I have known a man called Tim all my life. He was a friend of a friend of my father's, and as a child we would spend long summer days on the pebbled beach by his house, playing in the clay ponds, and chasing hares through the underbrush. He was an older gay man, quite posh, so alienated from his family, but through his friends he had acquired many surrogate families to make up for it. Somehow, from the age fourteen, we became friends. We would have tea at his flat in London, always with raspberries, and together we would sit in the little patch of sun that made its way across his roof everyday. He had been many things: a probation officer, a filmmaker, and a poet and it always felt like an unbelievable privilege to talk to him. He was extremely erudite - he had an extraordinary memory for Bacon and Donne - and in many ways I was completely under qualified to be there, but I always found myself back. The humility he displayed in those early years still astounds me. Even now, it remains. Recently, I visited him in hospital. Someone whispered in his ear that I was there to see him and he gasped - drawing one of those heaving shallow breaths only taken by the very sick. His blue eyes rolled over to me slowly as he struggled to turn his head: 'Oh I must get up to greet you,' he said, smiling. He was also the only person close to me deeply committed to his faith. It was him I turned to when, at fifteen, I was first decimated by the realisation that there were people I loved who would disappear from my life for no reason. The grace of his response, founded in a wisdom of these things unfortunately common among queer men of his age, is something I will never forget.
I say all this because reading your writing, I am reminded of him. Perhaps it's the upbringing surrounded by anachronism, or the humility that derives itself from a latent arrogance, but I saw a logic that would have captivated him, and a spirit that seemed to, if I may, echo his own.
He died on December 31st of 2024. It was all very quick; he remained graceful to the end. To be reminded of him now has brought me great joy. To know that spirits like his own are not dying out with his generation, but will remain with us is a wonderful consolation. Thank you.
Thank you so much for this beautiful comment. I am very moved by your account of this lovely man, and I am so glad this piece brought you some joy and consolation. He sounds like he was a total delight, and a wonderful companion. It's a tremendous gift to have been able to spend time with such wise and tender souls, and I am sure your company was as much of a blessing to him as his was to you. My condolences as well.
I was recently helping a friend break into their brand new bong and smoking with an older girl I like at my house in the evening with the pixie lights turned on in our backyard and she asked me if I feel yearning, and I, flustered and bumblingly, said something like, “Nah, idk, I’m just trying to let life live, you know?” 💀💀💀; love and friendship are truly foolish and ludicrous, but I particularly love the last lines of this piece; better to touch someone, or better yet, to be touched, even if it means to be destroyed rather than just watch your fantasies and possibilities disappear into the oblivion of time; I think the end of Aristotle’s De Anima claims that out of the 5 senses, the sense of touch is closest to the essence of the Soul, I don’t know why this is, but it sounds beautiful so it must be true, right?; Amazing as always, but this does not need to be said, Miriam, to broken hearts once again, to more than just good intentions, and more semen (and squirt!) spilt, but it will be probably be too late by the time we realize it was spilt in the first place!
It turns out great minds think alike, as I've been recently pondering friendship as well. Perhaps differently than you I've found quite a lot of happiness in friendship, even so that being single for all of my adult life has been quietly bearable in so far as I have reams and reams of girlfriends. Precisely the fact that there is nothing to be gained in friendship makes it so ludicrous and somehow attractive, it really is a waste of time. Maybe friends are like Sunday afternoons. There is no fixed plan, no to-do list, nothing to be gained. You potter about in your house, you converse for the sake of conversing, and sometimes stumble on just what you were looking for.
Thank you so much for your sweet and beautiful comment.
This is absolutely true. All beautiful and profoundly valuable things require effort and sacrifice; life is not just about taking, and it certainly isn't about efficiency. Not seeking out more friends or doing as much to keep friendships alive is a major regret, and something I'm in the process of rectifying. God ultimately helps you correct this, if you let Him, and I'm grateful for that!
I have known a man called Tim all my life. He was a friend of a friend of my father's, and as a child we would spend long summer days on the pebbled beach by his house, playing in the clay ponds, and chasing hares through the underbrush. He was an older gay man, quite posh, so alienated from his family, but through his friends he had acquired many surrogate families to make up for it. Somehow, from the age fourteen, we became friends. We would have tea at his flat in London, always with raspberries, and together we would sit in the little patch of sun that made its way across his roof everyday. He had been many things: a probation officer, a filmmaker, and a poet and it always felt like an unbelievable privilege to talk to him. He was extremely erudite - he had an extraordinary memory for Bacon and Donne - and in many ways I was completely under qualified to be there, but I always found myself back. The humility he displayed in those early years still astounds me. Even now, it remains. Recently, I visited him in hospital. Someone whispered in his ear that I was there to see him and he gasped - drawing one of those heaving shallow breaths only taken by the very sick. His blue eyes rolled over to me slowly as he struggled to turn his head: 'Oh I must get up to greet you,' he said, smiling. He was also the only person close to me deeply committed to his faith. It was him I turned to when, at fifteen, I was first decimated by the realisation that there were people I loved who would disappear from my life for no reason. The grace of his response, founded in a wisdom of these things unfortunately common among queer men of his age, is something I will never forget.
I say all this because reading your writing, I am reminded of him. Perhaps it's the upbringing surrounded by anachronism, or the humility that derives itself from a latent arrogance, but I saw a logic that would have captivated him, and a spirit that seemed to, if I may, echo his own.
He died on December 31st of 2024. It was all very quick; he remained graceful to the end. To be reminded of him now has brought me great joy. To know that spirits like his own are not dying out with his generation, but will remain with us is a wonderful consolation. Thank you.
Thank you so much for this beautiful comment. I am very moved by your account of this lovely man, and I am so glad this piece brought you some joy and consolation. He sounds like he was a total delight, and a wonderful companion. It's a tremendous gift to have been able to spend time with such wise and tender souls, and I am sure your company was as much of a blessing to him as his was to you. My condolences as well.
I was recently helping a friend break into their brand new bong and smoking with an older girl I like at my house in the evening with the pixie lights turned on in our backyard and she asked me if I feel yearning, and I, flustered and bumblingly, said something like, “Nah, idk, I’m just trying to let life live, you know?” 💀💀💀; love and friendship are truly foolish and ludicrous, but I particularly love the last lines of this piece; better to touch someone, or better yet, to be touched, even if it means to be destroyed rather than just watch your fantasies and possibilities disappear into the oblivion of time; I think the end of Aristotle’s De Anima claims that out of the 5 senses, the sense of touch is closest to the essence of the Soul, I don’t know why this is, but it sounds beautiful so it must be true, right?; Amazing as always, but this does not need to be said, Miriam, to broken hearts once again, to more than just good intentions, and more semen (and squirt!) spilt, but it will be probably be too late by the time we realize it was spilt in the first place!
lovely piece, Miriam. Thank you for writing.
Thank you so much. I really appreciate it x
if catholic converts existed along the beam on a fulcrum i firmly believe you would be the effort to balance jd vance's load
This made me laugh! You are too kind. Thank you so much for reading. I deeply appreciate being seen and heard
your style is truly astounding - i always look forward to your pieces :)
It turns out great minds think alike, as I've been recently pondering friendship as well. Perhaps differently than you I've found quite a lot of happiness in friendship, even so that being single for all of my adult life has been quietly bearable in so far as I have reams and reams of girlfriends. Precisely the fact that there is nothing to be gained in friendship makes it so ludicrous and somehow attractive, it really is a waste of time. Maybe friends are like Sunday afternoons. There is no fixed plan, no to-do list, nothing to be gained. You potter about in your house, you converse for the sake of conversing, and sometimes stumble on just what you were looking for.
Thank you so much for your sweet and beautiful comment.
This is absolutely true. All beautiful and profoundly valuable things require effort and sacrifice; life is not just about taking, and it certainly isn't about efficiency. Not seeking out more friends or doing as much to keep friendships alive is a major regret, and something I'm in the process of rectifying. God ultimately helps you correct this, if you let Him, and I'm grateful for that!
All my good wishes <3