I suppose a relationship is much like a line dance. You look up at a new face, smile, bow, circle each other, then join hands and promenade past all the waiting eyes, but all too soon you have to let go and give her up to someone new and quite possibly better. But eventually the fiddler plays a new tune and you find someone who will put up with a few sore toes to dance with you the rest of the night.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
I cry for you, yet would I not
Have you one tear let fall for me.
For in your empathy, you would
But multiply the pain I flee
Life may not, not shall it e’er
Align in perfect, pleasing lines
But shall ever, in its angles,
Break mens’ hearts and crush mens’ minds
(Very definitely NOT for Pickles)
(Very definitely NOT for Pickles)
I have lately found myself searching for an unnatural, unattainable goal. Yet it seems my soul depends on it. It is not so much an item as a view.
The object of my search? Steps. The product of man’s attempt to subdivide the continuous processes of life into a series of attainable goals; his futile attempts to make order in an outwardly chaotic world.
Steps are unnatural divisions in continuous processes. They were never meant to be. Yet we persist in trying to understand our surroundings. We label, categorize and analyze, and still we do not, no, can not comprehend them.
We are such products of our culture that many, including myself, feel that we cannot exist without steps, a simple, monochrome path condensed from the messy colours of life. But we can’t always live this way. The path may end, or we may eventually reject it as the trite instructions of less intelligent or informed men.
When this time comes, you must, as others, take one of the hardest steps you have ever followed: You must step into the truth; the vague grey that is only shaded from our eyes by the black and white lenses we willingly don for the sake of simplicity and order. So step out, into the chaos: It’s better on the outside.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
A splash, and WHOOSH! I am spinning over the edge of the world, enveloped in the spray of a never-ending cascade. I fall. And yet still I fall. And though I am in flight, curiously, I have no fear of falling. It is as a dream, yet it is not a dream. I laugh a little as the thought flits across my mind, “The cartographers were wrong.” It is a strangely humorous idea. So much effort for such small gain, I reflect: How rarely do we trouble ourselves to learn, preferring instead the opinions of those we label ‘experts.’ Experts like mapmakers, those gods who create our composite visions of the landmasses and oceans on which we exist. And yet even gods may err.
I feel the tickle of foam across my skin as I float downward, my momentum carrying me ever on. Is it still down, I wonder, if there is no earth beneath, no gravity to draw me in? I see the thundering water surrounding me thin as it vaporises in the bright air and forms a light fog over all. There has always been a fog over the eyes and minds of men, I think. Try as we might, and do, yet the answers ever elude us. Just as solidity eludes my feet, I observe.
Firm footing is a precious commodity: Those who may find it, find with it peace and strength, byproducts of a value to rival their parent. But there will always be those who fall, as I continue to fall.
Then abruptly, impact. I hear a splash, years from my first, and as the coolness envelops me, I find that this one too is mine. I sink into the blue for a moment, an eternity. And then I am up and free and breathing. I blink away droplets, and stare once more at the waterfall from whose heights I have just leapt. I try and recall my thoughts, but they flow away like water, evading my grasp. Strangely sad at a loss I do not understand, a barely remembered moment of absolute clarity, I push their memory far into a dusty corner, safe for another day. Turning away, I smile again as I join my laughing friends and plunge once more into the cold, cold depths below.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
At first there was One
The One was alone
The One stayed alone for the years of his life
The years that all mattered
The years that near killed him
The years in which Two might have saved or destroyed him
And then there was One again
The years they had taught him
That, tho’ he might survive, he never would live
The years, painful, taught him
That though lonely, he might
Ne’er fix his shattered heart, broken in two
Then One came and fixed him
One again was his heart
She held it there whole, for all ‘round to see
One Love, it had found him
They lived, happy after
And One married One, and Two became Three.
Weird + random alert! To all those who do not appreciate abstract thinking: Proceed at risk of disgust!
Anyway... Here it is.
Love is one of the strongest emotions extant. It can be manifested in so many ways that it's sometimes nearly unrecognizable. Love is an emotion usually associated with the heart. This springs from an correlation of the greatest emotion with the foremost bodily organ, in which it is often felt. Emotions are just as often manifested in a different location, however; e.g., the stomach.
When you see her, your stomach tightens (the good way).
When she flirts, your stomach spawns butterflies.
When she smiles, your stomach sticks in your throat.
When she says you're cute; double butterflies.
When she says she likes you as more than a friend, your stomach ties itself in knots, thus squashing your
lungs and rendering you incapable of breathing.
When you kiss, your stomach fills with butterflies, ties itself in knots, squashes your lungs, and makes your head explode.
Skip all the happy bits in the middle.
When she becomes distant, your stomach fills with rocks, permanently.
When she leaves, your stomach fills with bile, and,
When she marries some other guy, your stomach explodes, and you die inside.
So perhaps we should rethink our associations.
Stomach emoticon, anyone?