Life's random acts of cruelty bring out the best in some people. Franz Wright has the same disease which took our paternal hero from us a little over two years ago. His voiced words comforted me then as I mourned our loss, and I took possession of a few of them to use as my battle cry when life forces me to engage it in Warrior mode. I count myself honored and privileged to have received this today. Please open your heart to this opportunity to read and reflect upon such deep sincerity. -Murat
August 17, 2010/F.Wright
I feel so much dread that I might do things to make my friends feel ashamed of me. My wish is to go out the Franz people seemed to like and at times draw inspiration from. If that is to be my last gift to them, my last task or final atonement, it is a very small thing, not worth that much, but it is all I have. I have failed the people I loved most in my life so many times that it is a wonder all of them did not abandon me. Yet in the end, so many have remained. That is what astonishes me.
But I need everyone to know this: I would do it all again, precise to the second I’d live again the life I was honored with and loved so terribly and voraciously, in spite of brief and highly sporadic occasions when I had every intention of killing it. It will sound contradictory because, for one thing, it is contradictory, but I have always been thrilled, physiologically thrilled at these last words of the mountainous Martin Luther King, Jr.: I just want to do God’s will.
Looking back, it is clear that I was going to keep getting my face kicked in, and worse, continue doing harm to others, to the good-hearted sensitive and brilliant, that is, as they are the most fragile, vulnerable and easily manipulated. I was not so gradiose as to put it to myself quite this way, not consciously certainly, I knew better than that. Still it was getting more and more obvious that all that shit was continuing unabated, all that meaningless waste of time which, as Scott Cairns has said so much more beautifully, is all sin is. I knew it would go on and on, and at the same time I myself would go on living in either the terror of or the horrible little dark wish for the time when it would be stopped, and something finally stomped it into paralysis.
That very thing had already happened, in fact, about ten times or so since I was fifteen, not to mention the couple before I reached that august age. But in my mid-forties I one dead day found myself standing in a bathtub half filled with cold water and on the verge of dropping into it every electrical appliance I could find in the apartment, all securely plugged into a sturdy extension cord—I see that cramped and flourescent last room, and I see my sins before me. I prepared to see the x-ray of horror in the dark or its dark x-ray in a white glare, and considered for a moment the surprise of the woman I’d lived with for fifteen years when she got home. In spite of all the years and decades I had put into it, the strenuously exercized will to survive at any cost, and at the cost of anyone else in close vicinity, the will to be the last one left standing with absolute disreguard for the fate of others, no one would be left standing, and the room would be vacant of me for many hours, the world vacant of me forever.
The fact is I did commit suicide. I really and truly did let fall all those household appliances, gigantic radios, hair-dryers, etc., into the cold water right up over my ankles, standing there in my shitty underwear, unshaven, the aghast and hysterical ghost or vegetable-version of the person I’d been. It is also clearly the case that I was not killed, but regarding that I have never addressed You. What I found was You and where You apparently dwell, where there is positively nowhere left to turn.
I implored You to recall my childhood love of You, Old and New Testaments cover to cover more than once by the time I was twelve, the love for Your words, Your silent voice—and knocked again, and was silenced, and as You had long ago assured me, I was immediately and, it goes without saying, without regard for merit, offered entrance into Your infinite mercy and peace. And I have had to relearn how to do this, how to ask and knock so many times, so many, many times. I have, at this point in my life, at this point perhaps near the end of my life, no fear or any sense of being assailed, or hunted down, or unfairly singled out, or anything of the kind. I did learn not learn yesterday that no exception will be made for me when it comes to the fate of every human being, star, or leaf. My experience has shown me and thoroughly convinced me that every ordeal I remember and imagine, the worse the better, has led me unfailingly to a golden place, the very one I would have wanted but could not otherwise, by my own efforts, have reached, so busy was I wandering in darkness up and down the world. If I find myself facing the last great ordeal, I intend to get it right this time. To die trying. To go down raging in praise, full of faith that after I am torn to pieces, as so many times before, I will not only survive, I will be raised up, and I will see the beauty of Your house.