I will begin by stating that life has stripped me of the innocence which once made me happy to live. Is life a word that means myself, an experience, or other people? For some time life was my medication, which suffocated my brain and put my sleep on ransom. Do you ever note the replicating tendencies of language? Life is a system, a system of replication, and reinforcement. The reward is the ability to live in a somewhat autonomous existence. The punishment is to live always at the hand of the system, basically infantilized because the self is deemed inferior. There are of course within this system sentiments, but the sentiments are dehumanized. Dehumanized in that we are taught to desire certain sentiments and to repress others. How funny that the secular age is an extension of St. Augustine’s assertion on how to live a “righteous” holy life. The way that I see it we replace one form of authority by another until we die. And theory is never actualized but extended and curtailed. Isn’t life but a DNA structure, which reinterprets itself in each epoch.
Banal is the human existence, so we find a way not to actualize the self, but to distract it. Distraction in the form of politics, identity, substances, movement, in crudeness to emphasize the spirit of our sought out freedom. A freedom which requires another. Freedom made common, not seeking out the way to divine happiness, which the ancients saw as love, but seeking the common, that which so easily turns into the authoritarian tendency ruling our actions.
I ripped the candy wrapper,
Did you hear the news?
I ripped the candy wrapper.
I do not remember ripping it,
it must have happened beyond my consciousness
but I ripped it.
I broke it, I tore it, I killed it.
In some way parallel to how I handle relationships.
I ruin, and wreck, and never even intend to or notice.
So then I become apathetic to it, I don’t even feel sadness.
I blame it on:
and I find a new tv show,
or another person to distract me.
Because in reality I am sad,
I feel remorse and yet did I truly ruin it,
or did they just leave?
I convince myself that it is the latter, that way I did nothing,
I can’t fix it, and it is insignificant.
I stare instead at some image
Today I saw the man who violated my consent, and while I expected to see his face and hate him, I instead felt sad that the events unfolded in such a way. Why do I feel sad? Because I saw in him a desire to once again hold me. Not even in a predatory way, but in a way that you look at someone who perhaps escapes your grasp. I of course walked away. The experience was too heavy and he demonstrated his problematic nature even when I decided to be with him for that brief period of time which I can’t comprehend anymore. I tend to fly away often. I definitely feel like I can’t form a real connection to anyone anymore. This is a very isolating feeling but I think its the reality of being in an in-between place of wanting to run back but having to move forward. I miss everything about being in college, I miss the campus, the office where I spent entire days, the general experience, but I have to move on at some point. What I lack is not a person I think but the emancipation of having a space where my thoughts were acknowledge. Everything seems pretty empty now and I am 24 and I never imagined my life would end up where it is. A few years ago, I would have stayed in that relationship, I would have hated him but eventually formed some attachment of habit and remained in a relationship that made me unhappy. I can’t do that anymore. except it makes me feel frustrated to want something and have nothing.
I tend to expend the majority of my energy on the children, I form relationships, sometimes those relationships shift and I lose something. That’s generally my experience. loss. I feel a great sense of it and I feel it even more when I see people doing what I really long to do. I want to go back to Academia, I don’t want to be in the real world of disenchantment and dialectics. Lately even the children have noticed that my smile while not fake is drained of its sincerity. I want more. I don’t know what is more.
There is always a body
the texture of a body, next to me
prying the warmth away
until the stillness comes
and they leave.
Stillness is the drops
that fall from my metaphorical eyes
because the real ones have stopped responding.
My hand aches for his skin
my soul aches for something tangible.