"You're attractive when your clothed. You're a beautiful woman. But when you're naked it's something else. It wakes something up inside of me, something primal. And I am in awe of your beauty. Like I have never been in the presence of something so perfect. And it makes me feel like a smaller person, like I have been let in on a secret that few, if any, have ever been privileged to know."
Pull me out, and put me down. Help me down from this pedestal and listen to me, if only for a moment. There are few things in this world that can be considered "perfect". That is to say that...beauty and perfection is in the eye of the beholder. Then look at me and see the imperfections and the flaws, the tiny cracks and pieces that are being held together by crazy glue, the blemishes and the wrinkles. Free me from that stereotype and look at me. I am no different, and nothing to bewilder. Look at me. See me. Because I see you and I can honestly say that I know you are far from perfect. Find the ability to afford me the same courtesy.
I realized something about myself today. I am stark raving mad. . .
No, not really. But as each day passes I learn something new about the person that I am, and that gives me a glimpse at the person that I will become. The two conflict with each other. I often imagine the two conflicting sides of my personality as two old, British men, arguing in my head. There could be more. I'm not sure.
You conflict with my instincts of self preservation.
Like a child, feeding off of emotions and surroundings, taking in, absorbing everything around you. I am a teacher. I am letting you feed off of my abilities to be unattached and alone. You can see it in me. And like every other animal, I know you can smell the fear. It drives you to perfection. The idea of me leaving, disappearing without a word. Leaving nothing behind but a scent or a memory. Because I could, you know I could. Fear holds me to you. I don't believe you are ready to be left on your own. No, not ready yet. But I will leave you one day, and I want you to be prepared. Be prepared for the heartache. You don't realize it now, but the human heart is the most amazing and complex part of the human body. It drives you, motivates you, gives you life, hurts you, and it is beautiful...even when you think it's breaking. Something you might want to be prepare yourself for.
I am itching for a change. Change in scenery, situation, color...anything. It's time. I need to feel like something I do matters. If I had the ability to sprout horns and walk on all fours like a beast, I would, simply to feel somethig different. But I can't...or I could, but honestly it's not the kind of change I am looking for.
And what happens when the passion dies? Where did the feeling go? People get stuck in dead end careers and marriages and mortgages, minivans, property taxes, life insurance, arguments, debt, secrets, corporate politics, seperation, mediation, divorce. So where did the ambition go? Be a writer, be an artist, a scientist, an atronaut, a dolphin tamer. . . I mean, why the fuck not? Become a recluse and live only with the company of characters in your books. When did it get so complicated? Let yourself go, and do what makes you happy. I could be saying that because I'm young, and have not yet gotten accustomed to the ways...of life. But if that is the case, then fuck the "ways of the world". Ha ha ha... "I don't much like bills either. I don't think I'm going to pay them." I don't like bills. Everyone walks around like pompous little pieces of shit, thinking that the world owes them something. The thirteen year old girl that is just one g-string away from her future career path....asking me for a cigarette, with all the attitude and arrogance of someone twice her age. I owe her a smoke because daddy beat her, or mommy didn't hug her enough. And should I deny her he luxury of my hard earned tobacco, she will roll her eyes all the way to the back of her head, making me think that any moment they might just slip all the way back and she'll choke on them. Let it go. You think you are having a hard time? You think that life has been unfair? You're probably right, and I wish I could tell you that it's going to get better. It might not, and that doesn't sound like very good advice. Here's some. Take a number, and step in line. Trust me, you might not have it that bad. No one is saying that life didn't hand you a raw deal, but you can either deal with it and move the fuck on. Or wallow in that disgustingly shallow pool of self pity and watch life pass you by. Because, despite what you think you know, I don't owe you shit.
If I had known what path would have brought me here, I certainly would have walked away by now.
Man the fuck up, pull your god damned pants up and quit walking around here like you won these streets, and get a fucking job. Please, make yourself useful, because if you don't you are a waste of breath. Kids today...really.
Valium and vicodin...home made cocktails of pharmaceuticals, the perfect way to quiet an unquiet mind.
God, don't turn into your mother.
Is that what you think I'm doing? I can't sleep when all I hear is my own voice yelling in my head.
Don't quiet it.
I can't hear myself breathe.
Then breathe harder.
"With my feet upon the ground, I lose myself between the sounds, and open wide to suck it in I feel it move across my skin..."
Stop. Breathe. Breathe harder, let in in.
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2 comments:
That's the funny thing about language and the way a lot of us men were raised... We think we are paying you the highest of complements when using words like perfect, or beautiful. We do legitimately mean what we say, but we don't see the contrarian perspective involved in the idea of perfection.
We (men) were raised to put you (women) up on this pedestal, call it the freudian 'oedipus complex' or whatever you want to call it. It's further signs of, as mitch would phrase it, Early Unconscious Sexual Conflict. Yes, I'm slamming into Freudian Psychoanalytic theroy here, but it applies.
The thing you have to remember sweetie, is that you and several other women I know would react as you did in this post... "I'm not perfect, I'm imperfect..." What you don't get is that men as a gender are not all as prosaic as women might think.
I for one would see you as perfect, but in that perfection would be the irony of your self-described 'flaws'. Like I said to Ruth once, "She's cute, in that really twisted way." Men do look at you. Men do see you. They see your imperfections and flaws, the tiny little hairline fractures, the cracks and blemishes. They see it all, but they (or in this case I) put it under the heading of perfect. Men just may not have the necessary command of language to say what they want without falling into those language/gender based traps.
I can't speak for 'he'. I don't know if he comes from the same mindset as I do as a man, but even if I'm the only man who thinks this way (and I doubt I am), that means that not the whole gender thinks that way. Maybe I'm the 'mutant-de-jur' of men, the one freak of the whole bunch, and I can live with that cause it gives me character.
Bottomline, from my perspective there's a deeper meaning behind the romanticized statement of perfection that us men have been trained to use in romance.
Now onto other things, madness... Amuck, amuck, amuck, amuck... *sound of me slapping myself* Thanks, I needed that.
I'm constantly finding these amazing little nuggets of exceptional awesomness, and one applies here, which I happened to read last night. It's in the book "Love's Executioner" by Irvin D. Yalom. He says, "Cervantes asked, " Which will you have: wise madness or foolish sanity?"" Freakin AWESOME!!!! I love quotes like that cause they are so right on.
Anyway, in my mind, I can't go with the whole 'ignorance is bliss' thing. I instead choose to be educated and stark-raving looney toones, cause at least I am well versed in how screwed up the whole of existance is. Give me knowledge and wisdom, and then let me stew over it for a while. If knowledge is power, then I'm looking to take over the freakin world.
Of course in my wise maddness people might say, and did say yesterday, "well, you need to get yourself right with the lord." To which I nod, and then get on with my life cause empty, short-sighted rhetoric like that doesn't sway me at all. That's the prosaic attributes of religion talking, 'get right with the lord' - translation: ignorance is bliss, so come be the foolishly sane. NO THANK YOU!
Be K-RAZ-IEEEEE!!! Remember, the line between genius and maddness is a really thin one. You can skip, dance or conga line back and forth over that line really easy. *wink*
That's all for now. The caffine is kicking in, and I've got to get to class. Take it easy, and I'll talk to you later.
So are you going to post again... ever?
Are you ever gonna respond to my comment... ever?
Am I asking too many questions... ever?
I think I'll stop now.
:)
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