24 posts tagged “love?”

There are worse thing than dying alone. Living alone. Being alone. I suppose.

What do you have to say for yourself? I am proud of my life and the things that I have done. Proud of myself and the loner I've become.

Say Anything isn't music. It's a fuckin' autobiography. Seriously, there's never been anything else I've listened to that has so closely identified with my own feelings.

"Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt."
- Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Unfortunately, in disagreement with the late and great Mr. Vonnegut, whom I hold in high esteem, I must say otherwise. I have reached an equilibrium between the beast of my ever-looming depression and that small cinder of hope that I kindle in the chambers of my figurative heart. Everything is beautiful, but everything hurts. I am miserable, however, this is a misery I can live with.

"My father never went to college so it was really important I go to college. After college, I called him long distance and said, now what?
My dad didn't know, so he said get a job.
When I got a job and turned twenty-five, long distance, I said, now what? My dad didn't know, so he said, get married.
I'm a thirty-year-old boy, and I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer I need."
- Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

I have lived my entire life in the shadow of my own intelligence. I was ear-marked for advanced placement in first, third, and fifth grade. My mother fought vehemently against it each time, wanting me to grow up with my peers, my friends. I spent most of my early educational life bored. The latter part of my educational career has been spent exasperated at the professors and teachers I've endured. Friends make jokes that I know everything. People who've just met me comment on my intelligence, as it inevitably comes through in conversation. I live with the fear that I will never match the expectations that others might have for me. I fear that I will never be worthy of this brain I have been gifted with.

"Don't do anything by half. If you love someone, love them with all your soul. When you go to work, work your ass off. When you hate someone, hate them until it hurts"."
- Henry Rollins

I dive wholeheartedly into things. I feel a lot. I think a lot. If something, anything is worth doing, then I throw myself into it with the vigor of a zealot and should things go badly I pick up the pieces and sew myself back together as best I can. This has been my undoing many times but the clarity with which is allows me to see at some moments makes it worth it. It is questionable whether or not I invest too much of myself in other people, however, the beauty that even a fraction of them show makes the gamble worth it. As I mentioned earlier, everything is beautiful and everything hurts. The people with whom I associate, the people who I call my friends are magnificent and glorious testaments to what any person should aspire to be. I fear sometimes that I may seem creepy, but I try to remind them of this when I can. I would remind them more were I able.

"The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything."
 - Friedrich Nietzsche

I love too easily. The counter to that point is that there is no limit to the love I have to give. Yes, my heart has been broken. Uneasily mended, but still it beats. I am not afraid of love. I do not fear the inevitable breaking of that shoddily repaired organ which beats in my chest. I throw myself willingly to the tigers of Eros knowing I will not come away unscathed.

This odd balance inside me leaves me at a loss. I do not wallow in my misery, but I acknowledge it's existence. I do not hope, yet I look for the best in situations. I can survive in this state, but would one truly classify this as living? For the moment there is naught else I can do. I draw breath, I place one foot in front of the other, and I trudge along as I am able.

There, just beyond the light's reach, that is where my heart lies. Draped in the shadows of doubt, fear, and uncertainty it beats slowly. The sound of a ragged bellow worked by a weak arm echoes from that dark place, the thin wheezing signaling the futile attempt to stoke whatever embers remain. The fire has burned out.

A thin and ancient gypsy woman once told my fortune at a carnival. Her nose was crooked with a wart above her left nostril. Her cheeks were lined with wrinkles and sagged like the jowls of a sow. Her eyes, however, were deep set gems in sunken recesses that burned with clarity and life. From across a small, felt lined table she dealt me a hand of ten cards, laid out in the tradition of the cross. A silent tsk, tsk slipped from her lips, which set themselves downward. She looked at me with those fierce eyes and splayed her gnarled hands above the card spread. I remember the well kept condition of her fingernails, the lines of her knuckles. Focusing on minute details instead of what lay below her aged fingers. The reading was short, as the cards dealt all agreed on many points, like a caucus for dismal news. The last words I heard from her dry, drawn lips were, "It's unfortunate and I am sorry."

I apologize. This is all off the cuff.

I miss you. Gods, how I miss you. I screwed things up as I usually do.

I should have met you. The timing wasn't right, obviously. I wish it had been.

I want to comfort you. I want to hold you in my arms and tell you that everything will be alright.

There is nothing in me except to help people. Succor people. Nurse them to their best.

I am so happy and proud of you. I cannot help but weep at what you have done.

I wish I were a stronger man. A better man. I might be worthy of any of you.

But I am not. I am human. I am weak. I am a cold and broken man crying Hallelujuah.

If you want a lover
Ill do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
Ill wear a mask for you.

04 - I'm Your Man

Leonard Cohen

But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing; the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up if you love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky. But believe me- it’s better to look at the sky than to live there. Such an empty place; so vague. just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear…
- Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's

I've given my heart to too many wild things. It has been carried away to that country where the thunder disappears. There's no return from that place. Just like there's no country for poets or old men.

I'm left with a chest as empty and open as the sky, gray and cloudless on an overcast summer evening, right before the rain begins to descend upon the soil.

I live in that space. That empty, open space. Open as the plains. I hunt for pieces of the heart that used to be there. Search them out like artifacts of a tribe from previous eras. I am unsuccessful. There is nothing left.

Always out of reach. Everything always out of reach. My own heart. Women. Success. Just a hair's breadth away, but might as well be across the Milky Way.

Holding together, though the vacation period of unemployment has passed and I'm now slamming into the first stages of depression. I've avoided it thus far, as the first three weeks I was unemployed I was traveling cross-country and had an agenda. Presently, life consists of searching for new job postings in the morning, walking the dog, laying out by the pool, writing, and spending what time I can with the redhead. Thus is a much lighter schedule than I've kept in the past several years and it's killing me. I cannot stand this much time standing still.

I am teaching myself Adobe Flex. It's been years since I've learned a coding/computer language and I have certain uses for it. Also, 6 weeks is the amount of time it takes to learn 3 basic skills, 2 moderate skills, or 1 specialty skill. Figuring I start now, by September I should be alright, considering if I can make myself stick with it.

My economic situation is dismal and getting worse. My friend Chris is getting married August 15th and as part of the wedding party I must rent a tux. I had budgeted the amount I've paid for other weddings, however, the tuxedo Chris picked out is twice that amount and is only a dollar shy of being as much as my car payment. I'm dipping further into my dwindling savings to pony up for it, though. What else can you do for a friend? His bachelor party is this weekend as well, and while the room is paid for (by the other of our triumvirate) it is the duty of myself and the remainder of the groomsmen to keep him stupid drunk on the streets of Nashville Friday and Saturday night.

The redhead. I've not made much mention of her for a variety of reasons, though I suppose that part of my life needs be documented as well. She is the co-worker and fellow student of one of my ex-girlfriends (whom is married and still has drinks with me regularly). After seeing some work photos they had taken (they work at an animal hospital) I inquired jokingly to my ex about the "cute redhead". A week later, I'm sitting across from my ex and the redhead having drinks and we all end up back at my house watching movies. That was a Friday. The following Wednesday she came over by herself and since then it's been a back and forth with her coming here sometimes and very rarely me going to her house. She works two jobs and has been in a summer Histology course and this fall she'll be in her final semester of college for her B.S. in Biology.

She and I get along fine. She's a smartass. She's humorous. She's honest. She's absolutely lovely. The hiccup is that she has applied to veterinary schools, none of which are nearby. There is the (very) likely possibility that she'll be accepted and if so, she'd be gone after this semester. We've discussed this. It's (extremely) unfortunate that she I and I did not meet until now. She's not looking for a relationship as she doesn't want to have to end it shortly. As it stands, we enjoy one another's company. We enjoy the time we can spend together. I know my stake in this and we shall see what we shall see.

The rain beat down in sheets against the house and the windows at the head of my bed.
The pit-patting was punctuated with thunderclaps and the sky lighting up for brief moments.
The warm, relaxed body in my arms burrowed closer.

The rain came again, this time more forceful against the panes of glass.
The rap-tap-tapping was silenced by echoes of rolling sound.
The firm, writhing body in my arms drew closer.

The rain came and went over the course of this long night.
The wet soil has the promise of a new day, of new beginnings.
The girl in my arms as I awoke nestled closer.

This thing is what it is.

I never offered more than I could provide.
In honesty, I told you honestly where I stood.

I never wanted to hurt you.
You were far further down the rabbit hole than I.
Your Wonderland and mine was never on the same side of the looking glass.

I never claimed to be a good man.
Declarations mean so little in the face of actions.
My actions would never be enough to make you happy.
Unless my actions were to succumb entirely to your desires.

Trepidaciously, I smile.
I shall live and dwell in these moments until they are gone.
I will do my best to hold on to them in the days after.
I can only hope this is the end of the tunnel and not a locomotive.