Monday, September 15, 2008


my sister wrote this great post about being rescued, and it has me thinking, and remembering.

I remember the time this kid pulled off katie's wig and laughed at her, and I beat him christmas story style (sitting on his chest and punching his face with both hands until a teacher pulled me off).

I remember a time when I was talking to my family about some kids who were picking on me, and the next day after school, as some kid started shoving me to the ground, I got this huge smile as I saw my two older brothers walk towards us. they asked what I was smiling about and I just pointed and said "those are my brothers". danny told me to go home, and I did, leaving the bullies with my brothers, and I was never picked on ever again.

I remember a time when a man in a store was harassing brooke, and when he reached over and touched her I told him to get his hand off her. I could feel the blood in my face and I knew I was ready to hit him, and he knew it too. he apologized and walked away.

I remember a little over ten years ago, when my friend joe suddenly passed away, how I wept harder than I ever knew possible, and how a good friend held me at the side of his grave and maybe for the first time showed me what it meant to help carry a piece of someone's grief.

I remember so many times and so many stories I've lived through with my friends, where hope has seemed so far away, and where the options for rescue seem so vague and unreachable. thinking of it now, I can see the eyes of so many people I have failed.

my dog is dying, I think. she's old and I'm afraid that the end could be near. and tonight, as brooke held her still, eerily unmoving body in her arms and stroked her fur and wiped away her tears, I held out my typical optimism that she'll be fine, that ultimately things are working out for good.

but if I'm honest, I'll admit that in the dark corners of my soul, the places I see when I am quiet and alone, and most clearly when I am sitting alone with my music, that I am afraid that things are not working out for good, that things are unraveling at a fast pace, that I am out of control, that people and things are dying, and that I need to be rescued. that I am incapable of saving or rescuing anybody.

and that scares me. the rescuers are all so incapable.

I've been writing a lot of music lately. it always goes that way. I finish a record and immediately go back to writing. I wrote one of the best songs of my life. it was about hope and about loss and about mercy. and then I lost it (yesterday). I had it scribbled on a piece of paper and now its gone, accidentally thrown away. and it's fitting, because the songs I write are really only for me, I hardly ever share them with anybody, and this one, this song about hope and about rescue, I couldn't even keep it for me.

some partially related thoughts from clint.


Clint Wells said...

i just said this to you on ichat. but your readers should hear it too.

Why the fuck did you not record that song? ALWAYS RECORD. ALWAYS.

sheesh. nice post.

Brian T. Murphy said...

clint you know what your problem is? you cuss too much. that is exactly what your problem is.

Brian T. Murphy said...

oh, and you know why I didn't record it.

The Silent Warrior said...

You have some steady writing, Brian, steady as we get, anyways.

Liz said...

you have such a beautiful relationship with your sister.

The Halls said...

your words are beautiful, brian.

Anonymous said...

don't forget the time you punched that kid in the face for tapping on the back of your head in mr. wallace's class...

Katie said...

I love you Brian. And I am so sorry about Dingo. You are so right about the continuing need to be rescued. Thanks for all the times you've rescued me.

Jon Black said...

I learn more about myself when I'm honest about my great need to be rescued. Thanks for your honesty.

evan said...

sorry Murph.

Liz said...

favorite memory of dingo:

i loved watching her freak out when you would dance. that coupled with you dancing = one of the funniest things i've ever seen.

i hope burying her brought you and brooke some closure and some peace. she was a good dog.