Eighteen Minutes Passed the Hour

If a day had only eighteen hours I would gladly spend the first sixteen musing over the thought of her. A more amorous day I find hard to imagine, and were I to be proven wrong, that day too would become only if she insisted.

I am completely and utterly bemused. Reason tugs at me – It cannot, must not – should never be. It’s not reality, it’s all just an orchestrated play. But yes it is – as real to me as the shadow that follows as each footstep takes me further from away.

Drunk in awe I am of her. A fact I wish I knew of ways to adequately say.

I blink and she is gone too long, her touch I have so long evaded for fear of what I wish to never say. I really should just come out and say it, I mean really. But what if I ruin it? What if I make this beautiful place disappear – or even worse still, what if I make her disappear? I couldn’t bare that thought. As much as I long for just a moment to hold her – just a moment – not to speak or breathe or think, just a moment to be, I cannot risk it. She means so much more to me than superficial bits and pieces.

Why exactly I don’t think I will ever be sure. But then, I don’t think everything in life needs to be validated by proof or facts or even reason. Sometimes some times are just there. And they exist as do we…the trick however is to find harmony between them. The joy lies in experiencing them for what they are, precious.

Each time that I am near I sway to the pulse of her smile and have to stop myself from saying that “gods dammit I am so swept away by you”.

And I know that even as she reads this, the sweetest grin across her face is just appearing, a giggle, a chuckle or a smile perhaps?

I know she knows, because we both know.

You inspire me. I am captivated.

Love is jealous….oh wait, no it’s blind.

Let’s talk cliche for a minute. But, let’s not waste your time with the insignificant ones shall we? You guys don’t like reading anyway so I’m going to start with the biggest of the bunch – “love is blind”.

The Black Sheep

Made famous in classic literature way back by the revered novelist, George Bernard Shaw in his masterpiece An Unsocial Socialist. The problem is we have gone and misquoted the guy, as it seems we like doing with any literature from our past. The full sentence reads “You can hardly blame me for that: I was in love myself; and love is blind and jealous.”

But we left out jealous. Because jealous is not cool, and it certainly is not in line with what another famous writer said when he wrote “love is patient, love is kind… love is never jealous…”  In contradiction to this, the very author of the book containing this statement said “God is love” and later also that “God is a jealous God”. But love is not jealous, so that means that either God is not love or that there is a god called love and another called jealous. (No blasphemy intended here by the way, just taking a neutral and objective look at all the angles).

Anyway.

So now we have a problem. If jealousy is the opposite to love does that mean there can be not one without the other? Like a twisted Yin-Yang. That would mean that if you aren’t jealous you are not in love. Or am I completely missing the point here?

A little closer to home

Now, for a very long time I was the flag-bearer of the notion that love is a choice not an emotion. But, as of late I have given that some thought. If love is not an emotion that means you can chose and that means you can control it, right? So why then can jealousy not be controlled? Why is jealousy an emotion then? And after thinking for a minute I realized that jealousy is blind, not love. And jealousy can be controlled – by love. According to the Word Smith in the now-popular-and-soon-to-be-completed (uhum) novel, Dial Earth For Operator, “Love is the pair of spectacles you place on the weary eyes of jealousy to make it see the obvious.”

I like that. In fact I believe we’ve made a bit of a breakthrough here really. Two people see one another for the first time and they fall in love over time as they get to know one another. Obviously there is the physical attraction too…which is noticed through the use of….your eyes. That alone cancels out the blind part. But I think what the cliche intends to say is that when you truly love someone, you notice their faults and slight imperfections, but chose to look past them because the feeling you get from being around them is just too amazing to risk. And I agree in some way. But when a guy starts beating his partner, or she starts cheating on him, don’t you think “love is blind” is just a way for you to hide the fact that you actually like that kind of attention?

Surely there has to be a limit set somewhere, because I’m sorry but even a person who is really, physically blind would realize that when someone continuously inflicts harm upon you, they really don’t like you too much.

So the point is?

Okay, so back to the cliche. I think we can lay this one to rest. It has become clear after investigating the crime scene that love is not the perpetrator, but that it was jealousy…in the ballroom with a candle stick…

Tell us what you think, because your opinion matters to us…no really, it does…so do your shares and likes and participation in the poll at the bottom of this blog. Also, we know we’ve touched on some sensitive stuff here and that you all want a chance to have your say. So here ya go…here’s a soapbox.

 

How beautiful can atrocious be?

The old adage “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” is a load of rubbish in my opinion. That’s just the apologetic way of blame shifting. Its a very clever way of escaping the fact that your scribbled little lines with a blotch of paint here and there on an over-sized canvas is not, in fact, pretty. Nor is it art. And you are sadly not a tormented creative soul. Its ugly, it doesn’t say anything and its only function should be convincing you that rugby or some other activity would be better suited to your unique set of skills.

You feel me?

I don’t believe beauty is something you see. I believe it is something you experience. It is a something that leaves you with a feeling rather than an image of it. Therefor I state that “beauty is in the heart of the beholder”.

To illustrate.

Your son draws you a picture. It’s something resembling a man and a sun with a carrot sticking out his ass. It’s ugly. But he hands it to you and proudly explains what each of the scribbles are and how they fit together to form the image of you in his world. Suddenly you get that lump in the throat experience. You look at this ugly thing on this crumpled sheet of A4 paper and it becomes the most beautiful thing anyone has ever handed you. Suddenly the carrot-assed-sun-man takes on a profoundly new meaning, he becomes a portrait of a golden god worthy to be framed and displayed in the lounge on that wall next to surround sound a little off center from the family portrait. See?

Atrocious

Man I love this word. It even looks really cool when you read it on the screen, especially when you use some medieval looking font or something. And it sounds regal, upper class even when pronounced properly. (Have you ever experienced atrocious as it passes over the lips of a beautiful woman? You should, it’s life altering really.)

Anyway, so what makes it pretty? I think it could be the different sounds you make at once when you pronounce it. Or, it could be the shape your mouth takes or the tone your voice changes to? I don’t know. But what I do know for certain is that the meaning of the word is far from pretty. According to Oxford “atrocious” is an adjective meaning horrifyingly wicked. But it doesn’t feel wicked, does it? So I would go as far as saying that “beautiful” could be synonymous with “atrocious” which goes without saying that beauty is indeed atrocious. An atrocity really.

So to summarize I have included this little poll as a test to my theory. Take part and make your little tick because I know that you are as curious of the outcome as I am.

 

Let me know, and follow me on Facebook, like this page and enjoy the different angles on life, love and everything in between.

And, yes, really.