(Oxy) Moron.

Remember how once we sat so close?

You touched my knee, I rubbed your back,

I leaned in, you leaned in closer;

Lips to ears, we shared our secrets,

Giggling quietly in the pew.

Eyes on mouths, your arm around me,

It was all I could do not to lay my head on your shoulder

And kiss your neck,

In the chapel,

In front of God and everyone.

Later that night we met at a party.

You sat across from me and asked

What sort of man I was looking for.

You joked about my brightly colored clothes,

Made fun of my laugh,

Making me feel ridiculous,

And suggested I make a move on another guy in the room.

I kept my eyes down,

Focused,

Trying hard to ignore you.

I left that night angry and confused:

How could we be such intimate strangers?

Song of Myself: Observations in a Coffee Shop

I sit down at a table across from a couple having a very serious conversation. The girl is young, probably 20 or so, dark with an accent, very beautiful, very vulnerable. The guy is handsome, well dressed, incredibly confident, an air of insincerity about him. They whisper to each other, sitting very closely, her hand on his knee. I can hear her telling him how she has a hard time trusting men; too many have used her. At one point he says, “I am an awkward person,” to which she replies, “so am I,” and I think, “everyone is an awkward person.”

They talk for about an hour, holding hands, tears in her eyes, indifference in his. He gets up to leave. She sits there for a few minutes then says to me, “can I tell you what just happened?”

She begins to recount the history of their relationship. They have been dating for a month and she just found out from his roommate that he has been seeing other girls while dating her. And though I realize the irrationality of her wanting him to be devoted to her after just one month, I understand where she is coming from. There have been too many guys who I’ve wished would devote themselves to me after a short amount of time, thinking if only they would spend more time with me they would see how great I am, how great we could be for each other. So many relationships that could have been, if only.

I listen to her vent, shake my head, tell her I understand. She keeps saying, “I am an idiot. I feel so stupid,” to which I reply, “I have been there before. You are not stupid.” After a few moments of silence she gets up to leave and I smile and wish her luck.

A man comes in and sits a few feet in front of me at a couch near the door. He sits down with his Mac Book; he has long hair and a beard, is wearing dirty jeans and grungy t-shirt, looking purposefully homeless. I notice him look over at me. I look up. He looks over and smiles. Looks over and smiles. Looks over and smiles. Finally he asks me if I have any rolling paper. When I tell him I don’t he says he is not surprised, laughs, and commences typing.

A girl comes in with long blond dreads and greets the man, leans into him, obviously interested in his attention. He acts indifferent, tells her he is here, as usual, to write. She senses his indifference and goes to order a coffee. 

The man working the counter has longer blond hair, a little heavier set, very jolly. He wears baggy clothes and sandals, whistles theatrically along with the Motown playing on the stereo. In walks in some ridiculous looking kids. They look like they have spent hours making themselves appear as dirty and outlandish as possible. I don’t understand. In the name of self-expression, it seems like too much work to me, and they are trying so hard to be different they are no different at all. They are just like all the others who are trying to be different. We are all trying so hard to be different, trying so hard to be unique, trying so hard to “find” ourselves. Why don’t we just let ourselves be?

And though I find this a bit absurd, I think, “these people are my people.” We are all each other’s. 

Music as a Replacement for Love

There is no security in love, at least that is my experience with it. Perhaps if you find someone who you truly connect with, someone willing to compromise and sacrifice for you, someone willing to love you despite of, or (better yet) because of your quirks, someone who will always think “the sun shines out your ass,” well then, in that case, perhaps there can be security in love.

I see my best friend Kelsie with her husband Dave, and I can tell they feel secure with each other. They argue sometimes and get on each other’s nerves, but they adore each other. Dave laughs at Kelsie’s silly jokes, and Kelsie giggles and flirts with Dave. They look at each other differently than they look at anyone else. I love to watch them. They are  confident in each other.

But I have not found such a person. I am not saying I never will; miracles happen. I just don’t know if I am capable of love, and I don’t know if I even want it. What I mean is, love, romantic love, makes me irrational and I am already an incredibly irrational person. I am impulsive and emotional. I am not logical. I look into everything. I argue at inappropriate times and I hate being wrong. Love magnifies these imperfections. It makes me uncomfortable. I like to be in control of myself and love makes me feel like I have no control. It makes me do things I don’t want to do.

I suppose I could see love as an exercise in patience and self-control, but it is just so damn hard. Too damn hard. I would rather avoid it.

Maybe I’m defeatist?

Nope. I am just lazy, and I hate being made aware of my flaws, which is exactly what romance does to me.

Music, on the other hand, makes me feel good. Music makes me feel lustful, beautiful, sad, hurt, happy, elated, sexy, at home, transformed. Music brings me comfort. The best part about music? It makes me feel like I’m in love, but it doesn’t cause me to act irrationally. I feel good when I listen to music, I lose control but I’m not outta control. My heart aches for music constantly, but unlike the unrequited lover, music reciprocates immediately. It is the perfect companion, the most forgiving and loving partner, the most devoted lover.

I choose music. 

Caves

You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile

You may find yourself in a beautiful house

With a beautiful wife

And you may ask yourself, how did I get here?

Where does that highway go to?

My God, what have I done?

Letting the days go by…

Let’s talk about people in caves. I found these really great Life magazines in a thrift store a few months ago that were published in 1969, so naturally there was a big focus on Vietnam and the political tension going on in the States at the time. One of the issues has a young couple on the cover in their underwear, lying in the crevice of a cave, looking purposefully apathetic. They, along with dozens of other ex-patriots, had moved from the US to live in some caves in Crete. They were there for different reasons; some just wanted to get away, some were dissatisfied with the way America handled its affluence, some were fed up with the war. One woman said, “America has worn me out. I don’t believe in God, and I don’t believe that America is the golden center of the universe. You can get away with not believing in one of these, but not both.” Many of them expressed sorrow and frustration in the fact that they grew up with so many things and were incredibly privileged while many people around the world couldn’t even get clean water or enough to eat. They had to get away.

When asked if they would ever go back, most of them shrugged and said maybe they would. As the article was being written, one family, a mother, father, and two little girls (who had been born there) were getting ready to move back to the States, hesitant at what they would find there, but ready to face it.

I’ve always had this dream of selling everything I have, buying an RV, and travelling the country, getting odd jobs here and there to get by, but just travelling, meeting and learning from people. I’ve also had a dream of living in a tree, away from society and people altogether, in complete solitude. I’ve also had a dream of doing something great, influencing people in some good way, being “the change [I] want to see in the world.” Which is right? Are they all right?

I connect to the cave people; I want to get away from it all as well. I want build a cabin near Walden Pond and disobey the rules our culture has set. I want to live in a tree and write poetry all day, away from people. But then how would anything get done? Wouldn’t it be better to face adversity and stand up against it? Isn’t there something to be said for the enrichment and satisfaction that comes from meeting different people and gaining new perspectives? One cannot hide under a rock.

I wonder what happened to all of these cave dwellers. I wonder if they all came back to the US or if they stayed in Crete. If they did come back to the States, what became of them? Did they come back and create change? Did they stand up for their ideals? Or did they end up, as The Talking Heads say, living in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife, wondering where the highway goes to, wondering what has become of the opinions they were once so passionate about? Did they settle into the middle-class American lifestyle they once despised? Did they give up and settle for convention? Will I ultimately do the same?