I am still not in the UK where I am meant to be. I am trying to fit the pieces of my life together so when I finally leave I can feel safe things wont fall apart whilst I am away.
I am in the doldrums. I can’t wait to get home to see friendly faces, hear familiar accents, wash the last few months of indecision, lost love and tales of ordinary madness into the Swale.
No longer in love my cupboards fill with chocolate. I look at myself in the mirror and realize that I got what I wished for..the invisible man stares back at me. Yet, saying this, this morning I was full of hope. I sat in acceptance and said so out loud.
The little dog and I have not climbed Runyon for days and this is partly because my back twinges and I am scared that it will fail me again like it did earlier this year and I will have to sit in bed for a week unable to move without excruciating pain.
There isn’t much to report. I am not allowed to write about my trip home in case I say/write things that upset the man I am travelling with. Needless to say there are good times on the horizon though I am not sure if my companion will enjoy the whirlwind exploration of things past. My past. I am getting to show someone I care about the locations I love including the place where, in this now half over life, I experienced as a child a moment of total freedom that, strangely, I never really experienced again. It is this place that I want to visit most and ultimately end up under the elder, hawthorn and the sycamore of my youth.
I linger in depression when I am alone then, when people knock at my door, all at once I am happy and content. I know that I am going home to very friendly faces, to the great loves and the equally magnificent disappointments of the past half a century.
I am dreaming eager like a ghost through the Sunday drag shows of the Vauxhall Tavern, the streets of London, the parks and moribund locations of my youth.
There are people I must see who are essential to reconnect with if, as I plan, I am to remain at peace with myself. A smile on my face.
Dennis Hopper died this week. I spent a few afternoons/evenings with Hopper in Bucharest when I was directing the ill-fated Method..a truly ghastly film. We were staying in the Marriott and would sit in the marble bar with hookers, actors and gamblers. The entire cast of the film Modigliani including Andy Garcia, Udo Kier and Miriam Margolyes.
During one odd excursion we sat in a darkened screening room and watched the last few moments of the lives of Nicolae Ceausescu and his wife Elena who were executed by firing squad in 1989. I remember her suburban coat and the way she fell. Bullets into their bodies. Hopper was unmoved. The next time we bumped into each other was at a pre Oscar do at Barry Diller‘s. He told me that rather than being unmoved he was shocked that the man who showed us the footage (the owner of Media Pro film studios) was so gleeful.
The Ceausescu were the last people to be executed in Romania before the abolition of capital punishment in 1990.
Louise Bourgeois died this week. Another colorful character from my past. The very same week I sold one of the two works I owned by her. The auction of some of my art collection went very well.
I had, it seems, invested wisely.
6 replies on “Dennis Hopper”
I hope you find peace and happiness in the UK. Old friends can be so wonderful, especially when they pick up like you’ve never been apart. I wish you all the best and lots of blessings.
it don’t matter were you go wen you are lonely in your hart you are lonely everywhere you can,t hide from your hart
I have seen the death of the ceausescu to in there furr coates it was the first act of freedom but it was strange
Duncan,
I am glad that the auction of your art went well. I would hope that this at least will have relieved some of the financial stress that you seemed to be under.
You seem to be emotionally topsy turvy. You say “No longer in love my cupboards fill with chocolate.” but then “I am getting to show someone I care about all the things I love…”. You seem to be reminiscing about your past, looking forward toward your future trip and not at all emotionally in the present. I hope that until you are physically on a plane heading toward the Continent, that you can allow yourself to be present, so you can enjoy the small moments of grace and beauty that we are gifted while moving through ordinary days.
You also said “I look at myself in the mirror and realize that I got what I wished for..the invisible man stares back at me. Yet, saying this, this morning I was full of hope. I sat in acceptance and said so out loud.” I hope that this means that you are finally able to look yourself in the eyes in the mirror and accept and love the man who looks back at you. And know that God/All That Is loves and accepts you as well.
You say that you are depressed when you’re alone and forgive my drugstore psychoanalysis but I have to ask who or what you’re angry about that you haven’t faced because depression is anger turned inward. Sadness at endings and change —- even good change — is natural. Depression is not. You worry me, dude.
I’m also bothered by “I am not allowed to write about my trip home in case I say/write the wrong things and upset the man I am travelling with.” It’s like you’ve given up control. You, who have always been at the helm of your ship, sound like you’re just acquiescing and drifting without setting a course or trimming your sails. You don’t say that after giving the situation due consideration “I DECIDED that I need to give myself and my lovers/friends some privacy.” What is “… the wrong thing”? You didn’t just say “write”, you said “say”. You seem to be walking on eggshells and that’s a really disheartening place to be. I hate to even think that you’re in a situation like that.
There seems to be quite a lot to say, it’s just that you can’t/won’t allow yourself to say it. I mean if it comes to it, let your companion review his sections of anything you write with the option to give you edits which you’ll accept. For someone who pretty much is in the state sometimes of “I write, therefore, I live” as far as this blog is concerned, for anyone to edit you or for you to edit yourself when you want to live your life out loud is really troubling for me. If you don’t agree, you shouldn’t be acquiescing. You’re building up resentments. Don’t. Please.
I hope that someday, you will share with us “… the place where in this now half over life the moment of pure joy I experienced as a child…”. I truly believe that you will experience it again. As for your life being half over, it’s like the cup being half empty or half full. Yours is just about to hit a milestone but think of Louise Bourgeois. I read that she didn’t get started until she was in her seventies. Keep the faith. You have wonderful decades ahead of you. Filled with love and friendship and creativity. Truly.
*Metal Rabbit, with permission, gives Duncan a big hug, a kiss on the cheek & a four-leaf clover. Kinda attached to the feet. 😉 LOL*
Blessings,
Amanda
Hello Duncan,
I haven’t anything to say about this entry in your blog, because really, I am just feeling it. That may sound silly, I know, but I feel as if I am just sitting with you. I hope that isn’t intrusive.
I just read your interview on the Good Men siten (with a good laugh at the end!), will definitely pass this on to some of the men in my life, and I plan to read the book as well. It will be a good counter, I am sure or I hope, to what I have learned about “male privilege” and patterns of abuse.
Take good care of yourself today.
You are a wonderful writer Duncan. Very poetic. Glad I found your blog via The Good Men Project. Hope you are soon back in the UK.