I'll run you through with an icicle of everlasting devotion!
Alright, so i can't hack it. Been reading too much of this suffocatingly impossible "true love" tosh. Here’s a fictional sample of what I mean: "One moment without you and my heart is frosted over black with ice; i used to be able to wake up in the morning empty-headed and normal but now my body cannot breathe without you - God help me i can’t live if livin’ is without you!" I'm not quite sure exactly the effect it has on me, but i'm confident enough to declare it a negative one.
It's actually kind of disconcerting if you think about it. I have this feeling that a healthy bona fide attachment to another being should be free of woeful histrionics, crushing desperation, unbearable urgency, ferocious need, and misery impenetrable. When “true love” comes with such heinous side effects, it almost seems to surpass affection and cross right on over into gross affliction. Like a terminal disease - like emotional cancer. And that’s some scary shit. For sure.
This is how i feel: i feel like real love, like the kind that actually matters, like the kind you'll never read about in romance novels, the kind they'll never show on Days of Our Lives, it has nothing to do with ugly adverse reactions. It doesn't guzzle strawberry daiquiris with Desperation or play poker with Misery at its elbow. And the reason why it's so underrated, why its publicist is plumb out of options, why it can never achieve airtime...is because it's just not as dramatic as all that. Fiction will always be better. Counterfeit representations of love as proffered by network charlatans will always get higher ratings.
Because real love isn't melodramatic. It'll never be to blame for a crime of passion. It'll never result in suicide. Fact is, it's dead boring. No joke. It's stable, constant, secure. It's nothing entertaining. The only literary example of this that i can think of is maybe Homer's Odyssey: Odysseus' complete and unshakable faith in his wife's fidelity, despite all the nay-saying warnings of peeps like Agamemnon and Company; Penelope's shatter-proof integrity, her total trust and confidence in the abilities of her husband and his inevitable return. It's the only instance that comes to mind.
Sincere amore - a love you never have to question. That's what i'm talkin' about, baby. You aren't plagued with urgent longing the second you're separated from Whomever. No fear, no worry, no insecurity. Not a single doubt. Nothing can shake your conviction, so certain are you of the strength of the bond you share. Think family ties, permanent and insoluable. There's a certain divine comfort, a sense of Zen-like peace you can attain when you know this person will always be there for you. Always - and this will never be up for dispute.
That's what i think real love is. And all this other mess, all this jealousy and adultery and doubting, all this uncertainty and fear of abandonment and lack of faith, all this total bullshit is completely unrelated. These are not the side effects of a love you never have to question; these are the side effects of a tainted, twisted, imperfect dependency - some cheap knock-off that doesn't even deserve the title of love, much less True Love. So get with the program. Love without ugliness or don't even bother at all. As that familiar advertisement proclaims, "Anything less would be uncivilized."
Look! A picture!
It's a whalebone-eating worm! Don't worry, the whale's already dead! It's the only known marine worm that munches on whale carcass! Look, no hands! Or eyes or stomachs or mouths either! And the males of the species live inside the females! Talk about a permanent bond you never have to question.
It's actually kind of disconcerting if you think about it. I have this feeling that a healthy bona fide attachment to another being should be free of woeful histrionics, crushing desperation, unbearable urgency, ferocious need, and misery impenetrable. When “true love” comes with such heinous side effects, it almost seems to surpass affection and cross right on over into gross affliction. Like a terminal disease - like emotional cancer. And that’s some scary shit. For sure.
This is how i feel: i feel like real love, like the kind that actually matters, like the kind you'll never read about in romance novels, the kind they'll never show on Days of Our Lives, it has nothing to do with ugly adverse reactions. It doesn't guzzle strawberry daiquiris with Desperation or play poker with Misery at its elbow. And the reason why it's so underrated, why its publicist is plumb out of options, why it can never achieve airtime...is because it's just not as dramatic as all that. Fiction will always be better. Counterfeit representations of love as proffered by network charlatans will always get higher ratings.
Because real love isn't melodramatic. It'll never be to blame for a crime of passion. It'll never result in suicide. Fact is, it's dead boring. No joke. It's stable, constant, secure. It's nothing entertaining. The only literary example of this that i can think of is maybe Homer's Odyssey: Odysseus' complete and unshakable faith in his wife's fidelity, despite all the nay-saying warnings of peeps like Agamemnon and Company; Penelope's shatter-proof integrity, her total trust and confidence in the abilities of her husband and his inevitable return. It's the only instance that comes to mind.
Sincere amore - a love you never have to question. That's what i'm talkin' about, baby. You aren't plagued with urgent longing the second you're separated from Whomever. No fear, no worry, no insecurity. Not a single doubt. Nothing can shake your conviction, so certain are you of the strength of the bond you share. Think family ties, permanent and insoluable. There's a certain divine comfort, a sense of Zen-like peace you can attain when you know this person will always be there for you. Always - and this will never be up for dispute.
That's what i think real love is. And all this other mess, all this jealousy and adultery and doubting, all this uncertainty and fear of abandonment and lack of faith, all this total bullshit is completely unrelated. These are not the side effects of a love you never have to question; these are the side effects of a tainted, twisted, imperfect dependency - some cheap knock-off that doesn't even deserve the title of love, much less True Love. So get with the program. Love without ugliness or don't even bother at all. As that familiar advertisement proclaims, "Anything less would be uncivilized."
Look! A picture!
It's a whalebone-eating worm! Don't worry, the whale's already dead! It's the only known marine worm that munches on whale carcass! Look, no hands! Or eyes or stomachs or mouths either! And the males of the species live inside the females! Talk about a permanent bond you never have to question.