As many of you know Birdsong’s youngest daughter passed away in September of this year. She was twenty five and had just completed college and had begun graduate school. It has been a tragic loss for our family. Now, at the end of the year we have been going through Krystal’s personal effects. Krystal was always a good writer. She tried her hand at poetry, song writing and short stories. I have been going through one of her “composition books,” as she called them, and would like to share a few of her pieces with all of you. They are interesting pieces but I do not know what they mean. Do you? Here goes:
Two years to live. In some cases one. By reading your palm one could easily tell. Look what I do for you — I write, I love, I teach, I pray. The green, brown, and black in your eyes tell your tale — every day. I never used to do it this way, you never used to. It was simple joys back then (when I knew you better). Not happy trees and fuzzy floors. It was simple joys back then (when I knew you better). Not colors, suiggles and flying. I’m sure Pablo Neruda and Mozart and security guards at the “Y” had something to say about it. Perhaps you will listen to them, since you won’t look at what I do for you.
— Krystal Birdsong 12/2/97
“Happy Valentines Day”
I am tired, not for sleep, for something more — something eternal. Red lights, a beautiful picture I wish I could capture witha pink and blue fly — I mean camera. Insane, crazy fear! Okay, the price is too high for death. Believe me, I am what I say. What a beautiful Crystal Dream! Happy Valentine’s Day.
Shapes, colors, gravy, more! more! more! I need more dreams (fish or pizza, make up your mind, damnit). Too much exclamation, not enough punctuation! get it? Shall this be one long serenade — oh well, no more philosophy. Foxy one — please. Yes, perfect! Transexuals, homosexuals, bisexuals, and one man in a black three piece suit. And that is how it ends — I wish you could see…
But now back after a short break — actually a long italian fight after the opera. It’s all so fake; watch it, drink it — like BLOOD! (only in the movies my beloved). Shortly after the moon will become red, like my life — but my life inside you.
Krystal Birdsong 2/13/98