometimes.
That, however, is where a person-- no, a love affair-- like Ricky comes in. When the chips are down and he doesn't know who else to cling to, Izzy gravitates to Rick like some comet that gets dragged towards the sun, hugging the outer layers, showing a brilliant flaming tail while showing the real thing to only the nuclear furnace of a person he loves inside and out.
That's what Izzy is, a little ball of ice with a big flaming tail, that shows its true colors only to stars.
*
Listening to sad songs, to Izzy songs in some respects, and love-affair songs in others, and thinking about sand, the kinds of things I'll never get to do. I just got back from Southern California, and Al was there-- and I still have very little idea what I think about that at all. I don't know whether I'm happy or sad.
I know that the friendship was good, in at least half of it. I was reaffirmed. We were close. I wasn't neurotic, only a little-- but my memory, I think, is making things a lot better than they were, and why not. If it didn't, I might cry because today is just a sad day.
Did I tell you? I would have held you close. I would have liked to.
Things are slow tonight. I have a grieving spike lingering around, and wanting to commiserate with a Pete Wisdom. 'How did you deal with your bird, mate? Mine dumped me for younger men.'
'Mine-- I. She.' And those eyes would fight tears, because Spike is inherently weak, isn't he. He really is. 'All men are younger.'
And Pete, what a useless spirit animal, wouldn't know what to say, would order another pint. 'Amen to that.'
*
Sitting here, pretty much. I have IRC and AIM both open; saying nothing. Wishing river was here-here, so I could lay down on someone who maybe understood. I bet Spike snuggled in his sleep, when no one was looking. Wrapped his arms around all those pretty girls and buried his nose in their bellies, hands clasped, and pretended he wasn't afraid he'd end up being mediocre for all eternity.
Like I said. Spike's weak.
I want to finish those other Buffy-shift stories, and then get to the Buffy one. I keep getting full of a Buddha Buffy, a quiet timeless one, too tragic and desperate to mingle with the Egyptians, but too human and fundamental not to want to watch the sun come up.
Kate: Dru and Spike as an Invisibles cell gave me some serious shivers. Something to explore. And wouldn't Edie take to Dru? I have to buy the Invisibles again. I lent those books out to a guy named Jeffrey in my queer studies class, and have yet to phone him about getting them back. I am a bad, bad fan.
Spike, in the corner, nursing a bottle and crying quietly, not even caring if the sun comes up. Vampires would have to stop grieving for the sun fairly quickly, or they'd go mad. We take for granted that the sky is bright, that we can tan. Picture, life without clouds, without a brightness that isn't false or impure in some way.
I bet Spike cries himself to sleep at night. He strikes me as the whimpery kind.
*
There's a--futility, that strikes a person. It's Riley, in the jungle, realizing he gave his heart and his soul and his everything to a girl that was unable to do the same. Not even one that chose not to-- she didn't have the will. She didn't have the ability.
It's Tara, bowing her head to her father. It's Giles and Spike and Xander all, looking at Buffy's body, whenever she dies, and shaking their head-- they're not men, not quite, because of that blond head that never grew up and stuck itself inside them so firmly, they weren't really whole without it. For Spike and Giles, it goes beyond that. They simply aren't, without her.
I can see the two of them finding pity, if not friendship, in each other.
It's more than death, because it can be at any time, it's not grief. Grief comes from something in particular. Grief is springboarded because of an action, a reaction, a fall. This is something, more fundamental.
It's Oz, going out again, knowing his girlfriend is the key to the thing he hates inside himself. And not only that, but it's Oz, realizing that him and Devon aren't anymore, and not because of any wolf-like characteristics, but just because he left, and didn't leave a forwarding address, and Devon didn't try and find him. They, drifted.
Stellar bodies, slowly decaying from the inside out.
*
I'm tired, and I have, melancholy. Tomorrow will be better, I hope, and tomorrow, I'll stop putting off the IBAs and I'll finish my update and then all will be well. Really.
This is a temporary sickness.
I bet Spike cries himself to sleep-- and not only because she's dead. I bet some of it comes from knowing no one cares he is.
~
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