Brainstorm: A crack of ideological thunder, a bolt of ethereal lightning, the tempest has passed its prime

It has become something of an oddity that I have found the time and clarity of mind to sit down and write anything of length and substance. But not for lack of trying of a shortage of impetus, rather the drought has been the result of far too many things plaguing my already addled mind. The job situation has been a near unyielding source of stress and discontent. My recent move presented its own trials and woes, albeit it has paid off so far. And of course, the Long Saga continues to be written, a narrative with no clear ending and all the characters running stagnant in their roles. How terrible and boring such a book would be, and yet it is my life and I can’t find a single person that finds my tribulations to be anything short of remarkable.

I say remarkable because when explained at length, the circumstances of my upbringing, the inescapable nuances of my vernacular and of course the tongue in cheek irreverence that allows me to come off as charming and tolerable, most are staggered as to just how I keep my mind about me. I’ve offered a myriad of explanations but sadly, none has seemed “right”. Truth be told, the exact method by which I have managed to escape the seemingly inevitable maladies to which I have been predisposed, is a feat I’ve not yet fully understood.

But I press on, from one day to the next, heedless and unceasing in my forward march. The question however has recently presented itself; to what end do I march? It used to be that the aim was to prove myself worthy; to exemplify all that I believed myself lacking, in order to attain her. While that story continues to be written, one page each day, I have yet to pin down or extract the exact means by which I will attain my success. I’ve accepted that while my prose might be enjoyable to all of you, to the mass audience I hope to reach is far too consumed with Twitter, Facebook posts, and other minutia to really invest themselves for any length of time in absorbing the meaning and forethought poured into every sentence prior to its birth on the page.

As my previous post noted, I’ve no intention of sacrificing length or substance simply to pander to the cretins that find themselves too embroiled in their own trite pursuits to actually enjoy writing they claim to be of a pleasing caliber. While I know that might seem like a seething attack on some, or an outright indictment and an admittance of my refusal to show understanding to the busy schedules of so many, I’d like to point out that amid the hustle and bustle of my day to day existence, I still manage to find time to author these pieces, and rest assured, the time is takes me to churn one of these out is roughly four to six times the length it takes the average reader to reach the final punctuation.

Having dispensed with the premises, updates, and gripes, I find myself unable to really put forth a concise (as my attempts as concise go) or focused string of prose together in order to argue any specific point. That is, my mind is somewhat fractured at the moment; a torrential and angry sea of ideas and notions, churning about violently, the ship of my consciousness set adrift amid the waves, with no clear heading. My thoughts center on the future, my future with her, will my prayers of holding her in my arms as my own ever be answered? My professional future, if I will ever find a way to be paid for putting my fingers and mind to work in a way to produces text? I need to make my life simple, to make the complications and complexities of my existence into something extraneous and negligible. I’m tired, I’m exhausted, and I need a break, from this life, these burdens, these arduous and trying tasks, but most of all, from being me. 

Affirmation of Conviction...

Following my last official entry, it was suggested that I begin to trim these down. “Say less with more” was the actual quote. While it might be a good way to attract advertisers and even to attract some new readers, I just can’t bring myself to do it. While I do want more engagement and more response from the few that do read, and some part of me really does want to increase my exposure, I can’t give up the fundamental facets of what this is: catharsis. I make my argument, I elaborate on my point, and when all is said and done, either there’s an argument (see Valentine’s Day 2010) or there’s agreement and encouragement. Now I know the tone wavers a bit between nauseating whining about my unrequited pursuit of love and the vilification/adulation of her, and my seeming overwhelming exuberance at something a bit more far reaching and relatable. I’ve done a lot of analysis in the past month or so about the kind of posts I put up and the comments they receive.

I found a bit disconcerting that while so many of you are unabashedly eager to bandy one slur or insult after another freely when commiserating on the shortcomings of my relationship with her, not one of you, not a single one, had the guts, gumption, or willingness to come to her aid and argue for the endurance of something truly beautiful that each and every one of you has a stake in: my happiness.

You’re all here because you care. I matter to you in different ways. And a majority of my regular readers have actually approached me at various times to vent, converse, decry, lament, or seethe about your relationships, and have I not always been ready and willing to listen, offer advice to make it work, and provide an objective analysis of the motivations behind a certain behavior or action? Yet when I ask the same, not a single voice in the Asylum cries out for my cause. Do you all truly despise her that deeply? She has wronged me, not you. It is my burden that carries the weight of her indiscretions and the shortcomings of her actions. And while this open tome has served a means of getting a clearer picture of things onto paper for the sake of allowing me to process my emotions and give me clarity, I have never expected anyone here to intercede on my behalf. I’d like to make clear that I’m not writing this with a tone of condemnation or anger. Quite the contrary actually, as I’ve found within myself, the resolve and the conviction I needed to keep going.

Like it or not, I have made my choice. I begrudge no one their happiness, in whatever form they find it. Mine comes in the form of a woman with more baggage than an airport terminal and more repressed emotions and unattended to insecurities than I could possibly enumerate. But I love her, deeply and fully. Those of you that know me with any measure of actual insight, know that my passion is intense and capable of being overwhelming in the extreme. My greatest task has been finding a way to focus that energy, to harness that potent passion and put it to use in a way that retains the power but does nothing to provide a detriment. I have finally reached that pinnacle and achieved my aim. The last month or so has hardly been one of grand excitement or blessing. True there has been a bit of good fortune, I got my new place with hardly any trouble, but the move has left me all but broke. But all of that aside, I’m no longer a slave to my passions, no longer chained or tethered to the ferocity of my own demons. I am free and in control of my reactions and my emotions.

My relationship has reached its apex. I honestly have never been happier with her. The coming weeks will yield a final and unquestioned decision and from that will either bring the greatest pinnacle of happiness and splendor I ever dared dream, or the ashes of the phoenix will be prepared to rise once more. I don’t know what the coming days have in store, nor do I venture a guess too far beyond what I can see immediately. I have hoped for far too much before, and I have felt the terse sting of disappointment that comes from having to accept that things didn’t play out the way I would have liked. For now, I’m doing my best to just enjoy, to just be, to feel happy, and to let the universe unfold on its own, in its own time, and as it chooses. 

A Case Made...A Cry For Help Follows...

            It is truly a beautiful thing to look back at the memories and mementos of days gone by and reminisce fondly with a smile and a whimsical feeling of elation or joy. Sadly, such a pleasure and indulgence  is beyond me at the moment. I’ve reached my fill and resolved that the final act must be played out, unfinished as it might be. I think a large part of me opted to continue the delusion and the charade for lack of a better option and the fear of having to accept that I was alone. Philosophically one is never alone, but in a more empirical sense there is only so much that hope can do for keeping you warm at night.

            My exploits reach far and wide, I have done the impossible and as Malcolm Reynolds would say, “That makes [me] mighty”. But in the end, regardless of the stakes faced, the cards played, and the risks taken, if you cease to believe that victory is possible…well you lose your will to keep fighting. Only when you actually believe that you can win, that whatever your fighting for is truly within reach, can you muster the courage and the strength to spend each day giving everything you’ve got on the battlefield. I’ve recently taken stock, evaluated everything, surveyed the missed opportunities and the ravages of the slain “bodies” left strewn on the battlefield of this war I’ve been fighting, and I have to be honest my friends, my losses are too great.

            It pains and saddens me beyond words to have to admit that perhaps this was a futile endeavor, the chips were against me from the start, the victor was decided before the armies reached the battlefield, or perhaps it’s just simply that I wanted more than the universe was willing to give me. Pick your cliché, I’m sure there’s more than a few I didn’t nail there. But the bottom line to this whole thing…well I just don’t have enough belief, enough hope, or conviction left to hit the battlefield again. I’m a veteran of a war I was too foolish to realize I could never win and quite honestly, at some point it did become a point of pride for me that I would do the impossible. I resolved that I would commit, that I would win at any cost and against all odds.

            As we get older, most of us grow and take with us the lessons of our years so that we can apply them later. For most another thing happens with the passing of each calendar, the loss of innocence. For a vast majority of us we reach a point where we are no longer predisposed to the willful acceptance of the incredible and instead regard almost every extraordinary experience with an air of cynical incredulity and jaded disbelief. It perhaps for this reason, when we reach the apex of our disillusionment with the wonder of the world in which we live, that we are compelled to procreate, in order that we might witness ourselves born anew and live once more vicariously through the next generation. It would fit to reason as most parents invest so much into providing a better life for their children than they had growing up.

            I somehow, despite the traumas, trials, tribulations, and catastrophes that have befallen me in life, managed to enter my adult years with a wild and untamed inner fire. I turned twenty-one and was possessed of a passionate flame that was as contagious as it was powerful. But as has been said for countless years, “The flame that burns twice as bright, burns half as long”. My friends, I have extinguished my air supply.

            I have, in all seriousness, begun to reevaluate my pursuits, goals, choices, desires, and convictions and I have found that the things I wanted when this conflict began, are no longer the things I crave. I am older, of that there is no question. Wiser is a subjective claim, and I am nothing if not humble about my intelligence. I am, however, undeniably, more jaded, more cynical, and from where I sit I’ve become the personification of what it is to be ignoble. I once held a resolve and a conviction that was unmatched by anyone. I was once the envy of other men for my unwavering commitment to a single woman despite the circumstances that my love for her resided in. Now I look myself in the eye and see only the hollow, empty, husk of the man I used to be. My features are more pallid, more pained. Beyond the wrinkles and skin blemishes, there lies a broken spirit, devoid of passion, lacking in conviction, and absent of all resolve to accomplish even the most base of difficult goals. So curtailed, neutered, and impotent has my mind become…well imagine trying to cut through frozen butter with a cold light bulb and have the slice come out exactly at the right measurement. It’s an impossible task given the bluntness of the tool.

            I once possessed a mind that could analyze and process most anything to a conclusion that despite the absurdity of it would more often than not turn out to have at least a majority of accuracy. Now it seems that I can’t even muster the energy to analyze the information laid before me, let alone draw a conclusion.

            I know I’ve waffled between painting her as a sinner and a saint. On the whole the relationship has been one of dependency. My fear of being left to the screaming silent echoes of my own mental solitude, gives way to a need for companionship. However my proclivity against being able to trust or let down my guard has strained my ability to connect with others. I have expressed and touted the value of connection, of true emotional vulnerability to someone that can help you be a better person. But until I met her, I was incapable of fathoming such a suggestion. To be truthful, when I met her my faith in mankind has been all but completely extinguished. I was so close to the precipice of shutting down the emotional nerve centers. The absolute closest I think I have ever been to true sociopathic tendencies. The once often heard “Systematic detachment from emotional reaction” was more than just a jarring quote to be examined by those that heard it, it was a life philosophy. It served a guiding beacon of change and freedom. I had gotten it into my head that if I could just detach, just turn off and no longer be connected, my life would improve. Things would get simple. Then she saved me from myself, from shutting down, from letting go and disappearing beyond the heavy curtain into the endless black void.

            Somewhere along the way I let the intensity and the power of those stifled and stymied emotions, the ones that had been choked back and held under pressure for fear that any expression or acknowledgment would undercut the endeavor, burst through the dam. An overwhelming deluge of visceral emotional sentiment that was tinged with the stink of love cascaded over the psyche and permeated the conscious, causing the first bitter taste of obsession. It was, however, obsession that was quite cleverly disguised. A façade of love and devotion provided a sheep’s clothing for that wolf to slip in unnoticed and before long it proved to more of an elephant in the room. The unacknowledged object that sat silent and looming in the corner, casting a shadow and pallor over everything it touched. Eventually maturity won out and called the eyesore for what it was. Obsession so defined was sent from the dynamic and love was brought in to fill the empty seat at the party. Sadly, love requires a bit more care, a bit more attention and appreciation than obsession. No longer self sufficient, or able to remain ignored and forgotten for extended periods of time, love is a bit needy. Requiring constant reminders, diligence, and commitment, it became a bigger burden to bear than the rest of the room was willing to tolerate. First patience left, finding little to remain idly standing by for. Next went tolerance, as the glossy veneer to which it had become accustomed no longer glinted in the dim light of the room with obsession gone and unable to reflect and radiate the dim illumination. Understanding tried to hang out as long as it could but eventually it took its leave with empathy and compassion. All three headed for the door at the same time. Passion did his best to remain, but in the end, too much stress had strained his heart and he finally collapsed, a soft and quiet death that barely made the remaining inhabitants lift their heads and take notice. Love continued whining and requiring care, but there existed only pride and conviction to tend to its needs. Pride was insolent from the outset and regarded the entire affair as an exercise to be experienced and later examined, having spent the majority of its time conversing with Intellect and Reason. Pride opted to depart while it still had something left to leave with, and Conviction remained alone with Love. Conviction endured and staunchly weathered the storm that ravaged the house. Happiness and Slavery, the odd couple that should never have met, tore the quiet silence in the eye of the storm to pieces and ripped away what little strength Conviction has left. And now there is only Love. Conviction breathed his last collapsed alongside Passion, spent and quietly broken beyond repair. Love was left on its own, to breathe, to live, to survive and function. John Lennon once said that Love is all you need. My god how I wish that were true. Love is indeed powerful, but it’s nothing without the others to rally behind it.

            The die has been cast once more, and this time, I’m wholly indifferent to the outcome. My bag of tricks is empty and moth eaten, my emotional self is more shell shocked that a captured Jewish POW at Auschwitz during WWII. And my rational mind has plumbed the well dry for defenses of why the relationship can or should work. In the end, Pride, my sin of choice, is the only impetus left to see this cavalcade of futility and foolishness toward the slightest glimmer of hope within the clouds. But Love is blind, and far too forgiving, and to that end it endures. Weak as an infant, ignorant as could be, possessed of a will and a whim to disregard vitriol and discontent, the last bastion stand blindly in the face of the coming second half of the storm, clutching fervently and unyieldingly to the tatters of Hope. Make no mistake, my resolve and my conviction have left me, I’m set adrift in the storm and have come to the eye. But despite the fragile nature of Love, there is power in him yet, and if his brothers can be rallied, if his cry can be heard as a call to arms, then “hope springs eternal”.

            So it is to you, my readers, my audience, my friends, my confidants, my trusted and valued equals, that I pose perhaps the most difficult and taxing question I ever have. Give me reason, give me justification, convince me that love is a beautiful and valuable thing, plead your case, make your argument, stand your ground and draw a clear and bold line in the sand. Argue as though the fate of your life, or the life of the one you love above all others, the one you hold in the highest regard, is on the line and the final impassioned plea of your heart will sway the reapers scythe toward another. Show me that love still exists in some form and is worth fighting for, that she is worth fighting for. Please.

Shadows of the Passing Year

The final hours of the year are drawing in and with them go another calendar. It’s always been a bit of an irony to me that most everyone looks to the New Year as some kind of rebirth, some token landmark that will grant them a reprieve from their troubles and somehow endow them with the wisdom to fix every ill they encounter. I say it’s ironic because wisdom by definition predisposes that this line of thinking is, for lack of a better term, retarded. Sound minded, reasonable people clamor together as the clock strikes midnight and the calendar changes and all anyone can think of is how the New Year will be the one, the one that will see them married, or off to a job they really like. They seem to think that a calendar needs to change in order for them to accomplish anything of value.

I’m not averse to the idea of using a symbolic milestone as a watermark for new life. Hell, I’ve met many people that say their life really began when they became a parent or when they found true love (I’m guilty of that last one), so the idea of beginning a new chapter in life is something I have no problem with. It’s the concept of leaving behind all the woes and misery of life with the passing of a year. It doesn’t mean anything, really. Taking a hard line approach to it, time in itself is a manmade construct and it doesn’t really amount to much in the grand scheme of the universe. The calendar we subscribe to is actually a Christian invention and thus an indirect buy out of some measure of Christianity (take that Atheists) so it’s all arbitrary when you really sit and analyze it.

All of that having been said, I actually find myself looking forward to the coming year. I will, come hell, high water, Armageddon, or the apocalypse, finally lay to rest once and for all what I’ve termed The Long Saga with Nicole. I’m also going to get my book published and stop sitting on it (almost five years in production and to be honest I haven’t done very much with it in terms of development since I penned the last words to it on December 28^th 2007. Those are my main two goals and really the only things I actually give a damn about accomplishing in the New Year. Both of them are easily attainable goals so I see no reason I can’t get it done.

The passing year for me was a bit interesting to say the least. I awoke New Year’s Day to dim lighting and my best friend passed out on my floor gripping a Hefty bag with all his might. I knew then it was going to be a year out of The Twilight Zone. I was working Karaoke at the Brass, having a ball and still miring away in the same job. I move mid-January into my current apartment, and found a new object for my affection in mid-February. That last bit turned out to be a horrid decision. I opted to pursue a sycophantic bartender that ended up spelling my doom instead of bringing me happiness. When the dust settled in early June from that debacle I found myself reaching out to the only person I trusted to give me an honest answer to the only question I felt really mattered right then, “Was anything about me genuine?” Nicole was honest and said quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard “You were the only honest thing about our relationship”. From the ashes of a failed endeavor and old one sprang forth, and I set back on the path to what I’ve always felt has been my destiny. I made the journey to see Tool in San Diego and it was then that the Long Saga began again. A late night text advising me to be careful and expressing love (we hadn’t even seen each other) was all it took to send my elation at seeing my favorite band into over drive and leave me on a plateau of happiness I hadn’t fathomed. The end of July I found myself on the receiving end of a show of vitriol that would have turned Hitler’s stomach. The Sunday following, a year to the day since Nicole had walked out of my life; she was back in my arms. Funny how life works out.

The middle of September found the flood gates of my emotion reopened, leaving me feeling and dealing with everything I thought I’d left behind and also sprawled on a blanket in the cemetery having lunch and reveling in the beauty of my love. I knew happiness again. A week after that and I was barred from entering the bar I’d called my own since before I could drink or even buy tobacco. John had given me the death knell and axed me, citing too much drama with the psychotic whore bartender (she accused me of stalking her) and too much grief from the owner (who has now sold the shit hole, or so I’m told). So I bid farewell to my friends, and closed a chapter in my life. Two months later I found myself stuck in a choice of whether I wanted to indulge in what most would see as self-destructive behavior or realize a dream. I took the former but told most everyone I did the latter. Such are the choices we make in life.

2010 began with no great fanfare and it’s ending better than I’d thought but not as well as I’d have liked. At midnight tonight my thoughts will be elsewhere, lost in the ether and drifting on the currents of something beyond us all. But I will smile, I will revel and I will do my best to embrace the warmth and camaraderie of my peers. Every day that passes from now until my last is a testament to what the human spirit can accomplish. I was told I’d become a failure when I was younger, and I proved that to be untrue. I was removed from my high school and left to the whim, of fate and I managed to find a silver lining. I was once told that the love I sought was beyond me and I fought against all odds to make it my own. I have done the impossible, and that makes me mighty, but we all have. We have all conquered our obstacles, we have persevered through the hardships of our life and made the best of whatever hand we’ve been dealt. It is by the tides of time, the ever present passing moment and the inescapable urge to capture and hold onto what we have, what we know, and to attempt to see the realization of what others say can never be that make us mighty. We are all stronger than we know, capable of so much more than we ever thought possible, and no matter what is to come in the next year, the one following, or the one that lies distantly ahead, I have no doubt that I’ll still be here, walking the planet, making life difficult for at least one other person, and still sharing my insights, my thoughts, and doing my best to eke out a life that is not just content but also happy.

I wish you all, the very best that the universe has to offer. May you all keep the love you’ve found and find innumerable ways to make it better. To those that have yet to find love, I wish the winds of fate to bring you the greatest happiness a person can know. The world is a beautiful place, full of wonder, joy, and love. My most fervent wish, aside from having Nicole in my arms, and calling her my own, is that each and every one of you find within you the capability and the compulsion to recognize the wonders of the world and how integral you are in it. I love you all my friends, and I hope the New Year is not just better than the last but that it sees the realization of our dreams and brings all the blessings of pleasure and bliss we ever fathomed.

"What is this burden of love, but the trials of a soul proving its own worth for the blessings bestowed by embrace of another..."

            Disillusionment is not something I do easily. For most things I find the worst case scenario and act on the precept that said scenario is a certainty, most things, that is, except love. For whatever reason I’ve seen fit to toil, wallow, and mire in a seemingly endless misery that would make even Bob Flanagan wince and take pause. It’s usually around this time of year that a tried and true pattern occurs and I find myself spiraling into a descent that I only just manage to escape after the New Year.

            The insipid holiday cheer that seems to permeate most every facet of the populace in the final months of the year is like glass in my brain. The plastic smiles, the token niceties that people doll out on demand, the screaming brats, and the same mindless soundtrack year after year all combine to drive me to the edge of insanity. Couple it with my normal disconnection from the masses this time of year, and you have recipe for disaster. Now in recent years it has played out with my going quiet, spitting bile at those that would seek to reach out, and my own venomous tongue shooting darts at even the most genuine of the perceived mindless drones.

            It’s no secret that the majority of my dissatisfaction has time and again been attributed to the implied obligation for gift giving and the pretense that people are really only genuine and nice to one another during the last months before the calendar change. While I won’t deny that those things do play a rather monumental part in my overall salty demeanor, the bigger part of it comes out of being and feeling alone and isolated this time of year. I steer away from the term jealousy mainly because it doesn’t apply. I don’t envy anyone their companionship or counterpart this time of year…well almost anyone. Unlike Valentine ’s Day where most people try to find someone in the hopes of getting laid (see Previous Post), the holidays usually intone a time for people to come together and connect.

            Now I promote and encourage connection with others, despite the all too real and bitter taste of the vulnerability it engenders. However, in taking a long hard look at my situation and the options open to me this time of year, for perhaps the first time in my adult life really taking a hard and analytically objective look at the facets of my life that combine to engender this misanthropy, I find that really it’s kind of circular.

            I’m miserable because I’m alone, but I’m alone because the only person I really want to spend this time of year with is the one person I absolutely can’t. I know by now it’s no secret to anyone that Nicole and I are talking again and relatively speaking we’ve come to accept that once more we’ve managed to eke out some semblance of a relationship. In taking things from an objective viewpoint I’ve realized that the most of you who have been along for the ride for any part of this ongoing saga have attested to, the only reason she and I work is because of me and my refusal to demand decent treatment at her hands. In addition my blind obsession with her (to be honest not just with you but myself, the vast majority of the past four years have been drenched in obsession disguised as love and defined by lust [take a second to let the meaning sink in]) has made it near impossible for me to simply walk away. The fear of being completely alone, of having to start all over again with someone else, to have to break down and burrow my way into someone’s inner circle of self and find that place of vulnerability…well the cynic in me knows all too well the amount of effort and reasons, somewhat justifiably, that it’s just not worth it.

            As social creatures in an era of mass dissemination of information we guard ourselves and our true feelings. Absolute vulnerability is something just too terrifying for most and it makes us put up walls that sometimes end up leaving us outside ourselves. One of my readers I speak to on a semi regular basis and she finds it both comforting and disturbing just how well I know her at times. The idea that someone can get beyond the armor, find their way to the soft inner core of our true selves, and do it all without ever really being around of making a truly concerted effort, well it’s not only daunting but also very unsettling. For most of us we spend the majority of our waking moments of interpersonal interaction gauging how much is too much. Should we tell the whole story or omit certain details? Is being completely honest always the best policy? Do we really benefit from being completely open?

            To remove some of the ambiguity of the questions above, think of it this way. People you’ve known your whole life, you’re fairly well comfortable around. Yet with certain things you invest a conscious effort to limit what is said or decide on the fly, just how much you should omit. A guy I’ve known since we were kids, at one point being thick as thieves and closer to brothers than friends, exhibited and demonstrated all too devastatingly a couple years back that my trust in him was sorely misplaced He completely disregarded my feelings and decided to deride my endeavors as being useless and without viable means of fruition. The definition of love I had found didn’t mesh with his perception of what love should be, and thus we had a schism. I still see the guy, I still interact with him, but outside of discussing general knowledge information, I find it hard to open up, to trust, or to divulge any real personal details.

            That being said, I think that all of us, myself included (hell I’m leading the charge), live in a near constant state of fear. Fear of being judged, of being alone, of being isolated or misunderstood. We go with the grain because the alternative is just too horrifying. We accept what people are willing to share, see what we’re shown and never endeavor to move beyond the veneer. I’m a terrible exception to it because I analyze everything and for me people are the ultimate puzzles.

            So circling back around, I find that it’s the time of year when I’m miserable because I’m disconnected. I interact with people, but I’m just outside that fuzzy warm zone where everyone gets to belong. Families come together, friends spend more time with each other, and I’m just too far out on the fringe of the whole system. Truth-be-told I’d love nothing better than to spend the holidays wrapped in Nicole’s arms, or just coming home to her every night. Instead I find myself struggling to accept that the best I can hope for right now is a fifteen minute phone call on her way home from work each night of the work week. Am I happy with it? Not by a long shot! Do I want more? No question. But I’m also a realist and I recognize that while it’s easy for my fan base (you guys) to criticize her and disparage her for the negative and selfish way she treats me (due in no small part to my own lambasting of her in a negative light [i.e., I “whine” to you guys instead of addressing the issue with her outright, come what may]) there’s a lot of layers to the dynamic I don’t share.

            The happiness I feel in her arms, the softness of her kiss on my lips and the way it makes my heart race (yes even after four years), or the tingle up my spine as her hands grip my back and she pulls herself into me, it all adds up to something that outweighs the seemingly overwhelming detriment of the dynamic. I won’t lie and say I don’t see it for it is, I recognize that I’ve had my life summarily on hold for the past four years. I’ve passed up many potential relationships, let go of many an interested woman (that no doubt would have treated me better and been better for me) but that’s the way love works. It drives you to do things that defy logic and complete fly in the face of rationality. I remain emotionally committed and convicted to the idea that given enough time she might come around. The downside is that the isolation I feel from having to remain so guarded around so many to keep the harsh tongues and wagging fingers at bay, leaves me with precious little solace for the loneliness that infects me in overwhelming abundance. I make no pretense as to whose burden it is that I carry, who is to blame for the decision to remain in such an obviously one sided “relationship”, or even that I’m not due the clacking of tongues and sometimes harsh admonitions I receive from those that care most about me. But by the same token, I feel no real obligation to defend said choices, outside of someone asking with genuine interest to understand, why I choose what I do.

            Love is the ultimate ambiguity because it comes in a unique flavor for everyone. The woman that stays with her husband even though she’s habitually beaten in his drunken stupors can still find some semblance of true love with the man. It’s just her flavor of the emotion. Likewise an old billionaire that recognizes something right and wonderful in the arms of a woman half his age, is no more wrong in his choice than a couple that finds each other across a crowded room and set about making a life amid a myriad of hardships.

            Now I will concede that my often touted definition and relation to the idea of romantic love being something that drives you to defy the Jiminy Cricket on your shoulder and whole heartedly engage in behavior and choices that make most outsiders opt for super gluing their palms to their foreheads just to save themselves the trouble of having to raise their arm so often. I see love as the ultimate no holds barred dynamic in which we can exist; a truly unconditional association of affection, peace, tranquility, adoration, and respect that super cedes all other possible constructs of behavior.  It is with that definition in mind that I have been able to endure, fight, suffer, bleed (emotionally), battle, and sacrifice all that I have. My personal conviction to what she and I could be, is enough of a driving force to keep me moving ahead with hope in my heart…or it was.

            It would seem that like all things in the universe, including the universe itself, my tolerance and understanding is finite. The dynamic this time around has been more taxing, due in large part to distance, but also because of the limitations that distance imposes. No weekend trysts, no long late night discussions as in days long past, hell in the five months we’ve been “back together” I’ve only seen her six times, and all of it is colluding together to test my resolve. Now I will admit that pride has played a significant role in my decisions of late. Somewhere in the back of my mind the warped conclusion that if I can manage to hold on to the pursuit, find the strength within to keep going, manage to muster enough hope and believe (no matter how naïve it’s seen to be) to ride this out until it’s last and final conclusion, I’ll prove once and for all that the kind of love I’ve espoused for so long does actually exist and that it is worth fighting for.

            Here’s where the breakdown occurs though. I’ve spent so much time, invested so much of myself, and let down so many walls within my sphere of self that she is one of the very few (perhaps the only one) that can really see through to the real me instead of what I project or willingly show. So I’m left to consider if I really am strong enough to walk away from this and leave the last four years of my life as little more than a blight of time that I had the pause button on. I know the sentiments will vary regarding what I should do, but ultimately remember it’s about my choices (that’s not to say that your thoughts and ideas won’t be considered though).

            Finally with all of this having been laid out, my disillusionment with the dynamic I’ve fought so hard to cultivate, defend, and attain comes into focus. I just really don’t know how much further I can go, what else I’m capable of doing. I’ve made off handed comments to some and even discussed with a couple of others, regarding my passion extinguishing itself due to emotional fatigue. I wake up most mornings and lack the resolve to approach the world with the same tenacity I once did, even the act of making love seems a bit forced at the outset. The raging inferno of my once untamable inner conflagration seems to have dwindled to little more than a weak and fragile flame on a tea candle struggling to maintain ignition through the torrid winds of a blizzard in the Antarctic.

            Those that know me best will no doubt have mixed feelings in their responses to this (does anyone still read?), struggling to support my decisions but wrestling with the anger of what they feel for my having given so much to someone they see as so undeserving. But it is to them, to those few that have peeled away the outer layers, seen behind the Wizard’s curtain, gazed into the abyss of who and what I am behind the shtick and wit, that I ask, very plainly, “How much more do you think I have in me, or for that matter how do you think I can reignite that almost doused spark within and return it to the vibrant almost violent firestorm it once was?”

            As a final note, I’m curious, more out of morbid fascination than anything else, for those of you that have ever been in love, those that currently are, and those that hope to be, consider your current mate, best previous, or ideal future one, and consider just how far you’d be willing to go. How much would you be willing to sacrifice, how much misery would you endure to spare them an ounce, exactly what are the limits to the burden you would endure in order to realize even the briefest moment of happiness behind their eyes? Think long and hard about the true measure of your love and devotion for the person you call your beloved, take into account all the things you wish you could change, all the things that once made your heart soar and your voice go dry, take note of what it was that first drew you to them and if it’s still there, and then answer the question, “Just how far would [you] go for love?”

Day 1 - The Journey Begins

Day started at 4AM. Up to shower, pack up the last minute bits of stuff and then off to Mark's. Boarded the flight, albeit with a slight embarrassment for Mark (he didn't read the Google Wave reminded everyone that TSA guidelines prohibit liquids in excess of 3.4oz as carry-on), then spent the entire 5.5 hours engaged in a wonderful conversation with a woman and her family from Australia. Covered a lot of topics, but met a very pleasant family. Found the hotel after a bit of mucking about, ran by Wal-Mart for some water and sunscreen, then back to the hotel. So far not a bad day, had a brief reminder of affection from her and enjoyed the mention. Can't wait to see her again. Oh, listen to me prattling on, closing for now as we're off to get good and smashed, tune in tomorrow for the next bit of fun and excitement on this.

From somewhere deep inside...

In recent days and weeks, the return of a situation that has provided more emotional impetus than any other has found its way back into my mind and occupied my thoughts. The few that are aware of the goings on, and the day to day ups and downs, have done their best to empathize, to understand, and to accept. To those few I commend you all. But in providing such open mindedness, some of them have come to see me in a new light. I’ve somehow come to be seen in a way that suggests others think me the bearer of an indomitable and unflinching conviction for personal commitment that surpasses and far exceeds the limits of others.

The phrase “I don’t know how you do it” has become a refrain I’m hearing all too often. The disbelief of my patience, understanding, accommodation, and willing acceptance of circumstances in a situation that far from fair, is espoused at length by more than a few. A kind of staggering bewilderment that one such as myself would so blindly or willingly commit to a dynamic or situation so clouded, sordid, and capable of such wide sweeping destruction has infected those closest to me. Please don’t take this to suggest that people think me stupid or foolish (I do enough of that myself), but rather that the day to day endurance of the situation with not so much as a major meltdown or severe loss of self, has come to be recognized as a feat outside the capabilities of most everyone.

I can’t say where the strength or resolve to go on comes from. I don’t know what deep and seemingly endless pool inside of me I draw from to power my unyielding frame of mind. I don’t think its super human or anything of the sort, but a facet of human interaction that is dying fast. There are too many superficial dynamics, fair-weather friendships, and lackluster relationships that die out too quickly and are seen as little more than a natural progression of life. The kind of openness and resolve I’ve come to share is far too foreign in today’s society to be understood by those around me.

I’ve contemplated a great deal about what makes the relationships of others fizzle out and what makes others succeed. As near as I can narrow it down, it would seem that the only real motivation for attempting to cultivate a relationship of any kind with someone else these days is for sex. Sex itself has become the primary impetus for any kind of connection between two peoples of the opposite sex. It’s no longer a facet to express love or trust; it’s simply the “logical” endpoint for all relationships.

It’s no longer boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, boy woos girl, boy and girl fall in love, boy and girl live happily ever after. Instead it’s become boy sees girl, boy gets girl drunk and has a conversation consisting of idly complimenting her shoes or hair, girl gets drunk, boy takes girl home, boy and girl hook up, boy and girl continue talking but build a relationship based on sex, boy wants anal, girl says no, boy and girl break up. I’m over simplifying of course, but the point stands that the relationships become about sex. When the sex gets boring the relationship dies. No anal, no Italian Chandelier (it helps if you’re really limber or do Yoga), no real experimentation or connection because the sex doesn’t engender trust. So when the action goes from carnal pleasure and indulgence to senseless rutting with little more emotional response than wiping your nose, the relationship dies.

So it is with this realization in mind, the truth of what dating, courtship, and relationships of a romantic sort have become, that I find little surprise in the acknowledgment of others in regards to my deep and profound commitment to someone else. For me, the sex is a facet of expressing the depths of love, the expanse of trust, and the overall indulgence in the unspoken bond of affection with another person. The sex is not the end point goal, or the over riding intention of my relationships, but just another way of saying “I love you”. Since it was never, and has never been about sex for me, I have no issue staying true to myself and my convictions for the person. I’m invested, not just on a superficial level, but on a deep level of connection. It’s something elusive and ambiguous to most everyone else. It’s a practice of a bygone era and time. Seeing human companionship as the ultimate way to feel complete and happy, instead of pursuing useless idle pursuits of indulgence of the flesh is a practice that has set me far apart from my peers.

I don’t expect any grandiose epiphany or awakening in anyone from this, I’m sure the ambiguity I’ve made sure to maintain regarding certain details, and the overall lack of solid discourse for being able to identify with the feelings and viewpoints I’ve discussed make it a bit hard to find solid ground upon which to stand with this one, but let me see if I can sum it up a bit. Sex is a by product of emotional feeling, it should always be secondary to the pleasure of being in one’s company instead of the primary aim. If you embrace the attachment, make the investment, and allow personal conviction and commitment to something greater than just mindless rutting to empower you, anyone can do as I have done, and remain committed to ideal, no matter how hopeless it seems at time, that true love is waiting.