the possibility
Regardless of the degree of misery I feel in the morning, whether it be due to insomnia or a recent drowning in beer, I know that I will fall in love at least once during the course of a day.
It actually amazes me that I can feel any such thing, but I do, I've fallen in love with more than a thousand girls and counting.
This used to creep me out, not because the thoughts were lecherous, I mean, I'm not dangerous or anything, but because it's too easy to fall in love this way, what's the point if it's as easy as going down to the store for a pack of cigarettes?
Anyway, as I had said, this used to creep me out, but it's doing so less now, and I think it's because I had named the feeling all wrong. What I've been mistaking for love is some kind of hope, a hope that helps keep me going, it makes some of this misery tolerable. But do not be confused, this is not because I believe that at some indeterminate future point find I will find someone around the corner waiting patiently for me, this is irrelevant and a lie. This hope is the simple potential that human beings have to be beautiful.
Through all the stories of murdered babies and raped women, or pictures of decaying bodies lined up in a row, this hope, however misguided it may be, is a sense that we are somehow not all doomed.
And, that this only happens with women, despite what you may think, is not suggestive of something sexual. It happens because I project my own misery, violence and egoism onto my own gender, and in doing so, have somehow allowed myself to create an opposing gender in which I can easily house all of those things I am not.
That the gender is created here cannot be understated, for I know, as a fact, that women can be as vain, egotisitical, harmful and duplicitous as any man.
It actually amazes me that I can feel any such thing, but I do, I've fallen in love with more than a thousand girls and counting.
This used to creep me out, not because the thoughts were lecherous, I mean, I'm not dangerous or anything, but because it's too easy to fall in love this way, what's the point if it's as easy as going down to the store for a pack of cigarettes?
Anyway, as I had said, this used to creep me out, but it's doing so less now, and I think it's because I had named the feeling all wrong. What I've been mistaking for love is some kind of hope, a hope that helps keep me going, it makes some of this misery tolerable. But do not be confused, this is not because I believe that at some indeterminate future point find I will find someone around the corner waiting patiently for me, this is irrelevant and a lie. This hope is the simple potential that human beings have to be beautiful.
Through all the stories of murdered babies and raped women, or pictures of decaying bodies lined up in a row, this hope, however misguided it may be, is a sense that we are somehow not all doomed.
And, that this only happens with women, despite what you may think, is not suggestive of something sexual. It happens because I project my own misery, violence and egoism onto my own gender, and in doing so, have somehow allowed myself to create an opposing gender in which I can easily house all of those things I am not.
That the gender is created here cannot be understated, for I know, as a fact, that women can be as vain, egotisitical, harmful and duplicitous as any man.
posted by j/r at 10:35 p.m.
4 Comments:
Just don't tell any of your ladies you've fallen in love with a thousand women and counting. We like to delude ourselves by thinking we are special.
I find this an interesting comment, though my interest could be directly related to a penchant I have for being overly analytical. In any event, it's the subtext I'm curious about.
I cannot tell if you're ridiculing an exclusivist notion of love (a romantic view that suggests there is and can only be but one real love - all else is confused). In this case I read the "we" as in, "we like to delude ourselves..." as being gender neutral.
... Or, if the ridicule is more gender specific, say mocking of some kind of princess idiom, which suggests that that women should be perpetually doted upon. Something that is better suited for some some bad romance from the 20's, but which is doubtless still internalized and projected in many corners today.
... Or, if you're putting the joke on me, in which case I read, "We like to delude ourselves..." as not so subtle sarcasm.
Then again, the comment could have much simpler intentions, say, on the order of a plain piece of advice or an acknowledgement of sorts.
... If advice it's well taken, though I do hope it's not necessary to evoke it (which is not intended to diminish its quality).
Ahhh, semantics.
I'm afraid my comment was not deliberately nearly as clever as any of the scenarios you've surmised. Unwittingly, however, there is some relevance on all counts. I feel a bit deconstructed.
Ahhh, your curtesies evade well.
And well made. Your comments are indeed gems on this score. I appreciate your curiosity.
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