Better the Comforts I Know

July 28, 2012 § Leave a comment

Comfort is escape, but from what? At what point is it a denial of responsibility? What is the responsibility? It weighs heavily but has a big thumb on the scale. Comfort does not signify contentment of a real kind, but a buffer from the pain of coping with without. I look for comfort in myriad things, but in none do I truly find it, for futility ever leads the pursuit. The horse is dead in the gate. Contentment is not an accumulation of comforts. No number of good books I read, good movies I see, or amount of music I enjoy totals what I am after. In fact, I sometimes think that their absence will reveal the peace I seek, but I fear the void. It’s a theory I can’t bring myself to test. Better the comforts I know….


Music Is Not to Be Trusted

May 29, 2012 § Leave a comment

The music lied to me. Well, really, I misinterpreted it. I’d come to recognize mere infatuation by the insipid pop songs I’d allow to come to mind: True love could not be represented by such facile pap. I heard none of that while working with Herself. That might have been why it took me so long to recognize what I was feeling. What I hadn’t understood (or chosen not to) was that what I was hearing was not also an indication of how she felt toward me. It was enough that I was in love. Surely that was all she needed to know, all that was necessary for her to accept and return the feelings. I knew better even then, but the doubt that arose I tried to attribute to my natural pessimism and cynicism. More than ever, I wanted this feeling to be real and requited. Mostly, I heard XTC— “Beating of Hearts,” “Wonderland,” “Love on a Farmboy’s” Wages,” “Great Fire,” “Earn Enough for Us,” “Rocket from a Bottle,” “Love at First Sight”–never letting myself believe she didn’t hear seagulls screaming “Kiss him! Kiss him!” “Sgt. Rock (Is Going to Help Me)” was  the last song I played before leaving for what  ever afterward I’ve called The Trainwreck. He was no help at all. The only XTC I could hear after that was “Me and the Wind,” but that was wishful thinking on the other end of the emotional scale. Music is not to be trusted.

In My Pajamas

May 15, 2012 § 4 Comments

Getting to know myself has required a lot of time alone, but I have no intention of becoming hermetically sealed in my apartment. I bore myself sometimes. After the movies, books, music, and writing, there’s still no one there to talk to about them. I talk to myself, but I always know what I’m going to say. So I go to Carytown. It’s crowded, as a city street should be, with lots of shops from which I might actually buy something, but I’m just looking for conversation. I never know if I’m going to get it, but I know early on which it’s going to be. The first person I have opportunity to talk to is the bellwether. The sooner I get out after my morning coffee, the better chance I have to ignore my shyness. The conversation doesn’t start if I don’t initiate it. Some days I just can’t do that. It seems that on those days no one talks to me, either. Is it just that kind of world? or do I look like I don’t want to interact? Give me a couple more choices. On those days I want to think that if I stay out there a little while longer something will happen, but all that happens is I get home much later than I intended, feeling I’ve wasted the day, made no progress at all in my socialization, and dug myself a little deeper into my loneliness. Sounds like something I could have done at home in my pajamas.

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