Too Many John Cusack Films

Love is a funny thing. It's said that life is one's quest for love...that is, of course, if you aren't busy lusting after scantily clad bartenders. I've spent a lot of time thinking about love. I find it very difficult to nail down its definition. When you are little, you love your parents. You love your teddy bear, your favorite Cabbage Patch Kid. A few years later, you begin a love affair with a sports team, which you may continue until you die as an old man.

In kindergarten, a boy may find himself in an "Our Gang" like He Man Woman Haters Club...cooties and all that jazz. The fear of women starts to get replaced by apathy when the boy is too busy trading hockey cards to even notice their existence. And then suddenly he sees something different in a girl (I'm not sure personally when this happened to me, although I can recall having a pretty big crush on Harriet the Spy). This, of course, is something that he keeps to himself for fear of being thought of as a weirdo by his classmates.

This kid gets into fifth grade and is now sitting far enough in the back of the bus to where he can the eighth graders discussing the wonderful world of sex. For the next two years, he constantly debates with his other 11 year old friends as to which one is the Christopher Columbus of sexual exploration...haha.

The kid gets his first girlfriend. They hold hands on the playground and share the occasional kiss on the cheek. Neither one is really comfortable with what is going on, but is Boy Meets World says that this is what life is all about...who is to argue? Things don't last, the girl breaks up with him for the kid with the goddam holographic Charizard or whatever the hell they were called. Tough "love" eh?

This petty dating continues on and on, and the relationships get more serious. Kids make the transition from the perils of Junior High to High School. At this point the kid will do his best to try to lose his virginity, so he can finally win the debate with his elementary school chums. This seems the general trend for the progression of man's interest in women.

At some point however, the boy gets hit in the face with a bag of bricks. He meets a girl and realizes that he can't possibly spend his life with anyone else. This isn't love like how you loved watching Beavis and Butthead. This is the love the you expect to be as nice as a bunch of doves and unicorns riding candy sleds along huge rainbows. For most people, it beats your being to a pulp and leaves you without sleep or motivation...you know, the whole first cut is the deepest thing.

I'm a believer that for every person, there is one soul mate. People throw the word love around. This has always bothered me. I think that people may think that they are in love because they are nervous that if they keep waiting, they will die before they find that special person. This is why people can fall in love, date for years, break up, get depressed, heal, and love again. However, if they found their "true love," I don't believe that they would have any desire to keep searching afterward. Each person gets one shot; if they fuck it up, they fuck it up. I sure as hell hope that things don't play out that way for me.

I guess that's what I think love is, in the romantic context anyway. I often wonder if lust is a separate issue from love, if it is a spur, or if it is a way to mask the numbness caused by a lack of requited love; but that discussion is for another time. All I know is that I really respect those who believe in love, find love, fight for it, and remain true to it. It takes a great deal of work, a great deal of pain, and a great deal of patience. Robert Frost said that "Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired." I'm not sure I agree with him, but it flows a lot smoother than my concept.

Lust

The side effects of lustful desire seem to be a driving force in today's society. This evening I decided to meet an old friend for a few drinks. We haven't seen each other in a long time and I decided that, instead of going to the dive bar that I normally frequent, we go to a "classier" bar in town. There were about 10 people at the bar with 6 people working behind the bar. 1 of the 6 was a guy but the rest were women (it should be noted that these women had spectacular bodies). I suppose the bar was having a beach theme as every one of the female bartenders was wearing a bikini in addition to other seductive accessories. Our bartender kind of looked like a slutty Audrey Hepburn which I found to be a little sad. Oh right... I was going somewhere with this.

Everywhere I go, the sexual image seems to be flaunted to sell. While it is only my opinion (as is everything on this blog), sex and beauty have become synonyms in our society. In this case personal display is the chicken while mass media is the egg. I'm not really sure if guys are wearing beaters with their pants pulled down low because they saw some rapper doing it, or because the rapper's PR people have told him to wear this so that his fans will associate. Either way, they both feed off of each other.

I am not much of a summer person. I prefer the autumn and winter. I especially like walking around the city on cold days to watch all of the bundled up people zip from one heated building to another. This is a perfect opportunity to see beauty. The people that walk by are all on a mission...it is much easier to see who they really are. When the summer comes, they will shed the coats, hats, and boots for outfits which will hopefully turn heads on the sidewalk.


By no means am I try to preach abstinence or some sort of deranged Holden Caulfield philosophy. It just bothers me to see how many people whore themselves out for profit and self gain...it is even worse that our society encourages this behavior. (note: I am only referring to people who try to fit into an established mold in hopes of feeling like the belong to something. Revealing outfits can be pulled off in a classy manner.). It seems like the more insecure a person is, the more they feel the need to use their charms to make it. If not, we call them ugly.

I wish that every person on this planet could be comfortable with themselves. This may seem like some sort of pretentious opinion, but I think we can all agree that when sex is being used to sell hamburgers, and toy manufacturers are producing "fun lower back tattoos" for small girls, things have gotten a little out of hand. I guess what I'm trying to say is that beauty lies in truth. Beauty can be beauty, and sex can be sex. the two can cross paths, but let's not allow them to be merged into one idea.

Death

Recently, an acquaintance and fellow parishioner at my church passed away. While the initial shock of his unexpected death startled me, I found that its effect was lingering in my daily life. In the past, I have had to deal with the deaths of close friends and family. When a family member or a friend dies, a void is created within a person. Suddenly, someone who you have shared a great deal of your life with, will no longer be able to be with you on your life journey. This is a terrible feeling that many people, myself included, can never really come to terms with.

The recent passing of this acquaintance is not the same. While I knew him, and would speak with him from time to time, I knew relatively little about his personal life. From the little time I did interact with him, I could see that he was a good human being. He always had a smile on his face, and always had something positive to say. I think the part that really troubles me in an instance like this is that I have to deal with the fact, that I never got to know him, and that I will never have an opportunity to know him further down the road. Often times we get so caught up in our lives that we neglect to realize that everything in this world is temporary and that as much as we will die, so will everyone and everything else. With the chaos on the highways, disease, and the crime and violence in this world, we do not have the time to put off getting to know people...unless we can live with them being eternal strangers.

Brotherly Love

The clock keeps turning, but time stands still;
Bleached by the sun, the blood only remains in the mind.
A life given, a life taken.

For six short years, his service was given;
Till one cold night, his life was evicted.
A hero slain, a villain born.

Swift justice was served, scorned by the people;
The villain reincarnated, a victim of the system.
A cold killing, a radical world.

The truth is diluted, mixed with words;
Molded saviors, void of truth.
A world cheers, a body cries.

Dismember

I enjoy being the one.
Bring your steel smile,
Succumb to the inevitability, chopping away.
When you look up, no café can hold the guilt,
Strong bridges with strong souls.
I’ll Ignite my Torch.
Cutting away what you’ve done to me. There will only be air,
And there I’ll be; which leads to turmoil.
At the bridges tender fibers, make a doubtful glare,
Eradicating all paths, standing with the axe.
Blistering work for peace of mind; don’t fall off.
There will be no rebuilding when you dismember.

Judas Pt. II

The curtains swayed in the wind.

Moonlight danced on the balcony.
A man slouched in a red leather chair
placed in his neatly kept library.
Unlike the trying years before,
he was able to sit in peace amongst volumes of books.
Some old
Some new
but all echoing the wretched words
that had haunted his mind for years.
It mattered little to him at this point,
the past was sealed away on the worn paper
bound between antique leather.
Enchanting dreams were cut short by a harsh reality,
as a thunderous tremor shook his home.
Everything stayed still
still as the surface of a forgotten lake,
except for a small blue book which fell to the ground,
fell open, exposing words which prayed to be forgotten.
the words dug like knives
into the poor man's soul.
He ran for the glass door but found it locked.
He banged and banged until a small red river formed at the wall’s bottom.
All that was left was a dying man clutching desperately to the broken glass.
His strength faded as he gazed
into the broken glass which sat just a few inches from his questioning eyes.
He tried to break through as much as he could.
But he fell for the last time.
While the pieces of a man stared back at him.

Rhetorical Thought

Beethoven blares from the speakers,
and she’s thirsty.
I give her some acid and open my book.
James is on the floor, trying to keep up.
His guitar is a little off,
his mind out of tune.

Bobby’s alright sitting
tight against the wall.
A cold stare
fixed on yesterday’s newspaper.
It's apparent my reading just
isn’t going to get done.

I put away my book
and Beethoven rolls over.
James gets up,
Bobby stays put,
and as for that girl,
she’s in her own little world.

My feet won’t keep still
I start dancing.
James joins in.
Bobby hasn’t caught on yet.
And that poor girl,
is hiding under my bed.