Truth and Beauty, Beauty and Truth
"Talking to you is like having sex."
That's what she said to me on Tuesday. Who she is exactly, I won't say. You might not want to know. Suffice it to say that she isn't on my friend's list and wouldn't be anyone you'd be likely to guess. Anyway, you'd think I'd be flattered. It's probably the sexiest compliment I've ever received, and was uttered by lips most delightful. I wasn't flattered though. If anything I was slightly repulsed.
I could see the strings. She was trying to manage me, trying to elicit a specific response. Had she seemed sincere, I'd have melted (and yes, guys can melt), but no, the compliment was part of an agenda which stank to high heaven of desperation. She didn't want me... she wanted me to want her. It had nothing whatever to do with any genuine attraction on her part, and everything to do with her own strapped esteem.
You want me? Great, I'm flattered. You want someone? Keep moving. I'm not just someone. I'm no one's kick-stand.
It got me thinking about the words we say to one another and about how and why we say them. They're tools. We use them to get what we want. Maybe "I love you" means "I love you" or maybe it means "I don't want to be alone." I'm convinced that most of us don't even know why we say the things we do. We certainly can't be trusted to say what we really feel.
The problem on the receiving end is that we want to believe. We want to believe that we are loved by those whom we love. When we hear the words "I love you" we never then expect "but I'm not in love with you." We forever want to believe that the words mean the truest, highest ideal possible. When they ring hollow, we're betrayed, even as we're culpable in our own deception.
In pointing this out, do you find me a cynic? A pessimist? Am I un-romantic? If so, then way to shoot the messenger. I didn't effect the rot of your beauteous flattery. No, that's been festering since long before my arrival on this big blue marble. Mine is not the confusion and deceit that undermines our common language. I believe in Love. I believe in Lust. I believe in Life and Death. To mere words I can afford only a lower cased lead, for even lies can rhyme, mon ami.
We must not forget that truth and beauty are often strangers. Words are a means to an end, not the end itself. We talk. We express. We create art. We use words. We cannot, we must not allow them to use us. To do so is to blind ourselves to everything true and good. Love, True Love, exists, but you won't find it in a fairy tale, nor in any quantity of poetry... nor can it be found in the sexiest bit of flattery you've ever heard. Where can it be found? Anywhere. But you won't find the gold if you're continually panning for pyrite.
Happy St. Patricks day by the way. 'Tis a fine day to be of the blood. :-)
That's what she said to me on Tuesday. Who she is exactly, I won't say. You might not want to know. Suffice it to say that she isn't on my friend's list and wouldn't be anyone you'd be likely to guess. Anyway, you'd think I'd be flattered. It's probably the sexiest compliment I've ever received, and was uttered by lips most delightful. I wasn't flattered though. If anything I was slightly repulsed.
I could see the strings. She was trying to manage me, trying to elicit a specific response. Had she seemed sincere, I'd have melted (and yes, guys can melt), but no, the compliment was part of an agenda which stank to high heaven of desperation. She didn't want me... she wanted me to want her. It had nothing whatever to do with any genuine attraction on her part, and everything to do with her own strapped esteem.
You want me? Great, I'm flattered. You want someone? Keep moving. I'm not just someone. I'm no one's kick-stand.
It got me thinking about the words we say to one another and about how and why we say them. They're tools. We use them to get what we want. Maybe "I love you" means "I love you" or maybe it means "I don't want to be alone." I'm convinced that most of us don't even know why we say the things we do. We certainly can't be trusted to say what we really feel.
The problem on the receiving end is that we want to believe. We want to believe that we are loved by those whom we love. When we hear the words "I love you" we never then expect "but I'm not in love with you." We forever want to believe that the words mean the truest, highest ideal possible. When they ring hollow, we're betrayed, even as we're culpable in our own deception.
In pointing this out, do you find me a cynic? A pessimist? Am I un-romantic? If so, then way to shoot the messenger. I didn't effect the rot of your beauteous flattery. No, that's been festering since long before my arrival on this big blue marble. Mine is not the confusion and deceit that undermines our common language. I believe in Love. I believe in Lust. I believe in Life and Death. To mere words I can afford only a lower cased lead, for even lies can rhyme, mon ami.
We must not forget that truth and beauty are often strangers. Words are a means to an end, not the end itself. We talk. We express. We create art. We use words. We cannot, we must not allow them to use us. To do so is to blind ourselves to everything true and good. Love, True Love, exists, but you won't find it in a fairy tale, nor in any quantity of poetry... nor can it be found in the sexiest bit of flattery you've ever heard. Where can it be found? Anywhere. But you won't find the gold if you're continually panning for pyrite.
Happy St. Patricks day by the way. 'Tis a fine day to be of the blood. :-)