I was hoping to have video of this part of our trip, but in the pitch blackness of Edson Cemetery (except for a penlight on Pronoblem’s phone), that ended up not happening. Pronoblem however was able to get this sparse-but-earthy recording of it, which I’m linking to from Fluxmass.org, since WordPress doesn’t want me to upload an mp3 without paying them.
Basically when we arrived in Lowell the sun had gone down, and the cemetery was technically “closed”, though one side gate remained open. There was some consideration that security may close it after we entered, but we chanced it anyway, conspicuous with Chinese tom (Eric), bass clarinet (Pronoblem), and lyric notebook (me). Edson Cemetery isn’t large, but nonetheless a few feet in we no longer had the light of passing cars or the few shops across the street. There was a brief period of tension, uncertain where the small, flat headstone was exactly, stumbling in the briskly cold near blackness, trying to go slowly so Eric wouldn’t lose his footing. Nervously hoping not to run into any cops, groundskeepers, errant necrophiliacs. Pronoblem went on ahead, and we briefly lost sight of him, until across a series of plots, we saw him gesturing wildly with the phone light, indicating Jack had been found.
As I mentioned before, the headstone was one of the small, flat kinds, and was surrounded by a few flowers, a small American flag planted by the lower left corner, and various pencils, offerings I guess from other writers who had found inspiration in his works somewhere along the way. It could have been easy enough to miss, but Pronoblem said he’d felt this strange energy coming from that part of the cemetery, and had decided to just follow it. Honestly now that we were all there, kneeling on the cold ground and breathing in the scents of Earth and late autumn, we could all feel the same thing. It wasn’t frightening. It was…sort of sharp and encouraging of this kind of behavior. And so began our honorific of sounds and words, and love, Eric and I embracing and kissing at the end to feel closer to that connection between Thanatos and Eros that’s always there, underlying everything, but seems ever more acute when you’re creating something with the love of your life in such chthonic surroundings, in the metaphysical or symbolic or whatever presence of someone who was a creative force themselves..