January 31, 2015

The mood and pace shift like the weather. An earthquake approaches. Volcanos erupt and return to dormancy, cleansing the land for new life to grow.

I half-heartedly journeyed forth looking for adventure to take my mind off a mixture of boredom, confusion, and love. In the process, I managed to convince someone to come home with me.

It was sadly easy. I am beginning to understand where a lot of women are coming from. Women can smell the desperation of a lot of men who are pretty much standing around in bars with their cocks in their hands in a row. Women walk by and say, ‘Yes, no, no, no, no, no, no, yes! No, no, no, no, no, no, yes! No, no, yes! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no’ just like in “History of the World: Part I”‘.

I do not know her name, nor will I ever. I barely knew anything about her. I guess this was me running away from any romantic feelings I might be feeling, to remind myself they are not real.

Around 3am, I wake up, look over, and there is someone in my bed I do not know. I epically just want to be alone. My subconscious blurts out, ‘Why are you still here? Get the f-out.’

And as the rest of my mind awoke, I realized how rude that was, but I kept my mouth closed, because any other words would just be social convention, and not how I truly felt.

I’ll leave it to your imagination what happened next. Some things were broken, but now I am alone, and, like old McDonald, I’m lovin’ it.

I believe I triggered myself by listening to “Bread and Butter” by Hugo. He says, “I’m gonna spread you like butter, get it on my breath, don’t want no other girl in my bed.”

Crass, perhaps. Poetic, undoubtedly!

I believe I was disgusted with myself, and with a society that makes it so hard to just be happy. Just-be-happy!

Sure, she could stay. We might talk about dreams, goals, beliefs. She could project all her deluded fantasies onto me. I could then proceed to break each one of them. Whatever love she felt would eventually fade until something shiny and new came along for the process to begin all over again. No.

I say no to serial monogamy. It’s the serial part that offends me. It’s a farce. Someone is special enough to let your options fall by the wayside, until magically, they are suddenly not special enough, after one month? Two? Two years? Who cares! All the words professed become, what? Were they ever meant then, if they are so easily discarded?

No, I know what I am. That woman did not know me before yesterday. I was nothing to her, and one day in the future, I will be nothing to her again. I might as well be nothing the entire time.

And after she left, I mentally wrestled with that weak, sentimental boy inside who wishes for understanding and unconditional love. I am now sitting down to watch “The Forsyte Saga”. If there are any literary men I identify with, there are four:

1. Soames Forsyte (The Forsyte Saga)


2. Rhett Butler (Gone With the Wind)


3. Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights)


4. Gilgamesh (The Epic of Gilgamesh)


#1: Soames Forsyte passionately and possessively loved a woman who could never, ever, love him. He gave her everything materialistically, but he was just missing that unexplainable thing that she was naturally attracted to (which cannot be negotiated with). It was like banging his head against a brick wall, and he truly thought he could make it budge.

You can’t. I can’t. It is painful, but I have accepted that I have a tendency to be Soames: choose the wrong woman just to replay the needy boy whose mother did not love him, in some weird attempt to gain the affection I was never able to gain in childhood, and win this time around as an adult.

Instead of that broken record, I take detached and unattached to the next level to avoid this particular character flaw. Sure, it might be another character flaw to seem so uncaring, but it is the only healthy way for me.

Women who are meant to stick around, we will orbit one another for as long as we are meant to. Good riddance to the others.

#2: Rhett Butler: Also, ironically, fell in love with the wrong woman, and is estranged from his family. I like that Rhett waited around for Scarlett in his heart, but not physically. He had his fun, and I feel that is much healthier than Soames stalker-rapist energy. I also dig the cad-like, rogue quality. Rhett is such an iconoclast, and because I do not think any definition or word is sacred, that is where we understand one another, to laugh at society’s rigid rules, and be ok to watch it all crumble and fall while still laughing, yet paradoxically, still defend certain concepts we deem worthy.

Lastly, Rhett and Soames both learned and accepted that no woman, except for their children (they both had daughters), could love them in a way they were seeking.

Sadly, I have come to the same conclusion, if I ever have children. It is freeing when you just stop expecting something, and accept whatever it is people have to offer, deciding if it is worthy, or if time is better spent moving on.

#3: Heathcliff.

So, we come full circle past my cynicism, which is only a layer to protect my inner, eternal romantic. I do only want one woman in my bed. I want to love her past time and eternity. The trick: Cathy does not exist, except in the mad rambling fantasies of your mind. Such unconditional love and mad, frantic passion would be unhealthy on a constant basis. It is like desiring to eat 300lbs of chocolate in one day.

#4: Gilgamesh

Gilgamesh overcomes lust and temptations of the flesh to stay true to his goals and his life’s purpose. Once a man is no longer ruled by his sexual thirst, the beast is snarling, yet held tightly on a leash, and he can just walk away from a feast lying on a silver platter, that is a man that is a force to be reckoned with. You have to set aside games, and come to his table as an equal.

And if you do not, he will survive just fine if you leave, truly hope you find better, and dare you never to return.

Now, time to sit back and watch Soames get his heart broken as society and women crush his balls. It takes 20 or so years, but the ending is the best, when he finally walks away to never look back.

That is freedom. That is detached. That is the way things must be from the beginning for myself: cursed to roam, cursed to freedom, accepting my path.


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