Monday, 8 February 2010

When love isn't enough.

It occurred to me that sometimes being loved isn't enough. We have to be loved the way we want... or we may as well not be loved at all.

Last year, two different men told me they loved me within the space of a week. It didn't feel empowering or electric. I certainly didn't feel loved. And you know what, I wasn't loved. We have to be our own benchmarks. If you don't love me the way I love you then your love is nothing. I'm the only constant in this series of equations... and if I don't find my equal then what are you making of me? Nothing, nonsense, a scholars' smudged scribble.

A loved me... but A also ordered my food for me, chastised my flighty nature and gave long speeches on Homeric idioms. He loved me the most when I was mute; a blank and magical whitewashed wall that he could project his own character upon... magnified. He bought me things, he protected me, he was as proud of me as I was embarrassed by him. He loved me like a possession. When I received a phone call, he would demand to know who from, in his rages he would cast wide nets of aspersion on my sexual morality. He had carved a niche for me and I had better slot into it.

B loved me... but B was also jobless, broke and high most of the time. B didn't really know me... he thought I awesome and super cool. He also fell out of love with me pretty quickly when I showed him how fearsome and super callous I could be. From the moment he said "I love you" I needed to show him that he didn't. He desired me, he knew I was a good prospect on paper, he saw the way his friends looked at me and he was carried away on waves of infatuation, lost in his own moment. He sensed the spinning possibilities for adventure and chose to call it love.

M says she loves D... D says she's never loved him. To my outside eye I think she does... in her own convicted, particular way.. but that's the not way he wants to be loved... so is he loved? No. He isn't. Love is not what you think you give. There is no reality here; reality itself being that rare word that should never exist outside inverted commas. Love is what you are perceived to give. My interpretation of your love is the only thing that can validate it... and if I feel like you do not love me, if your 'love' is outside of my criterion then I cannot call it such. You do not love me.

Tuesday, 2 February 2010

Tragic Deaths

Just a little something to cheer you up on a Tuesday night. Ladies and gentlemen I present to you the sad tale of David Allen Kirwan.

It was July 20, 1981 and 24 year old David Allen Kirwan from La Canada, California and his friend Ronald Ratliff were driving through Yellowstone National Parks' Fountain Paint Pot area. Also on board was Ratliffe's dog Moosie. Round about 1pm they decided to pull over and get a better look at the hotsprings. Moosie escaped from the truck, ran toward Celestine Pool (a thermal hotspring whose temperature was measured at over 200F - that's 0ver 93C, practically boiling), jumped in and began yelping.
Kirwan and Ratliff rushed over to the pools edge to try and help. Bystanders later reported that Kirwans attitude indicated he was about to go into the pool. Several people yelled, warning him not to.. but he shouted "Like Hell I won't!" and dived head first into the boiling pool.
He swam out to the dog, attempting to take it to shore, but then disappeared underwater, let go of the dog and attempted to climb out of the pool. Ratliff helped pull him out (resulting in 2nd degree burns to his own feet) and another visitor led Kirwan to the sidewalk as he reportedly muttered "That was stupid. How bad am I? That was a stupid thing I did."
He wasn't wrong. He was blind, and when another park visitor tried to remove his one of his shoes, his skin (already peeling everywhere) came off with it. He sustained 3rd degree burns to 100% of his body and died the next morning at a Salt Lake City hospital.

And if you want to read about more disarming deaths, look at this.

Closing time.

I missed you since the place got wrecked
By the winds of change and the weeds of sex
Looks like freedom but it feels like death
It's something in between, I guess.

I loved you when our love was blessed
I love you now there's nothing left.