A Bit of Residual Masculist Business
the senior ladies show, Dear John: A Masculist Play is well over. however, i would be remiss if is didn't share some of my writings that as of late have been haunting me:
If my soul was music, it would be lyrical. A 30 piece symphony with lots and lots of strings. A complex tune that would build and soar and then pull back at the right moment before a crescendo to a harmonious end. My soul is sweeping music, all-consuming, almost unbearable in its passion.
If your soul was music, it would be a simple electric quitar. Not say your soul isn't as...majestic as mine, but the beauty of your soul is in the simplicity. I watch you try to mystify and complicate it by adding all these horns and bells and whistles. You don't need any of that. You don't need any of that. You don't need to be the self-centered frontman of your own band. The music that is you... is enough.
and the one that wasn't/didn't need to be in show:
Thank you for carrying my basket in the grocery store.
Thank you for giving me the keys when you know you shouldn't drive your dad's car.
Thank you for making me call you when I get home.
Thank you for telling me I'll never get rid of you.
Thank you.
Thank you for remembering every conversation we've ever had even when I don't.
Thank you for saying "I love you" as an after thought on my answering machine.
I love you too.
and it's funny cuz i haven't spoken to the guy referenced above in a week. that's like a year for us.