Everyone knows the official story: God created the heavens and earth and finally got around to creating Adam in His own image, as well as creating all the beasts of the wild. After it became clear that Adam wasn't necessarily down with the whole wildlife thing God decided to steal a rib from him and finally got around to creating a more compatible mate for him to kick around Eden with.
We all know how that turned out.
What most people don't know, at least according to some ancient Jewish texts and writings, is that before Eve entered the picture Adam had a previous wife: Lilith. If her name is known at all by most people it is for the annual women's themed concerts of Lilith Fair- but even then most people wouldn't recognize the genesis of the name.
Now according to the stories, Lilith was not created from Adam's rib, but rather she was created in the same way and at the same time as Adam, thus making her his equal in every way. Big mistake on God's part. It seems that, in terms of fucking and pretty much everything else, Adam believed that Lilith existed for his own amusement, and that the only acceptable position for such activities was missionary, with Adam on top and Lilith taking the submissive position. What a pathetic, unimaginative dick.
Lilith was not amused. As Adam's equal, she believed that she had every right to make Adam assume the position and let her have her way with him, as her pleasure was just as important as his (I am not making any of this shit up, you just won't read about it in the King James Bible though). She also believed that in all matters Adam and her should be equals, and that as such, she wasn't about to take any shit from him.
To make a long story short: Lilith pretty much bailed on Adam after it became clear that his only interest in her was as his own personal blow-up doll. Now God, being the supreme being, got a bit pissed at Lilith and sent a couple of hoods after her to return her to Eden, which she was having none of. She preferred to wander the earth as an exile from Eden, seeking her own pleasure and paying whatever price there was to be paid.
History hasn't been kind to Lilith: she has been portrayed as a temptress who leads men astray and as a destroyer of children. Since history is pretty much written by men, this is unsurprising. But what was her sin really? To expect the same pleasure and enjoyment and respect that Adam thought was his right doesn't seem like an egregious offense. I am willing to bet that if Adam had a bit more imagination that he and Lilith probably would still be in Eden, screwing like rabbits and laying in fields of clover.
I wonder what ran through Adam's head later in life, after being expelled from the Garden and fathering a fucked up brood of children with his nice submissive wife. Did he ever look back and wonder how things would have been if he had only been willing to accept Lilith as his equal. Did he ever look over at Eve in the middle of the night and think: I gave up Eden for this? Probably not. He was probably like so many other people who don't have the capacity to appreciate what they truly have, and it would never occur to him that, in comparison, Eve would never be able to measure up to Lilith.
The woman I love has a name, but I won't use it here. I will just call her Lilith, and I revel in the fact that she is more than my equal in every way. I happily submit to her every desire, and Eden exists wherever she and I happen to be. The fact that her Adam doesn't seem to appreciate her just pisses me off no end. He lives in a paradise with an angel and doesn't seem to have a fucking clue as to how rare a thing this truly is, while I would give anything to tend to and nurture her Garden in any way she would let me.
Adam was a clueless tool.
The woman I love has a name, but here I will call her Lilith. She is my temptress, she haunts my dreams and lingers in every corridor of my mind, and my senses reel whenever I am with her. I would never do anything to chase her from this garden, for any reason, and I am honored and humbled by her love and affection.
I love you Lilith.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
WHERE ALL ROADS LEAD
Strange isn't it? We all lead our lives in different ways, taking individual paths, most of us unaware of anyone else's existence, and yet all of our individual roads will end up dumping each of us off at the same place. We all travel winding, seperate paths, negotiating our way through matters of the head and heart in different ways, trying to find the trail that will lead us to some place of personal satisfaction, hopefully ignoring the fact that no matter which path we take, it does eventually reach a dead end.
Is it better to know how and approximately when your road will end- or better just to acknowledge that it will end at some time and place, in whatever fashion, and leave it at that?
It appears that I am some kind of modern medical oddity: my body has decided that having one potentially fatal problem wasn't enough, so why not have several? I have always been an over-achiever that way. And each problem has specific issues that I am going to have to deal with, and in some cases dealing with one could exacerbate another. All of the scenarios are grim, and all end rather unpleasantly. All of them can be managed or "treated", but none cured. All potential treatments would also result in substantial adjustments to the way I am now living, and would have high probablities of involving other people in having to care for me at times.
And all of this before I have even completed all of the tests or received all of the results back- God I am good.
The reality is that, depending on which of the various afflictions gains supremacy, I could tip over tomorrow should my heart decide to take a vacation, or I could hang around for a while while various cancers catch up in the race to consume me. The "for a while" path also means that while I could last a year or three, at some point there would be a rapid decline in my quality of life coupled with an escalation of painful symptoms. I had a doctor 7 or 8 years ago tell me that I would most likely only live another 3-5 years based upon the degeneration of my heart, so I am not going to put too much stock in the time stamp aspect of anything I am told, but the one consistent fact that can't be denied is where this is all heading and how.
I suppose I have to figure out how to handle all this. The simple fact is that each of us, no matter how blessed or loved, travel each of our roads alone. We may share the journey for stretches, but ultimately we end up at our destinations alone. I will not have my life consumed by treatments or medications that will leave me as something other than myself, with every moment devoted to delaying the inevitable. Nor will I deal with the symptoms by medicating myself to the point of un-awareness. At least whatever pain I am going to have is unique and mine, and I will be myself while dealing with it. Also- if/when things reach a certain point I simply refuse to become someone elses problem, or to linger in an antiseptic hospital environment, waiting for the grains of sand to run out.
As I write this I feel no bitterness or anger regarding my situation, it ain't why- it just is. In a way it has provided me with a focus and an awareness that I didn't have before. Maybe the best way to handle all of this is just to put it in a box, throw it in my own mental attic to collect dust, and just pretend that the physical symptoms are nothing more than growing pains. And that actually is what they are. I have always believed that if a person stops growing or learning, than they might as well check out anyway. I now have no excuses for putting anything off, or for avoiding things that need to be done. I no longer have the luxury of saying or thinking that there will be plenty of time down the road to address whatever needs addressing, and I now know that whatever I want to accomplish, I better get started on.
The only thing that hits me hard right now is the fact that I am completely and totally in love with a woman who returns my love to me in spades. I guess I could be bitter about this, but maybe finding each other at this time and place is the best thing for both of us. In some respects she may be my guide- pointing out and leading me down the proper path, where the road still ends, but the journey there is a wonderous, joyful ride, where I arrive with as much dignity and humanity as possible. And hopefully I can provide a warmth and love and companionship and frienship that she so richly deserves, even if it is in a limted capacity and for a shorter period of time than she or I would like.
So all roads lead to the same place, big fucking deal. I am going to fly down mine, windows down- music blaring, engines roaring. And hopefully she will come along for the ride for a while, until the time comes for her to get out, and continue down her own highway.
I hope she chooses to ride shotgun for a while though.
Is it better to know how and approximately when your road will end- or better just to acknowledge that it will end at some time and place, in whatever fashion, and leave it at that?
It appears that I am some kind of modern medical oddity: my body has decided that having one potentially fatal problem wasn't enough, so why not have several? I have always been an over-achiever that way. And each problem has specific issues that I am going to have to deal with, and in some cases dealing with one could exacerbate another. All of the scenarios are grim, and all end rather unpleasantly. All of them can be managed or "treated", but none cured. All potential treatments would also result in substantial adjustments to the way I am now living, and would have high probablities of involving other people in having to care for me at times.
And all of this before I have even completed all of the tests or received all of the results back- God I am good.
The reality is that, depending on which of the various afflictions gains supremacy, I could tip over tomorrow should my heart decide to take a vacation, or I could hang around for a while while various cancers catch up in the race to consume me. The "for a while" path also means that while I could last a year or three, at some point there would be a rapid decline in my quality of life coupled with an escalation of painful symptoms. I had a doctor 7 or 8 years ago tell me that I would most likely only live another 3-5 years based upon the degeneration of my heart, so I am not going to put too much stock in the time stamp aspect of anything I am told, but the one consistent fact that can't be denied is where this is all heading and how.
I suppose I have to figure out how to handle all this. The simple fact is that each of us, no matter how blessed or loved, travel each of our roads alone. We may share the journey for stretches, but ultimately we end up at our destinations alone. I will not have my life consumed by treatments or medications that will leave me as something other than myself, with every moment devoted to delaying the inevitable. Nor will I deal with the symptoms by medicating myself to the point of un-awareness. At least whatever pain I am going to have is unique and mine, and I will be myself while dealing with it. Also- if/when things reach a certain point I simply refuse to become someone elses problem, or to linger in an antiseptic hospital environment, waiting for the grains of sand to run out.
As I write this I feel no bitterness or anger regarding my situation, it ain't why- it just is. In a way it has provided me with a focus and an awareness that I didn't have before. Maybe the best way to handle all of this is just to put it in a box, throw it in my own mental attic to collect dust, and just pretend that the physical symptoms are nothing more than growing pains. And that actually is what they are. I have always believed that if a person stops growing or learning, than they might as well check out anyway. I now have no excuses for putting anything off, or for avoiding things that need to be done. I no longer have the luxury of saying or thinking that there will be plenty of time down the road to address whatever needs addressing, and I now know that whatever I want to accomplish, I better get started on.
The only thing that hits me hard right now is the fact that I am completely and totally in love with a woman who returns my love to me in spades. I guess I could be bitter about this, but maybe finding each other at this time and place is the best thing for both of us. In some respects she may be my guide- pointing out and leading me down the proper path, where the road still ends, but the journey there is a wonderous, joyful ride, where I arrive with as much dignity and humanity as possible. And hopefully I can provide a warmth and love and companionship and frienship that she so richly deserves, even if it is in a limted capacity and for a shorter period of time than she or I would like.
So all roads lead to the same place, big fucking deal. I am going to fly down mine, windows down- music blaring, engines roaring. And hopefully she will come along for the ride for a while, until the time comes for her to get out, and continue down her own highway.
I hope she chooses to ride shotgun for a while though.
ALONE, BUT NOT LONELY
The sun is rising and the wind has finally died down. The birds are starting their morning songs, and a lone coyote just ambled through the back yard towards the woods. Here, the house is still and quiet as everyone sleeps. Out there she is probably lost in whatever dreamworld she visits after a night out with friends and family, hopefully resting, still and peaceful in a bed I will never lay in.
I have spent the night listening to the wind rattle the house, and watching the evergreens move to an odd rhythm. Occassionally I went outside for a smoke, wandering through the pines and listening to the windsong through their branches. It was not a bad night, maybe just a heavy one.
Here, everyone was happy to see me for a day, they greeted me warmly, said they loved me, spent a few minutes talking with me, and then went back about their business. I am loved here, but in a rather perfunctory way. I am loved for what I am to everyone here, and not really recognized as anything beyond that.This is ok. I am pretty much irrelevent as far as playing any kind of important role anymore in anyones life.This is as it should be- it means that I have done a good job preparing everyone for living their own lives and finding their own happiness.
I spent the night listening and looking for things in the wind, and everything I found there had to do with her.
I sat in a house that is a home to others, but is pretty much just a place I pass through from time to time. I sat here alone and sleepless, off in my own little world, and never for a moment did I feel lonely.
I pictured her out on the town, finally getting to have an evening of drunken stupidity with friends, and I smiled. I thought of the way she smiles and the way her cheekbones rise slightly when she does, of how she tells me she loves me and the soft pressure of her hand in mine as we drive somewhere. I thought of how she manages to display a grace and humanity under any kind of situation, and how her inherent decency shines through in everything she says and does. I thought of her looking into me as we make love, and how here eyes get heavy and lidded at certain moments of passion.
I thought of all these things and so much more, and at a certain point I realized that the night wasn't a dark lonely place. I will always wonder about what things would have been like had I met her in a different time or a different place, but I also realize that what we have given each other here and now cannot be minimized or dismissed, and is so much more than I have ever had that I have to consider myself lucky and fulfilled, under any circumstance.
Yeah- I spent the night sleepless and alone, but she surrounded me the entire time, whispering to me on the wind, dancing with the pines, and filling me with an oddly peaceful feeling.
Not a bad night at all.
I have spent the night listening to the wind rattle the house, and watching the evergreens move to an odd rhythm. Occassionally I went outside for a smoke, wandering through the pines and listening to the windsong through their branches. It was not a bad night, maybe just a heavy one.
Here, everyone was happy to see me for a day, they greeted me warmly, said they loved me, spent a few minutes talking with me, and then went back about their business. I am loved here, but in a rather perfunctory way. I am loved for what I am to everyone here, and not really recognized as anything beyond that.This is ok. I am pretty much irrelevent as far as playing any kind of important role anymore in anyones life.This is as it should be- it means that I have done a good job preparing everyone for living their own lives and finding their own happiness.
I spent the night listening and looking for things in the wind, and everything I found there had to do with her.
I sat in a house that is a home to others, but is pretty much just a place I pass through from time to time. I sat here alone and sleepless, off in my own little world, and never for a moment did I feel lonely.
I pictured her out on the town, finally getting to have an evening of drunken stupidity with friends, and I smiled. I thought of the way she smiles and the way her cheekbones rise slightly when she does, of how she tells me she loves me and the soft pressure of her hand in mine as we drive somewhere. I thought of how she manages to display a grace and humanity under any kind of situation, and how her inherent decency shines through in everything she says and does. I thought of her looking into me as we make love, and how here eyes get heavy and lidded at certain moments of passion.
I thought of all these things and so much more, and at a certain point I realized that the night wasn't a dark lonely place. I will always wonder about what things would have been like had I met her in a different time or a different place, but I also realize that what we have given each other here and now cannot be minimized or dismissed, and is so much more than I have ever had that I have to consider myself lucky and fulfilled, under any circumstance.
Yeah- I spent the night sleepless and alone, but she surrounded me the entire time, whispering to me on the wind, dancing with the pines, and filling me with an oddly peaceful feeling.
Not a bad night at all.
Friday, November 6, 2009
DYING A THOUSAND DEATHS
The French may be fucked up in a lot of ways, but when they nail something they get it so right that it is easy to forgive the fact that they are a bunch of rude, arrogant shitheads.
I have tried to articulate as best I can the feelings I have for a very special woman, and everything that goes in here is an attempt to express to her, as honestly and as openly as I can, how much I love her and how much she means to me. I have opened myself up to her completely, and have held nothing back, good or bad. I am hoping that my words, thoughts, and feelings will mean something to her not just now, but also down the road after I am gone. I have tried to convey to her all of things that I think and feel, and while my attempts may not be literature, they are honest and unfiltered. I have spoken of her beauty, class, and elegance. I have written of how she excites me in so many different ways that I am constantly astonished. I have mused about the bittersweet nature of having discovered someone so right and so natural for me, and of how there is a joy and a sadness at having discovered her at this point of my life, when I can only yearn for more time than I am probably going to be allowed.
The one thing I haven't really spoken about is the subject of this post, and I hope it doesn't offend her in any way.
Which brings us back to the fucking French (this all will be tied together and wrapped up with a little bow- I promise).
In their attempts to turn every fucking thing into poetry, they came up with "La Petite Mort", or "The Little Death", their own term for the actual act of orgasm, equating it with the same sort of transcendence that supposedly occurs at the moment of death, when ones lifeforce leaves the body for another plane of existence. Up until recently I just thought of this as another typically pretentious bit of French bullshit.
But now I get it.
I am not talking about fucking (although I am sure the French are, given that they are a bunch of deviant little bastards), that is fine and nice and has pretty much been what my sex life has been up to this point, and I certainly had no complaints anytime I got laid- but that was all restricted to the physical sensation of the act itself (which again, has it's own rewards), and the feeling never really went beyond the actual act itself.
I am talking about the exquisite sensation of making love with a woman who ignites every nerve in my body. Being inside of her lights me up in a way I never could have imagined, and the wet, warm depths of her transport me to a realm where she and I exist only for each other, and everything else slips away. The way she moves, the sounds she makes, the look on her face, each and every little thing registers all at once and only serves to increase a passion I didn't even know I had. At these moments I want to stay inside of her for hours, our flesh merging and moving as one. What makes these moments so intoxicating is that the emotional sensation is as powerful as the physical, and I literally feel dizzy and off balance, like I am floating in turbulent waters.
This is new to me. I am learning as I go- and sometimes the sheer physical lust and desire I feel for her pushes me close to the fucking category. But she always manages to guide me back to the far more satisfying act of making love, and every movement, every kiss, every whisper, every bead of sweat, thrills me; and each time I want it to last as long as possible. And while I lose myself in her the most important thing for me is that I give her the same sort of pleasure and sensation she is giving me. I can't imagine that I satisfy her in any way near the way she satisfies me but again, I am learning.
Before, whenever I came, it just marked the end of a (highly enjoyable) physical activity. With her though it is a transcendent moment, one where time stops and every ounce of passion and feeling that I have takes over and I feel as if I have truly been joined with her, body and soul. At these moments I know exactly what "La Petite Mort" means, and I can only hope and pray that she will kill me a thousand times before I leave this mortal coil.
God I fucking hate the French.
I have tried to articulate as best I can the feelings I have for a very special woman, and everything that goes in here is an attempt to express to her, as honestly and as openly as I can, how much I love her and how much she means to me. I have opened myself up to her completely, and have held nothing back, good or bad. I am hoping that my words, thoughts, and feelings will mean something to her not just now, but also down the road after I am gone. I have tried to convey to her all of things that I think and feel, and while my attempts may not be literature, they are honest and unfiltered. I have spoken of her beauty, class, and elegance. I have written of how she excites me in so many different ways that I am constantly astonished. I have mused about the bittersweet nature of having discovered someone so right and so natural for me, and of how there is a joy and a sadness at having discovered her at this point of my life, when I can only yearn for more time than I am probably going to be allowed.
The one thing I haven't really spoken about is the subject of this post, and I hope it doesn't offend her in any way.
Which brings us back to the fucking French (this all will be tied together and wrapped up with a little bow- I promise).
In their attempts to turn every fucking thing into poetry, they came up with "La Petite Mort", or "The Little Death", their own term for the actual act of orgasm, equating it with the same sort of transcendence that supposedly occurs at the moment of death, when ones lifeforce leaves the body for another plane of existence. Up until recently I just thought of this as another typically pretentious bit of French bullshit.
But now I get it.
I am not talking about fucking (although I am sure the French are, given that they are a bunch of deviant little bastards), that is fine and nice and has pretty much been what my sex life has been up to this point, and I certainly had no complaints anytime I got laid- but that was all restricted to the physical sensation of the act itself (which again, has it's own rewards), and the feeling never really went beyond the actual act itself.
I am talking about the exquisite sensation of making love with a woman who ignites every nerve in my body. Being inside of her lights me up in a way I never could have imagined, and the wet, warm depths of her transport me to a realm where she and I exist only for each other, and everything else slips away. The way she moves, the sounds she makes, the look on her face, each and every little thing registers all at once and only serves to increase a passion I didn't even know I had. At these moments I want to stay inside of her for hours, our flesh merging and moving as one. What makes these moments so intoxicating is that the emotional sensation is as powerful as the physical, and I literally feel dizzy and off balance, like I am floating in turbulent waters.
This is new to me. I am learning as I go- and sometimes the sheer physical lust and desire I feel for her pushes me close to the fucking category. But she always manages to guide me back to the far more satisfying act of making love, and every movement, every kiss, every whisper, every bead of sweat, thrills me; and each time I want it to last as long as possible. And while I lose myself in her the most important thing for me is that I give her the same sort of pleasure and sensation she is giving me. I can't imagine that I satisfy her in any way near the way she satisfies me but again, I am learning.
Before, whenever I came, it just marked the end of a (highly enjoyable) physical activity. With her though it is a transcendent moment, one where time stops and every ounce of passion and feeling that I have takes over and I feel as if I have truly been joined with her, body and soul. At these moments I know exactly what "La Petite Mort" means, and I can only hope and pray that she will kill me a thousand times before I leave this mortal coil.
God I fucking hate the French.
Monday, November 2, 2009
"MOMENTS LOST IN TIME, LIKE TEARS IN RAIN"
The title of this post is from the movie "Blade Runner", and has always struck me as an almost perfect summary of what we all will have to come to grips with at some point, at least if we have a hint of introspection in our nature.
I am feeling worse every day, and each day requires more and more physical effort to get through. I have grown appallingly weak, and the simplest activities drain me to the point of exhaustion. I am kind of fascinated by the changes I have been going through, and actually accept what is happening most of the time with a weirdly morbid humor that very few people would understand. But lately this has been tempered by the fact that I have started to account for what impact I have actually had on the world around me, and have also started to realize that there are so many things that I have missed, and will miss out on. I have also recently been given a glimpse of a path that I will never be able to fully explore, and it makes me a bit melancholy when I think about the things that could have been.
But what makes everything even more bittersweet is the knowledge that I have been given so many memorable moments by a woman who can never fully understand the impact she has had on me, and it bothers me that when I do exit stage left, that all of those moments may be lost in time, like tears in rain.
There are so many:
Listening to her speak to her children, not only like a mother, but as a nurturing, caring person engaging with another unique individual.
Watching her walk away from me with her shoulders slightly raised at the edges, the perfect vee of her torso ending in the impossibly perfect curvature of her hips and ass.
The way she touches me and holds me when I am in incredible pain, never saying or doing anything at these times that make me feel more self-conscious than I already feel.
The liquid beauty of her eyes, which haunt me always. They contain such depth and humanity and convey lust, sadness, warmth, laughter, and every possible emotion swims within them depending upon her mood, and I could lose myself in them for hours.
The soft, delicate, ethereal form she takes on when sleeping: it is like she has been transported from some mysterious renaissance painting and dropped into my bed, taking on a stillness and beauty that takes my breath away.
The golden hue of her skin- so perfectly smooth and soft that no silk could ever match it.
The fact that every conversation with her has meaning- she can excite me on an intellectual level as much as she does sexually and emotionally, and everytime I speak with her I feel an electricity that is normally reserved for matters of the flesh.
There are so many more. I don't think there has been a single moment since I became involved with her that was meaningless or without value, and that is because she has a value that cannot be measured. She makes me a better person in so many ways, and she thrills me on so many levels that I can't begin to fathom how she does it. And it bothers me that these could just end up being fleeting moments that will be lost and forgotten with time, when each one should be carved as a monument to what can and should be between people who are in love.
I like to think that I am above such things, but the reality is that I all too easily succumb to anger and self pity at times and rage against the fact that I am denied the one thing that has brought me a measure of solace and peace, and that I have to settle for less than I want. But that is also the most valuable thing she has given me: the capacity to feel the rage and anger that bubbles up at times means that I have finally found someone who touches me in a way that makes me believe that I too have value and worth. And if I have the capacity to love and be loved by someone who is so much better than I on so many levels than maybe everything I am going through is worthwhile.
All of these moments, each and every one of the emotions she inspires, they deserve to last far longer than I do. Each one of them needs to be waterproofed and defiant in the face of the strongest rainstorm, and the tears can be lost in the rain, but never the memory of what caused them.
God I hope I am causing her more good than harm.
I am feeling worse every day, and each day requires more and more physical effort to get through. I have grown appallingly weak, and the simplest activities drain me to the point of exhaustion. I am kind of fascinated by the changes I have been going through, and actually accept what is happening most of the time with a weirdly morbid humor that very few people would understand. But lately this has been tempered by the fact that I have started to account for what impact I have actually had on the world around me, and have also started to realize that there are so many things that I have missed, and will miss out on. I have also recently been given a glimpse of a path that I will never be able to fully explore, and it makes me a bit melancholy when I think about the things that could have been.
But what makes everything even more bittersweet is the knowledge that I have been given so many memorable moments by a woman who can never fully understand the impact she has had on me, and it bothers me that when I do exit stage left, that all of those moments may be lost in time, like tears in rain.
There are so many:
Listening to her speak to her children, not only like a mother, but as a nurturing, caring person engaging with another unique individual.
Watching her walk away from me with her shoulders slightly raised at the edges, the perfect vee of her torso ending in the impossibly perfect curvature of her hips and ass.
The way she touches me and holds me when I am in incredible pain, never saying or doing anything at these times that make me feel more self-conscious than I already feel.
The liquid beauty of her eyes, which haunt me always. They contain such depth and humanity and convey lust, sadness, warmth, laughter, and every possible emotion swims within them depending upon her mood, and I could lose myself in them for hours.
The soft, delicate, ethereal form she takes on when sleeping: it is like she has been transported from some mysterious renaissance painting and dropped into my bed, taking on a stillness and beauty that takes my breath away.
The golden hue of her skin- so perfectly smooth and soft that no silk could ever match it.
The fact that every conversation with her has meaning- she can excite me on an intellectual level as much as she does sexually and emotionally, and everytime I speak with her I feel an electricity that is normally reserved for matters of the flesh.
There are so many more. I don't think there has been a single moment since I became involved with her that was meaningless or without value, and that is because she has a value that cannot be measured. She makes me a better person in so many ways, and she thrills me on so many levels that I can't begin to fathom how she does it. And it bothers me that these could just end up being fleeting moments that will be lost and forgotten with time, when each one should be carved as a monument to what can and should be between people who are in love.
I like to think that I am above such things, but the reality is that I all too easily succumb to anger and self pity at times and rage against the fact that I am denied the one thing that has brought me a measure of solace and peace, and that I have to settle for less than I want. But that is also the most valuable thing she has given me: the capacity to feel the rage and anger that bubbles up at times means that I have finally found someone who touches me in a way that makes me believe that I too have value and worth. And if I have the capacity to love and be loved by someone who is so much better than I on so many levels than maybe everything I am going through is worthwhile.
All of these moments, each and every one of the emotions she inspires, they deserve to last far longer than I do. Each one of them needs to be waterproofed and defiant in the face of the strongest rainstorm, and the tears can be lost in the rain, but never the memory of what caused them.
God I hope I am causing her more good than harm.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
BACK IN KANSAS, BUT NOT BY CHOICE
Dorothy was swept up in the whirlwind, leaving behind a life of gray desperation, deposited into a world of color and mystery and adventure, and at the end of the day chose to return to her black and white world in Kansas populated by the likes of Auntie Em.
What a stupid cunt.
I too was swept up in the whirlwind, dropped into the land of Oz, and allowed to spend just enough time there to realize how dark and lonely and fucked up my world actually was. And just when I started to delude myself into thinking that I could maybe make myself at home there in the Land of Oz, the fucking whirlwind shows up again, plopping my sorry ass back in Kansas.
Here is the question: is it better to toil away in Kansas alone without ever being aware of the fact that Oz exists, or is there a value in knowing that Oz is out there, even if it is a place I will never be able to call my own. I don't fucking know- it is rhetorical question that I am currently unable to answer.
Here is truth: in Kansas I am alone, in pain, and dying. In Oz I am in pain and dying, but don't really care since I am traveling down the Yellow Brick Road with her. But the reality is I am going to be forced to spend more time in Kansas than Oz, and the trip back causes a pain far worse than the physical shit that keeps me up at night, and Kansas is darker and colder on each return visit.
Maybe Dorothy was able to return to Kansas because she knew that Oz existed, and that she was able to gather strength from the knowledge that there was a world out there that wasn't all dark and gray and windswept, making it easier to accept her circumstances. Even if that is the case, she was still a stupid cunt.
I sit here in Kansas, tired and alone, trying to make sense of the dull ache that is eating away at me. It is dark and lonely and cold and I have no fucking idea what to make of all the things that are swirling about in my head and heart. I sit here in Kansas, looking out the window, hoping desperately to get a glimpse of the whirlwind that will grab me and drop me back into the land of Oz, but there is nothing out there but a flat, gray landscape. Maybe this is where I belong. Maybe just knowing that there is a whirlwind somewhere out on the horizon that may be searching for me is enough. I hope and think I will feel this way in a day or two, but right now Kansas is looking pretty god damned bleak, and Oz is impossibly far away.
I sit here in Kansas, pathetically believing that I somehow deserve to visit Oz whenever the hell I feel like it, and realize that I am being a self-pitying, whiny little fool, yet still can't help myself.
Fuck Kansas.
What a stupid cunt.
I too was swept up in the whirlwind, dropped into the land of Oz, and allowed to spend just enough time there to realize how dark and lonely and fucked up my world actually was. And just when I started to delude myself into thinking that I could maybe make myself at home there in the Land of Oz, the fucking whirlwind shows up again, plopping my sorry ass back in Kansas.
Here is the question: is it better to toil away in Kansas alone without ever being aware of the fact that Oz exists, or is there a value in knowing that Oz is out there, even if it is a place I will never be able to call my own. I don't fucking know- it is rhetorical question that I am currently unable to answer.
Here is truth: in Kansas I am alone, in pain, and dying. In Oz I am in pain and dying, but don't really care since I am traveling down the Yellow Brick Road with her. But the reality is I am going to be forced to spend more time in Kansas than Oz, and the trip back causes a pain far worse than the physical shit that keeps me up at night, and Kansas is darker and colder on each return visit.
Maybe Dorothy was able to return to Kansas because she knew that Oz existed, and that she was able to gather strength from the knowledge that there was a world out there that wasn't all dark and gray and windswept, making it easier to accept her circumstances. Even if that is the case, she was still a stupid cunt.
I sit here in Kansas, tired and alone, trying to make sense of the dull ache that is eating away at me. It is dark and lonely and cold and I have no fucking idea what to make of all the things that are swirling about in my head and heart. I sit here in Kansas, looking out the window, hoping desperately to get a glimpse of the whirlwind that will grab me and drop me back into the land of Oz, but there is nothing out there but a flat, gray landscape. Maybe this is where I belong. Maybe just knowing that there is a whirlwind somewhere out on the horizon that may be searching for me is enough. I hope and think I will feel this way in a day or two, but right now Kansas is looking pretty god damned bleak, and Oz is impossibly far away.
I sit here in Kansas, pathetically believing that I somehow deserve to visit Oz whenever the hell I feel like it, and realize that I am being a self-pitying, whiny little fool, yet still can't help myself.
Fuck Kansas.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
HOWLING AT THE WATERS EDGE
The ending of Spike Jonze's adaptation of Maurice Sendaks "Where The Wild Things Are" has a moment of such personal resonance for me that it actually startled me in the theater, and stays with me still a week after seeing it. Indeed, the whole movie struck me on such a personal level that I can't really guage whether or not the movie is actually any good or not, all I know is that I found so many parallels to what I am going through that the whole movie has an accumulative power that moved me in unexpected ways.
The movie contains two distinct seperate worlds, and the characters in both worlds are profoundly moved and changed by their experiences together. What makes the movie special is that both worlds are messy, this is no wish fulfillment fantasy where someone sails off to a magical palace and finds that all their dreams come true in the land of Eden, but instead it is a rather melancholy exploration of emotions and feelings, and the different ways we all have of coming to grips with ourselves and our place in the world. The movie doesn't cheat in any way, the Wild Things are just as fucked up and confused as the rest of us, but somehow Max is able to discover what he needs with them, and their world is forever changed by Max.
In my little world I don't identify with Max, but with the Wild Things. She is my Max, and she can visit me whenever she wants or needs to, but she will always have her own world to return to, and that is how it should be. I want her to find the mystery, the happiness, the warmth that she deserves whenever she feels like sailing over to my island, and I want her to take what she can back to her world to make it a better place. Her world has shadows in it, but there is also an abundance of light where she can escape them, and she has so many possibilities in front of her, so many paths that lead to a better place.
My world right now consists of a single light: her, but everything else is kind of dimming around the edges. I am not complaining about this, the fact that she has brought a light and warmth to my world is more than enough for me, but it is for this very reason that the ending of the movie struck me so deeply.
When the time comes for Max to return to his world, the Wild Things gather at the waters edge to watch him sail away, and instead of some dumb-ass dialogue or sappy music, they just stand there and howl. It is a moment so perfect, so right, that I felt like a fool sitting in a theater full of kids trying to keep tears from rolling down my face.
I know why the Wild Things howled, I feel it everytime she leaves, everytime we are apart. The feeling is so strong, so deep, and filled with sadness and joy, that no words would be able to express the emotion.
I stand at the waters edge, howling. For all that could have been, for all that will be missed, and for all that has been given to me. It is a sad, wonderous feeling that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world, because it means that I am alive and that I care. And I owe it all to her.
I hope she howls for me on occasion.
The movie contains two distinct seperate worlds, and the characters in both worlds are profoundly moved and changed by their experiences together. What makes the movie special is that both worlds are messy, this is no wish fulfillment fantasy where someone sails off to a magical palace and finds that all their dreams come true in the land of Eden, but instead it is a rather melancholy exploration of emotions and feelings, and the different ways we all have of coming to grips with ourselves and our place in the world. The movie doesn't cheat in any way, the Wild Things are just as fucked up and confused as the rest of us, but somehow Max is able to discover what he needs with them, and their world is forever changed by Max.
In my little world I don't identify with Max, but with the Wild Things. She is my Max, and she can visit me whenever she wants or needs to, but she will always have her own world to return to, and that is how it should be. I want her to find the mystery, the happiness, the warmth that she deserves whenever she feels like sailing over to my island, and I want her to take what she can back to her world to make it a better place. Her world has shadows in it, but there is also an abundance of light where she can escape them, and she has so many possibilities in front of her, so many paths that lead to a better place.
My world right now consists of a single light: her, but everything else is kind of dimming around the edges. I am not complaining about this, the fact that she has brought a light and warmth to my world is more than enough for me, but it is for this very reason that the ending of the movie struck me so deeply.
When the time comes for Max to return to his world, the Wild Things gather at the waters edge to watch him sail away, and instead of some dumb-ass dialogue or sappy music, they just stand there and howl. It is a moment so perfect, so right, that I felt like a fool sitting in a theater full of kids trying to keep tears from rolling down my face.
I know why the Wild Things howled, I feel it everytime she leaves, everytime we are apart. The feeling is so strong, so deep, and filled with sadness and joy, that no words would be able to express the emotion.
I stand at the waters edge, howling. For all that could have been, for all that will be missed, and for all that has been given to me. It is a sad, wonderous feeling that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world, because it means that I am alive and that I care. And I owe it all to her.
I hope she howls for me on occasion.
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