Sunday, June 05, 2005

Once Upon A Time

[disclaimer of sorts: a wave of melancholy seems to have swept over me and many of my closest friends. it happens. and so this post has strayed a bit from my norm. apologies, if necessary.]


once upon a time a lunatic e-slut ran headlong into her greatest male foil and fell completely in love with him, which was altogether useless except that it allowed her to fancy herself a poet for like a whole month.

newly separated and very lonely, our e-slut took solace in the internet...finding it the only viable approach to the single's market (given that she was living and working alone in the suburbs in a big house she was trying to sell -- she wasn't exactly getting out much, you know?).

and so she e-met a man whom she thought was everything she wasn't (yet) and thusly perfect: he was deliberate. he knew what he wanted and worked to make it happen. he was well put together, well travelled, well cultured, well read. he was tall and strong and handsome. he was the opposite, if ever there was one, of being a crazy single cat lady.

but as these things (and men) go, he did not quite return her idealized version of their compatibility. he certainly found her charming and amusing, but also recognized the folly in the idea of their actually dating ("we would kill each other"), and also allowed small matters such as their not living in even the same time zone get in the way of the possibility of romance.

instead, he made room for a creative definition of what would be their enduring friendship.

and as they remain friends today, years and engagements and even a marriage later, so shall the friendship forever provide fodder for her wistfulness...

...and very bad poetry.


(i apologize again for the "poetry"/prose below; however, as always, i felt the need to share. this was written about three weeks into our 'relationship' and way before we ever met in person.)


*****
August, 2001

There is something in him about love that seems displaced. He identifies the emotional variable but won’t compute it, and it vanishes from his equations while he calculates. He does not know this.

He came to her in a straight path. He was neither transfixed nor confused. He would give some, and lose nothing, because that is how it could be with her.

She’s making a lot of assumptions; she doesn’t know him at all.

He gave her a story, but not the one he thought. She thought she would learn of him, but he remained as much a stranger as ever.

Once, she controlled all the elements, was the conductor of a cacophonous orchestra, the theater of the absurd. She could tell him about that, she thought, but she’d rather let it go.

Sometimes she says his name aloud hoping that he will become real.

He called theirs a post-modern relationship, which she liked except for the implied detachment. There was, of course, detachment, but that was the thing she wanted least. The more deconstructive their conversations became, the closer she felt to him, and the intrinsic irony left her feeling somewhat helpless. Meanwhile he, enjoying the exchanges, grew more comfortable with their definition.

He spoke of order above all else in a way that she could understand but could not believe. He had made sense of things he’d had to, until everything had to. That is what he had learned. The best way not to break things is not to play with them.

She hated that he was sure of the sense of things. She did things in a way that made them grand.

He would be many grand things to her.

It could be like this.




Who was the spider? The web is so fragile as it is spun, so unnoticeable a passing human fingertip destroys the work unknowingly. The spinning and the spinner remove to another space. The quietest corner receives the shimmering construction, full of cycles and holes and intricacies, all frighteningly delicate and soft. What do we trap?

Come with me into the corner, she asks him, and 'round we’ll go.




25 comments:

  1. Wow...

    I hope the spider then ate him for playing with her emotions, or at least made him think he was lunch.

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  2. heh, thanks...

    though really, the spiders were always up-front about their respective perspectives. it's way better to be wistful than to have had it be a disaster. :)

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  3. Look at it this way: at least you're not liiving in Helsinki.

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  4. "He gave her a story, but not the one he thought. She thought she would learn of him, but he remained as much of a stranger as ever." I believe that says it all about the 'relationship' you had. Strangers are those you pass in the grocery store, not the ones you hope to be involved with on an intimate level. (Intimate=personal)

    You write beautifully, and are an awesome person.....so be melancholy for a while, just don't let it consume you!

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  5. Kristy,

    I've been single now for about ten years, and from time to time, I've encountered newly separated and lonely women who found me appealing. (Actually, looking back, I've met quite a few of those.) A couple times, I've become the transitional man, but always to my later regret. I've done my healing, I've had my transitional relationship, and now, I'm looking for something lasting...not compatible with the needs of anyone newly separated and lonely.

    It helps, when I encounter such a woman, to remember the words of Robert A. Heinlein, who wrote, "Never lie down with someone who has more troubles than you."

    As you so wisely said, it is indeed better to be wistful than to have had it be a disaster.

    ~Kurt

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  6. I'm not quite sure how to put this... I think we were separated at birth. I'll phone the Oprah show. We'll be reunited on those lovely couches in the front of the audience of compassionate housewifes. Once the out and out sobbing dies down, we'll find out that though we have been separated by a couple time zones our match.com profiles are identical word for word.

    Reading your blog is a bright spot in my day. Maybe twinship is hyperbole, but we are certainly kindred spirits. Keep on livin' the dream. :)

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  7. I blame aunt flo.







    (for the wave of melancholy)

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  8. The best way not to break
    things is not to play with them.


    it makes me sad when people believe this. I wish people believed that in order to not break things we must play with them with care (and concern and respect for their feelings and our own)...

    absolutely wonderful post. thanks for sharing!

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  9. I am so with you on the melancholia...apparently it's that June Gloom going around.

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  10. KICK!
    It's my duty as your friend to point out that you're posting wistful poetry about an ex on the internet.
    What's caused this?
    You're not thinking of using this poetry thing to replace the healing powers of bourbon are you?
    ARE YOU?!

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  11. el_g,

    bite your tongue. this is bourbon-inspired poetry, naturally.

    and are you genuinely concerned or just afraid i'll start writing about you next? :P

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  12. Love You!

    Just a random Love You! because random Love You!s are awesome!

    **Hugs**

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  13. and are you genuinely concerned or just afraid i'll start writing about you next? :P

    As long as it's in prose, I have no fears.

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  14. "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." -- Henry David Thoreau

    You're living it. You're writing it. You're sharing with your IIFs. And it's fabulous.

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  15. garump,

    thank you.

    especially thank you for quoting thoreau, as i know i tend to get lost in more traditionally Romantic perspectives (ignoring my new england roots and all those transcendentalists who knew better). ;)

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  16. You'd have liked Helsinki, it's nice this time of year, with the mild climate and the daylight until 1am. Now November, well that's a different story, more like a girl with bi-polar, on the wrong anti-depressants that she's washed down with a line of coke and half bottle of Jim Beam. November is not funny. November in Helsinki is scary and depressing and you can't wait for it to be over and out of your life. November is some of the girls I've known. Thankfully, you're not November. xo.

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  17. truth

    To reveal this unspoken truth
    with jagged words and broken letters

    gashes and wounds
    the fortress I once made

    To deny me by deciphering
    this is for my better

    Leads me to desire
    a lie that you once gave




    eh! I was feeling prosey too.

    Love,

    UNdr


    P.S. I guess sometimes we really don't want things to make sense.
    (thanks for sharing)

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  18. So...
    Eight years ago I was newly separated, living in a house in the suburbs and trying to get the settlement papers in order. I, too, looked to the internet to meet men to distract me, knowing I wasn't serious. Heck, I wasn't even divorced yet. I met a charming man who was my polar opposite. He's someone I would never have met if I hadn't been in that newly-separated state of being open to anything. But mostly just wanting to be distracted.

    I married him. We have two kids. It's not always a disaster, Kurt.

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  19. I have written a haiku to express my feelings over your melancholy.

    Here goes:

    What's up with you, K?
    Let's get back to the funny!
    You're bumming me out.

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  20. Some say it's a matching of opposites
    Some say it's friendship on fire
    Some say it's a desire to be desired
    To some it's a fuzzy feeling that lingers on

    Will I ever know that feeling?
    Of loving someone so much that it hurts
    Hope that day dawns sooner than later
    When no longer I have to live with my regrets

    I don't search for that flawless face
    Neither do I crave the razor sharp mind
    I no longer seek the perfect woman
    Just a woman perfect for me.

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  21. Kristy,
    thanks for blogging- whatever your mood is.

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  22. so much crap on here today

    what a disappointment

    you people should leave the poetry to the professionals

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  23. to one of many anonymouses: If you don't like it, don't post here.

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  24. The most significant relationship I've had in years was email only, with one picture each way. I tried to take it "up a notch" but I completely botched it. We never met, and I wrote VOLUMES, but never sent most, and poetry was not forthcoming. Those cholic melons have been with me ever since. I blog now, and I give credit (some might say blame) to you, your wit and your breezy elegance. Thanks for inspiring me.

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  25. He'll never really know what he could have had in you K... and that is more sad than if he did know.

    K

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