Tuesday, October 28, 2014

The Destroyer

I’m having that human moment, where, I’m sure that I’m not an alien or an emotionless robot, where I feel like a destroyer. I bash; I smash; I level; I destroy.  What kind of life did you want? TOO BAD. I’m going to wreck it like Ralph. End of story. End of song.  [There will be no more songs, ya hear?]

Once, a million years ago, my girlfriend went through a bad break up. It was tragic.  A true love decimated. During her moment of absolute heartbreak, she sat on a curb and sobbed. I stood slightly above her (a lessoned learned BTW, never stand above a friend crying) and said, “What, babe, you think you’re the only one in the world that could go through a break-up and not have her heart broken? This is what all people feel. Welcome to the world [of humanity, of heartbreak].”

I’m paraphrasing, of course, but the lesson that I spoke to her is the same lesson that I’m learning again; humanity = frailty. It sucks. And yet, it's awesome too, right? To feel. To remember what that's like. 

Being a human being and not an android and not a god(dess) means that you will feel. Deeply. Hard-ly. Harshly. Pain. Fear. Love. Joy. Just be me, for a minute, and pretend that you don’t have to feel, pretend that feeling is an option…. And again imagine, that when you do feel, it feels like a “two-ton truck crashing into us” and, then what? Mirage or Mirror? Do you see the fake lake sitting at the edge of the sand? Or, do you see the reflection of your own broken, imperfect self, standing there, craving validation and love? A love that you denied? True love denied to you? Either way, it is a human emotion that sucks. It hurts. It's lame. Period. End of song. 

When I say “Life is lifelike” this is what I mean. Life is like life. It sucks. It’s great. It’s strange. It moves through you sometimes, even when, especially when, you are trying to move thorough it, you are trying to move through life. Good luck, my friends.

Just like, life is life-like; moving through is moving thorough-like. It sucks. It’s hard. It makes the salt of us saltier, by tears or by makeup. Moving through is a process: pain, love, fear, exhaustion, anger, resignation, relief. 


If you build it, they will come. There’s a hope still; it’s not lost on me, not at all.

Cheers to hope and not dying, but maybe giving up for a few human minutes while I process. If you can't give me a break, I will just have to take one. Deuces. 


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