These are my thoughts, expressed in poetic form/essay form, on heartbreak, irony, depression, sorrow, love, memories, tragedy, time and government. It's filled with inspiration from several writers. My friends Rika and Angie told me it was beautiful and sad, but they only saw the first draft, and this one's different in substantial ways. I think, personally, that it's one of the best things I've ever written. Post comments.
It's a personal document filled with several different ideas and concepts.
Candles flash with less haste than they take to wilt, and darkness overcomes light for it takes but an absence of light to bring about darkness, and all too often the catalyst is abrupt, the blow sudden, the effects unknown and possibly unknowable. That is why you peer into the darkness for long, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming of things that that once were, that one day might be, or that have past. Peering is, perhaps, all you can do alone in the dark without losing a sense of where you are. Of who you are.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps forth at such a petty pace, dulling the senses with its tempo and boggling one's mind with its lack of meaning. If they were done once they were done, the day's could be bearable but their sums survive, their shadows linger and they appear without warning and often leaving as fast, a trail of sorrow remaining for the memory book. Oh, how it would be to to disappear, or to turn back time, to forget the bitter taste of defeat and cool the burns within, but time turns you back at its convenience and forcing you forward in perpetual motion against your will, forcing the spring and turning the weather even when you object. How subtle cruelty can be -- incredible!
When all is said and done, it isn't. The beginning begins with each step, with every foot you walk, mile you run, wave you ride and opportunity lost. Dust never settles but is constantly resettling, much like hunger's never beaten merely pushed back. We've got to go, now, even when we don't know the directions or surroundings or a purpose, for staying in place is hazardous. You can't get shot if you're on the move, which is why the fish swim upstream, eagles leave their perch and the caged bird sings.
Love goes away, like night into day. Or does it? Can there possibly be a fade out in emotion? It is not feelings that change but people, people whose wants conflict and interests diverge, whose fears loom over the horizon or who grow tired, tired of weening a relationship, or nursing wounds or of waiting, waiting for the concrete, the abstract and possibly the impossible. We're all waiting, and those short on time will find that they won't be waited on, and thus there will be nothing to wait for. Pity to humanity, for we are all waiting, and while every wait and every want is different, we are all in the same boat, waiting for the next one to dock.
What do I wait for? The red sea to part, the night to pass. I am waiting for the day that my heart stops dragging me behind it like a tail, leading me to Dead Ends. I am waiting to find out why my senses fail but for my pessimist thoughts. It is likely the same reason that voters tend to lean Conservative, for the Status Quo generally is easier than to Dream and to Wait, and that is why Conservatives hold power two thirds of the time. Ideal thought relies on unity and sacrifice, on shared principals. Realism generally requires one to succumb to division and adversity, and this may be the inherent difference between Conservatism and Liberalism, in government and in Life. Ideal thought has a greater potential for fulfillment, but takes longer and is harder to accomplish in reality, which means it has a great potential for awful disappointment.
Such it is with life as it is with government.
I am waiting for the day that my Ideal Thoughts and Dreams steamroll the Reality of the Situation, but that has never been and likely will never be. I am waiting for Everything, but Realism dictates that I can't have it, and so I will receive Nothing. This Nothing is what I currently possess, instead of the Everything that I covet. This is a problem faced by most humans, where they know what they want and can't have it, then wind up standing aimlessly while the wind whips their face until their nose is red and their ears have hardened.
Love forges a special bond, but it can be broken and often is. Tragic? Hardly and absolutely, not necessarily and certainly. Is it tragic when one's heart is broken but the other's life moves on? Life is full of these paradoxes, where one knows not what to think, how to feel. It's like the adage about something being one man's trash and another's treasure. The tragedy is only for the one who is the trash, something that I've been many times in this world. When push comes to shove, I am expendable. That may be wrong, but whether it isn't or not doesn't matter. Your perceptions just color reality, and even when reality runs to the contrary it doesn't much matter. The worst heartbreak of all is in your head. People say that the wind carries cries of the dead, but that can't be true. The wind carries the sound of broken hearts, and for once the Windy City has a reason for being so windy.
Irony is a tireless beast, never quite in the open but surrounding you at all times. The ultimate irony may be, of course, hat we herald men for surviving in spite of themselves and their worst desires, and what doubles that irony is that the greatest threat to men is internal, and is in fact the enemy within each and every one of us. Anyone that disagrees must think about all the times they've promised themselves they wouldn't cry, and wound up crying. It's not as if the brain is always a reliable source. It may very well be that human feeling matches human thought in capacity for failure. Is there anything worse than analyzing?
And it's an issue to be dealt with by most: do you go with your gut, or with your brain? And when you go with both, what to do when you're wrong, what to do? How to do it without feeling absolutely humiliated or ridiculous? Remember, it's all mental, except for the creeping feeling of failure in your stomach. With feeling, at least, you know it's irrational and so it's reasonably okay to be wrong. But what about thought -- how do you analyze something, be wrong, and then not feel absurd? And what about the times that you're wrong emotionally and intellectually, and are left holding nothing but a big bag of failure and solitude?
Resolute thought and conviction are seen as symbols of strength, but people overlook that you can be absolutely sure and absolutely wrong. "Have love, will travel" could be used to describe, in one quick and easy catchy phrase, just about anyone who has true heartfelt emotions. Pity to those who have never learned that love is not a gift that can't be repossessed, as it can be. Nothing is permanent, is it? If something such as Love, Endless, Beautiful Love can End in an Ugly, Tragic Manner, what stops anything else from being permanent? I touched upon Conservative Control of Government earlier, and this prompts a follow-up: "What stops anything else from being permanent?" Conservatives should, in general, understand that the status quo, however long in place, can not stand forever. Nothing does, does it? Or such has been my own tragic experience.
The concept of control is an ironic one. What, exactly, does anyone control, as we don't even control ourselves fully? Your own actions are hard to control forever, as we've all suffered incidents in which we have broken something, cursed at someone, cried uncontrollably. It's an ironic, painful thing. I am a firm follower of the Law of Unintended Consequences, and I defer to it often. Controlling something, for instance. If you have something and want to keep it, but are too aggressive in its pursuit, you will lose it. If you don't do enough to keep something, you'll lose it. The harder you try to establish control the more trouble you may have in establishing it, and if you don't try at all everything's done for. It can be seen everywhere, from frantic attempts to keep a relationship from falling apart or from a President pushing a Congress too hard to reform long-established programs. If you put enough pressure, too much pressure, on something, anything, it'll break.
What fine lines our world makes us all walk.
Nobody likes to feel helpless, which is ironic in that loving someone is the ultimate example of handcuffing yourself in front of a man holding a shotgun. Rush Limbaugh is fond of saying that "Words mean things," but how true is that? Anyone who has ever had a love die can attest to having a newfound distaste for words and to have been reborn as a cynic. How else do you react to having someone leave you, someone who told you that they'd never live anywhere without you, that they loved you more than anything in the world, who once told you it terrified them that you'd ever even consider taking your love from them but then turn around and take their love from you? It's as difficult to deal with, and watching a building burn will leave heat on your eyelids for a long time.
The last, ironic thing about life that comes to mind, revolves around the famous "People Don't Get Burnt On The Stove Twice!" example. That may be true, but who gets rid of their stove because they touched it? And, at what point should you get rid of it? Once it stops working? That's the ironic, funny thing about life -- that may be a long time, and by then, you might not be able to afford another stove.