Tearing Down

“Find sum1/thing U love & stand 4 it instead tearing others down.”

A friend recently re-posted this barely-legible request as their Facebook update. I do not know the original context or motivation behind this statement. However, that will not stop me from ignoring the request and performing a deconstruction of the sentence worthy of Derrida. (I am only trying to be funny here- I haven’t read Derrida in years and am not going to intentionally emulate his approach.)

1) “Find someone or something you love…”

The presumption of this statement is audacious. Anyone who has ever loved knows that one does not choose to love. It is something that happens. How dare anyone command one to love? Perhaps it is simply meant as an encouragement to explore. In order to find something, there must be a quest, which is usually accomplished through research and experience. Should one really find out whether they love, say, smashing skulls with baseball bats?

The writer doesn’t seem to care who or what is loved. Apparently, simply loving is enough; even if the thing loved is Satan or child molestation. (Yes, I also have a problem with the Beatles song, All You Need Is Love.)

The singular nature of the request is annoying to me. I seriously feel sorry for anyone that only loves one person or thing. I feel truly blessed to love so many and so much. Also, I’ll admit a bias against anything that smells of totalitarianism or monotheism.

2) “…and stand for it instead (of) tearing others down.”

Can one stand for one thing without refuting or being able to refute what is contrary? Possibly. But consider my perspective: I love my girlfriend, and consequently have strong instincts to protect her. If anyone dared bully her or whatnot, you can guarantee I will tear that person down to the best of my ability. This is my love expressing itself. Are you asking for love to be passive and inactive? I question the mutual exclusivity of the two halves of the statement. Can’t the one thing I love be tearing others down?

More importantly, why be opposed to opposition? Most people seem incredibly threatened by anything contrary to what they already believe. Perhaps this is because they know their beliefs are ill-researched and unjustifiable. Nobody confident in their ability to rationally defend their beliefs fears alternative opinions. People tend to believe what they want to believe, which is usually very different than what is true. Most find the truth insulting and annoying.

Perhaps the author is simply asking that one not insult another. I agree that name-calling is counter-productive. But I am exhausted with everyone wanting to live their lives wearing rose-colored glasses, hearing only that which they already agree with and avoiding the rest. Another friend’s recent re-posted update post is:

“Determine to listen to life-giving voices & ignore life-sapping voices with wisdom to know the difference!”

I don’t see how it takes any wisdom to tell the difference between things you want to and don’t want to hear, but I digress. I understand not wanting to be overwhelmed by the evils of this world, but there seems to be a common assumption that everything other than one’s own life and beliefs is negative, bad or evil and therefore best to be avoided.

There are obviously occasions where what one loves has nothing to do with what another loves and so argument is pointless, but in America, the opinions of the majority does influence my existence in multiple ways. The buying public influences the availability of consumer goods and the voters decide on politicians and laws. The biggest influence on the majority’s opinions and beliefs in any society is religion, followed by media and then advertising. The only people begging that things not be torn down are those content and in agreement with the status quo.

I am not part of the status quo. I am therefore forced to express and defend my own beliefs in order to hope and to enjoy human existence, which oftentimes requires tearing down that which is contrary. So I will continue to impose my logic whether you like it or not, thank you very much.

Revived

I have been spending the past several months pretending to teach myself how to write fiction. It has been a slow-going and easily procrastinated task. All of my stories somehow end up too perverted, violent or disturbing to add to this blog.

Suddenly, I have the urge to switch back to my familiar blog rants. I have just listed 11 topics, some of which will inevitably be abandoned or consolidated. There will probably be a whole lot of bitching going on, and my next installment will cover precisely that. So stay tuned, I am back in business….

Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm
Yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new
In city and in forest, they smiled like me and you
But now it's come to distances and both of us must try

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time
Walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
You know my love goes with you as your love stays with me
It's just the way it changes like the shoreline and the sea
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm
Yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new
In city and in forest they smiled like me and you
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

- Leonard Cohen

Vanity

Let the writer take up surgery or bricklaying if he is interested in technique. There is no mechanical way to get the writing done, no shortcut. The young writer would be a fool to follow a theory. Teach yourself by your own mistakes; people learn only by error. The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice. He has supreme vanity. No matter how much he admires the old writer, he wants to beat him.

-William Faulkner

Animal Sacrifice

The Old Testament is surely the most violent book ever assembled. Today, I have been empathizing with a major theme of the OT: being separated from Love. The cathartic drive to kill in order to demonstrate the frustration of being cursed to live apart from Love while being overwhelmed by its reality is suddenly powerfully familiar imagery to me.

I daresay I would do anything to be with her. Every time you fall in love it feels a little different; but this time it feels reciprocated, which is novel for me. It is inexplicable why I am so compelled to trust her after having had my heart broken multiple times before. Then again, I've always been tenacious. I am fully cognizant that I barely know her. But GODDAMN I love this girl. She is 2,485.86 driving miles away according to Mapquest. It hurts. I miss her profoundly.

This is unlike me. I am very used to doing my own thing and being alone. I am an independent person! Was. Now I'm a caged canary begging to be poked at. I am King Kong.

Could be worse....

Theme From Cyrano

What would you have me do?

Seek out some wealthy patron and crawl like a clinging vine up the lordly tree? Rising by deceit and trickery instead of my own strength?
No thank you.

Imitate what others do and dedicate my works to the rich in the hope of arousing a smile of recognition from some sterile face?
No thank you.

Breakfast everyday on insults, wear out my knees and warp my spine with endless bowing and groveling in the dust?
No thank you.

Become a master of hypocrisy and opportunism, never letting my right hand know what my left is doing? Burn incense for some glorified idol of the day? Pull all the proper strings?
No thank you.

Shall I become the captain of some literary cult by writing stupid love songs for wealthy widows and navigate to success with their sighs filling out my sails? Pay some publisher to print my poems and bribe some critic to review them?
No, thank you!

Shall I become the high priest of a petty group of hack writers who dine together once a week?
No, I thank you!

Shall I build my reputation on one flawless poem and never write another? Should I scheme to get my name mentioned in the columns of some newspaper and smack my lips over the little praises written about me?
No, thank you.

Shall I calculate and scheme, live in fear, make visits instead of rhymes, meet all the right people, seek introductions and favors?
No, thank you.
No I thank you . . .
And again, I thank you!

Oh my friend, I prefer to sing, to laugh, to dream, to travel light in my own way, to see things as they are, and speak out without fear, to cock my hat at any angle that I choose, to duel if necessary for a quick “yes” or “no.” I prefer to work alone without any thought of reward, to scorn fame for a journey to the moon. Never write a line that does not ring with sincerity. I shall be content with the fruits and flowers that grow in my garden, no matter how small, because they belong to me. Then if success should come my way, no tribute ever need be paid to Caesar, whatever fortune or misfortune that happens shall be mine and only mine.

And although I may never reach the stature of a great oak tree, I shall never be a parasitic vine. I will climb perhaps to no great height, but I will . . . climb . . . alone.

-translated by Frank Devenport (orig. Edmond Rostand)

Potential Land Mine

“Goodnight.”
Intending to reply in kind, but it somehow came out, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Immediate yet calm. Natural even.
…

She just said she loved me. Excited confused interrobang. Wait, did I say I love her? How the hell…? Why did I…? He counted the days again. Two weeks, one day, ten hours. Have I completely lost it again? I didn’t want this to happen. He realized he was holding his breath. Silence to his left, and he dared not move to peek. The inexplicable thing is I believe her. I don’t believe ANYBODY. In a world full of lies I believe this goddamn potential land mine.

Still silent.

She flies out in a few hours and I’ll never see her again anyhow. But I DO love her. In the morning I’ll tell her I really do love her. It’s only been two weeks, but I’ve figured out how she melts. If I’m lucky she’ll melt. I don’t know what to do after that.

He exhaled as unobtrusively as possible. He fell asleep fast. The alarm didn't go off in the morning.