Van Morrison, “he’s weird!”
That phrase, it’s stuck in my mind all night long, and all morning, “he’s weird”
I was at a dinner party and my alarm went off on my iPhone. I knew what it was, I slipped my phone out of my pocket, cancelled the alarm, then stowed it away. Our host, my good friend Arthur, asked me who’d been calling me,
“No, no, that’s my alarm to remind me to take my medication.”
“That’s Van Morrison” came from the young man who has been seeing our host’s daughter, Emma. ❤️
Surprised I said, “yes!” And looked his way. Looking now again at my friend, Art, whose raised eye brows indicated he’d never heard of him, “have you ever heard of Van Morrison?” I queried. “I’ve heard of Van Morrison, just not that song”, he clarified.
It’s a noose and a healing balm. Like the shape of my face, and the hairs on my head. It does me no good to pretend “it’s not me” To pretend that I’m not weird.
So there I am! I am being exposed, Van Morrison is weird, and so am I.
But for whatever reason it took me by surprise. It stuck with me. And writing about it today, I broke through. Somehow I’d slunked into the slumped comfort of being normal.
There we are! Sliced! Diced! Packaged and Shelved!
We’re up here on this shelf, in a jar, beside all the other jars, our category is “weird”.
Pickled! Lifeless! Void.
No more to be seen!
The threat has been discovered!
The vaccine administered…
What’s so weird about Van Morrison you might wonder? Poets aren’t so well received by some.
It reminds me Pierre Berton’s reaction to Leonard Cohen. Check out that video link there, from minute 8:05 – 9:50
And then as I mused some more… I thought maybe this young man is needing a safe place to be weird?
Sameness and blending in… is… I really shouldn’t use a word that’s coming to mind right now. But it’s a fallacy.
I think that’s always been the fallacy. I’ve always thought I’ll just act normal for now, then after they like me, I can slowly but surely let them know I’m actually weird.
Running Down Vimy 