The Beginning of My Memoir

In which I present the set up of my story in two parts

Photo by Daniel Cartin on Unsplash

My Own Private Waste Land covers a decade of my life in which loss, grief, betrayal, and redemption take center stage in my life. I found myself mired in a life surrounded by loved ones with serious mental illnesses, which diverted me from my own life’s pursuits. Only through almost breaking due to one betrayal too many did I find the strength to re-take control of my life - Give, Sympathize, Control.

Over the next few weeks, I will offer the opening chapters of my book, from parts 1 and 2. Starting with part 3, I will offer my first discounted subscription for reading selections. Thank you for your support. Of course, you can sign up anytime to be a subscriber or even off gift subscriptions to those you know who might be interested.

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I. The Burial of the Dead

1 – Slouching Towards Oblivion

Fremont Bridge arches to the sky,
icon of the Portland skyline,
longest tied-arch bridge in the world,
first in its class, of course.

Far above, a Peregrine falcon soars,                                                                           5
its widening gyre turning and turning
over the swift Willamette River.

From the nearby Pearl district,
the road unfurls like a nautilus to the bridge,
175 feet from the roadway,                                                                                         10
381 feet from apex to river’s surface.

Either height would do.

In this cruel month, the dog days of summer,
from his long narrow room,
not even halfway a house,                                                                                          15
slouching towards oblivion,

With best foot forward
and passionate intensity,
he scales the steel giant:
     ceremony of innocence                                                                                          20
     ritual of despair.

His shadowy figure mounts the scaffold.
Autos “jug jug” on the roadway below.
An anonymous call. He jumps.
No rough beast, nothing but darkness was found.                                                      25

At that height, on that night, surely some revelation was at hand.
What heap of broken images,
what blank card did you carry on your back,
mon frère?

In the morning, they found him floating near the shore.                                            30
Those are pearls that were his eyes.

== End Chapter 1 ==

Stay tuned for chapter 2 next time.

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I write about:

• writing and the writing life

• writing process

• memoir craft

• mental illness - major depressive disorder, suicide, borderline personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder

• sailing

• alternative lifestyles - polyamory and kink

Have a great weekend. Until next week, I’ll . . ..

Just keep writing!

If you’d like to support my writing, a subscription costs about the same as one cup of specialty. coffee a month. You can also buy someone a gift subscription.

As always, thank you for reading. Comments are appreciated. Let me know what you think! Let’s get to know each other. All the best!