Matchbox Maladies

Catastrophic uncertainty of the self.

Month: April, 2012

by Sine Qua Non

i’d like to believe that i am surrounded by all this energy of love. I would like to harness the amor, the romance, the silly giddiness, the desire, the longing, the wanting. i want to take it all and roll it up into a fat aphrodisiac i will smoke up until i shudder in delicious delight. it will n0t matter for now that the possibility of having a committed companion is indefinite. i will revel only in the fact that i am able to fall freely and give. i will savor the taste of lips in my mind, the exchange of splitscreen sweetness, the warm rush of blood to the cheeks. my body craves, the craving grows. when our bodies are ready to speak to each other, my body will sing. all this energy, all this desire, this river will rush to engulf you and me.

by Sine Qua Non

Is it that easy? To be drawn and then to feign interest. To be uninterested and then to anticipate. To run back again after escaping.

The need to understand the roots of attraction and all the complexities that come with it is an ever-evolving dilemma. The second you are able to put your finger on it, a vast wave crashes on the shore where you stand. It wipes away the marks on the sand. Clean slate. And without moving, you find yourself buried deeper. The ground beneath you moves as the water pulls back to sea. The rest of the world is calm again. But you know, soon, another wave will come crashing down. Brace yourself, roll with the tide, swim against the current, flow, sink, resurface, be glad you didn’t die. That’s the ocean for you, the rest of the world. Out to get the ones who will drown.

But this isn’t about romanticizing the ocean as an image of falling in love. This is about trying to make sense of falling in and out of love.

The point may be that it is pointless to do so. Because things come and go. Feelings fade, people move on, people change. So if you run to another prison cell after escaping from one, if that’s your sense of freedom and comfort, if that prison cell is where you think your heart belongs, then go. Run.

The problem is when another one is running after you to save you from imprisonment. Or to get to that prison cell before you do.

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What am I looking for? A good conversation, real quirks, extraordinary junk, bite-size comforts, strange fascinations, distinct delights, surprises. What comes my way? Everything and more but it passes by and doesn’t stop. I am left on the road, the one that never got picked up.

 

Getting Sick Again

by Sine Qua Non

Now, this is bad.

Nope, I still haven’t stopped asking myself the questions. And yes, it is still funny. And not even the giddy kind of funny. It’s all just funny funny. Because maybe it’s really all just a joke. An exchange of high-fives and malicious banter and that’s it. Nothing more. Except that there are silent wishes and hopes I whack myself on the head for.

You fall short by leaps and bounds. But each time you miss the score, I begin to tear the rulebook piece by piece. Do I wish I didn’t? I wish that I wished I did.

So who’s confused now?

There is some change here somewhere. In the number of entries that chronicle maladies of desire. Do you see it? I hear it. I could definitely hear the lack of slick romance, the absence of fantasies shrouded in satin and lace. Nobody’s editing it out, it’s just not there. Is there no need for it anymore? Maybe. Or maybe not. It just isn’t there. Not quite there.¬†Yet.

Well, not yet.