Why

Where Stargazing pokes at Nightwalking's annual holidays

“There's no use in crying, it's all over
And I know there will always be another day
Well my heart will rise up with the morning sun
And the hurt I feel will simply melt away.

You make me feel I just can't carry on
But I know I won't always be that way
'Cos my heart will rise up with the morning sun
And the hurt I feel will simply melt away.

You don't have to give up,
Why is it all wrong,
Why don't you love me,
Why won't you just be strong.”

—Your holiday gift from Christine McVie, “Why,” from Mystery to Me

Why.

Why did we have to lose Christine McVie?

A: “Because no one lives forever, my child.”

Q: Why doesn’t everyone live forever? I’m asking Why. Why why why why why why. why.

A: “Maybe living forever wouldn’t be such a good idea? Just replying with a question.”

This is ridicuouls like the word ridiculous spelled like I just spelled it, right? What. Why is that a problem? You ask why but you don’t add the question mark and I get confused because I’m used to it “in the normal way.”

I grew up with Big Fat Lolling About Happy As Clammy Clam Question Marks! Oh man they were the size of city blocks and often put in Easter parades. Barky big clams puffed up and farty after days in the sun so I don’t know what they did with them after the parade but my guess is they were deflated and folded up into quonset huts outside of New Jersey. And then used by the military.

Just a guess.

So my first word was “Why?” Or maybe “What?” Like in “Daddy, what does that say?” Which is like why, but what is a safe entree into any query, it seems.

But then second was definitely “Why?”

“Daddy, why is the sky blue?”

“Because it’s blue, Mike. Now shuddup and finish your puzzle.”

Nope, sorry doggy Daddy, ain’t gonna do it.

I need more. MORE.

Like, why did I title this section of the essay with a period? What does a period do? Why did I do that? (I’m already loving this stupid, stupid, stupid post. Because I’m weird that way. Or am I?) Because I was sure questions had a place in discourse. Sometimes they were questions. Other times they were assertions—big demands, foot stompin’ down, ain’t fuckin’ moving til I get an answer or ANSWER demands. Not a question. A summons: You Must Appear.

That’s why I love Why.

Why is my breathing IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT. If I don’t ask Why I’m not breathing. If I’m not breathing I’m dying. So. WHY. Suckin’ wind on Why.

“Why is it all wrong” is not a question—goddamnit Christine, I’m missing you again and its unfair and insane and—it’s Nightwalking. It’s an emotion—a snarl, a growl, a warning to step away. But—

“There will always be another day,” you whisper back. My heart swings toward that…

Don’t you think you’ve felt that too?

If not now when or why or…

Why…

Or maybe it’s even a threat!

“Why I oughta…” Because of what’s left out, the vague ellipse of the threat seems either comical or actually threatening.

Hey, whatever situation you’re in.

My situation changed and continues to change. I find that disturbing, since I don’t know how to plan things given the shifting sands. Maybe you know what I mean. That’s where those squiggly little ellipses come in. I don’t know. Why… “…don’t you take a seat and explain how you got here?”

I don’t read most of what I see on the Internet.

I think you do that too. So, WHY…

Those ellipses (singular, ellipsis). They mean being open… spaciousness and inclusion… It’s that moment when the host opens the doors and graciously lets you in…

Hey… C’mon in!

So I may want to leave this.

This?

Great question.

Could be Substack, could be all Internet everything. There are people who have done it. There are those who wonder…

[c’mon, you got it]

I’m not sure, so I need to ask why. Why! Why the screamer? What’s a screamer? A screamer is a question and why aren’t you asking a question? So I’m questioning why you’re using a screamer and not a query.

Why?

Why indeed!

This is Daytalking. It’s not talking talking and no way should it be

it’s a place to forget the rules because

you’re about to say something you

shouldn’t

!!!!!!!!!!

So I did cry when she died and that’s okay and I felt better because I did and I even got to share stuff about her with my classically stiff male friends and hated that we had to be that way but be that way we must and we do and I guess she would’ve grinned and gotten herself a stiff drink and sat back down at the piano and finish off an acidic commentary on why men are such fucking assholes but god love ’em they’re like sentient dogs and why not just pet them occasionally and let them piss anywhere but in the front room?

Why not? Wh—

Why!

Why, it’s an odd thing you brought that up! Why do I like you? Why do you like me? Why! Yes, why! I need to know. Like, YESTERDAY NEED TO KNOW. Like a dog needs a scritch YESTERDAY.

For fuck’s sake, give it if you got it.

It’s an excited form of why. (Maybe the best why? I don’t know but if we stick around there may be a fistfight. You want that, right? Stick around it’s coming…a fistfight for our souls, if we indeed have them which I suspect we do).

—But somebody, or something, interrupts that. Hey hey hey, what’s going on here? Why the raised fists and loud voices? (Mmmmmm….calming questioning curilycue piece of the puzzle, you!) —Stop this immediately. Why I outta…!

Bombs away dream babies.

From Allen Christian’s House of Balls, Minneapolis, MN (Photo by StoryShed Media LLC).

Why I oughta ... thank

Both Are True

for being an amazing mensch.

Seriously. I asked Alex a somewhat facetious question about a real creative dilemma and he responded with a deliberate, thoughtful post, which you can read for yourself here:

where do I go after Twitter?

?Why!

The answers are there, but even more tantalzing is that how anybody can even remotely feel connected to anyone (it’s gotta be dumbing down on a molecular level) in the first place because we’re all mysteries to each other and even more so (but less confronted) mysteries to ourselves. Until the day we die.

And then, no one knows. Which was part of the plan, right?

Indeed. Why!

But to follow up on our exchange prior to his publishing, I’m actively working on a side creative project that IS a TV drama series. It covers all the things I dearly love: storytelling, music, art, culture—and human beings trying to grow and expand (and, unfortunately, destroy). The series is based on a Guy who died in 1981, but changed a lot of lives (and continues to do so) for the better. I loved what Alex said:

“Fuck em. Fuck the doubt by which I mean, for legal purposes, to acknowledge the doubt and say hi and say that its ok for it to be there blah blah but also: tell it to fuck off a little bit. Maybe for tonight. It can come back tomorrow, you know it will regardless.”

Goddamnit. For a Mebruary pre-retiree, you’re one sharp cookie Alex—like, I cut my hand on your freakin’ razor snap pastry. And wow So much bookowski, so little time. Alex, an early Xmas present for you my wise friend:

Why!

Because joy.

And gratitude.

And the blue whore of nowhere.

Thank you, Alex. Thank you for Letttinme Be Mice Elf Agin!

Why?

“There’s no use in crying.”

Goddamnit, Chris, I get that. “It’s all over,” and yeah yeah yeah it is. But why? Why is it over? Endings always seem to come too suddenly. Sometimes, it’s a full-body slam and you’re out. I hate being out. I miss being in.

But dear dear Christine, to lose you to the inevitable void was a hard path to walk this month, like all the hard paths after all my passing Mebruaries.

They just get heavier. And somehow we get smaller and creakier. Creakier and tiny. Frail and forgettier. But something has to pull us—Me—You—through.

I call it Stargazing.

Watch this now. I IMPLORE you, please, it’s beautiful:

Freedom in Uncertainty

Right now I don’t care how old you are (or think how old you think you are), this is a theme that will extend into your dreams and through all your (current and past) relationships and into your last breath—yeah it’s that good.

Why is it all wrong

Thank you, Christine, for the Nightwalking. It wasn’t always so screwy, and you basically told John “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow” because it IS all wrong now and maybe because my thinking might be wrong. That’s why people like you (virtually) and Alex and all my subscribers exist. It isn’t exactly “wrong,” it’s just “in play.” And that’s okay. It’s alright.

Why don’t you love me

You can’t make anyone love you. I get that. I would offer that you should expect to be hated. You can work up from that, no? Love always suprises me. As it should do for you. If you’re lookin’ for love, you’re not gonna get it. That’s why. Where are you gonna get the hugs? Maybe from no one. If you get them, feel the juice and give it back.

Why won’t you just be strong

Just this past week, someone—a longtime friend—questioned my will. Will = strength. But strength is < connection. Sometimes you can surprise yourself about your own strength. I’ve seen this for myself over the years and I get teary about it. I’m amazed, even if no one else is there to witness it.

The pain that led up to that struggle takes over the story, almost to the point that the pain IS the story. But that’s a lie. Pain is not the story—it’s just change, right?

So flip the script.

Fleetwood Mac, "Why"

Feeling pain? Great! You’re changing. You’re growing. You’re becoming a better person—someone I’d love to meet.

Like all my subscribers—I wish I could get all 60 of us in a room and just—do some Daytalking.

But wait, that’s already here.

Why can’t we?