This one’s gonna be short; not unlike the breadth in a text from those lost ladies of love. Was it last week? Fuck. I can’t remember. They send one every now and then. It’s not that I’m apathetic. I love every one, every girl; those “shes” of rewritten history. It’s not that I’m unenthused either. I’ve learned to be better about dwelling. It’s simply that time is a bitch. It’s that life is a soft pillow, sometimes. And I stress the word “sometimes”. To the point now where I even regret saying it. But if I may finish the thought, it’s a pillow to snuff others out with. Life, if anything, abides by this uncomfortable truth. And if you’re thinking I’m wrong. Or you’re not quite sure what the hell I’m talking about. Then let us pray for you. For it was Nietzsche who first claimed that “Man is a contradicting animal”. Then, most likely aware his irony, he told us that “Freedom lives in radical self creation.” So if its because she doesn’t want to come with you, where ever you wish to go, or you with her, then beg only once and move on. Evolution is not a choice. For those of you shaking your head at the rather sound advice I just gave. Stop. Buddha wouldn’t do it and neither should you.
While on the island, Darwin collected himself in a circle and sat round with a group whom he called equals. Single of course, he traded “Hellos”, gestured mating calls, told secrets in languages that only obscure pictures in a notebook could halfwittedly depict. He isn’t absent. It’s just that society was an absent part IN him and what can you do at that point? I doubt there was much comfort in his decision to join the herd, but as Nietzsche paradoxically points out: there is freedom in that. Moreover, and as a side thought: being the only animal in the circle who understands exactly what it is they’re sharing, it’s gotta be a weird thing.
So the message read like this:
“You?” They consistently insult me without even intending. I’m already thinking: what do you want? Not what I said of course, but defiantly my first reaction. I pull through. After all, what are we, but the sum of instincts driven to impress?
“Hey! What are you up to!?”
Now its a variation of things, but usually revolving around these three replies: 1. “Nothing” 2. “Blah blah blah”- I’ll ignore the question. 3. “I’m drunk”
Let’s go with option 2. since the others are fucking stupid. This at least shows a hint of sincere interest between us.
This one says:
“Hey, just wondering if I could borrow your dog for the weekend?”
“Sure” I say.
“Go to mom’s and grab her!”
“How’s the law thing going?” – Her job.
She explains in detail, every sweet part happening in her life. Sparing nothing on current events, promotions, living situations. I’m genuinely interested. I listen…well as best one can via text message.
Sometimes they go further: they’ve seen someone I know, they’ve heard a song that I like, a movie they liked, maybe they need something? Name of someone? A number? An animal that belongs to me?
It’s not offensive. Really. Honestly, these “she’s” are people I’d once considered my best friends. We’d share everything with each other, but now when its a “Hello” it’s about as good as a “Good Bye”. I know to some of you, (speaking to them now) I might of fucked things up between us. Scratch that. I defiantly did, but I guess in the end, I’m an idealist. I’m a contradiction, circled round, telling stories on some digital notebook, which was never fully understood by strangers. Now when it’s “Hello” it’s also “Good Bye.” Not a: “let’s meet up!” Not a: “I miss you!” or “You’re important to me.” Not anything beyond what amounts to two paragraphs a year. Perhaps I deserve that. Perhaps I should be grateful for that…happy I’m given enough to know they’re still alive. Superficially at least. I suppose on the whole, it’s selfish to know. And we don’t share EVERYTHING anymore. And I stress the word “Everything”…to the point now where I even regret saying it. But if I may finish the thought: that is…unless we’re talking about your shit…but I suppose that’s the price of loving…
when other’s have lost it.