Lo-uh-ving Yoo-oo

I've had a strange weekend.

Stranger yet, nothing was really that out of the ordinary.

I've also been pulling out the ex files. never a good sign. i vaguely remember that show, though. i remember it had slogans like The Truth is Out There, Trust No One, and my favorite I Want to Believe. its almost too ridiculous a refernce point, the close phonetic nature of ex and x, the horribly despondent connatations when applied to a failed relationship, and not a show about investigeting the paranormal.

perhaps relationships are un-normal things then; I dont think we are particularly cut out for whole and utter devotion to another homo, um, sapaien.

Love seems like a general reaction to things that are supposed to happen in your life. Losing your virginity on prom night, watching someone kneel infront of you with a shiny stone, wanting to have children, wanting a nice house with a nice person, cooking for two, laughing at a joke, apple pie, r&b songs, watching someone drive, losing, winning, eating, sex. It does not really seem to happen corporally, naturally, and of its own accord. I think we watch romantic comedies for the same reason we watch horror films, beacuse the perfect fit of two overly attractive individiuals is just as much a myth as Godzilla or a wind that makes people kill themselves. yes, kill themselves.


It is so hard to pin when and how you are going to feel...anything. Often times i see people in the midst of it, and i just see reaction, a big fat six month reaction that will eventually tire itself out once everything does not become a novelty anymore. Love is just a word for minor and fairly justifiable infatuation. Infatuation over sex, empathy, hair, ego, compainionship, mind fuck. all these great things that we are lucky to be able to react too.

Im not saying its a bad thing. In fact i think it is great to react often, and as passionately as you can. I just feel that saying i do, for ever and ever or expecting your love to trump all other facets of timeless life is probably an unwise choice.

that said, i have glady opened the ex files and lay in bed some nights dozing off to sleep in some stupid and embarrassigly kitchy alter scenario. and so badly, somedays do I Want To Believe

Enough

Lately i have been thinking a lot about self sufficiency. And when to call it quits.

Sometimes the greastest distance is that which you create yourself. its difficult to know if this distance is independence or self preservation. Its diffcult to even know when to protect yourself and when to feel something. Worst of all, the things that blindside you are often the ones leaving the pinkest scars.

You love someone or something for a reason. That reason is strong enough . It is strong enough to reconsider boundaries. To rework events. To renew perspective. It is strong enough to leave you shivering and all fucked up. It is strong enough to drive you drunk and up the wall.

Some reasons are enough.

But sometimes, they are the very things that make you sigh and then say, enough is enough

Kill me, Say Anything

I can't help it, i love listening to Say Anything. It feels like a guilty pleasure, something i should not enjoy. I wouldnt say i actually love the band himself, i dont really know much about them, their music isnt something i "identify" with, you cant really move to it, unless its the spastic dying remnants of hair metal head banging. oh shiver, the motion that comes coupled with a follow up bodily twist, jerking over from the waste up. woof.

i dont know what it is. their lyrics maybe. the snarky, lippy, grandly dramatic proclamations of self efficiency, sexual sarcasm, hyperbole? in my various litertaure classes i usually try to classify what gender i think will suceed in the class the most. last quarter it was british lit 1900-present,, and we read conrad, t.s. eliot, beckett, coetzee, forester, fucking james joyce. mostly small paperbacks with their various huge self aggradizing themes. Big old declarations of life, death, time, torture, and fate. The paralysis of spirtuality. The meaningless of life in a living death. Boys love that shit. i think, i mean i think they can get off specifically on the lack of neccessary specifical-ity that is required to pontificate on these various themes. its all gore and no restrictions. Mostly what you say sounds sound, and you can go bigger and better and newer, you are relatively limitless in your jecturing.

i, as identifying with the portion of population that has a vagina, dont love that shit. of course i appreciate, admire, and enjoy it, but it doesnt get me half as excited. what gets me all excited is something im too tired and preoccupied to discuss: but briefly,,, something about why there's always a window over the kitchen sink.

so anyway, say anything. i dont think i will ever stop listening. i love it. i dont think i fully understand, but it makes me laugh and feel cool. and i get it sometimes.