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Archive for the ‘Poetic ramblings’ Category

How many times have you ever heard someone say that they want a love that is unconditional?  That love itself is selfless?  Has no strings attached?  No preconditions?  I say hogwash!

First off, most people that tell you this are generally people who are telling you what they ‘desire’ in a loving partner. The same people will tell you that love itself is a form of desire. Yet ‘desire’ is a form of want and want a matter of selfishness.

When someone is describing the ‘kind of love’ they desire (want) they are essentially telling you what their selfish desires are. Thus it is a bit odd when their ‘selfish’ desire is to find someone ‘selfless’.  Furthermore, when they describe such a partner, it is generally implied that they have the full intention of offering the same kind of ‘un-conditional’ love in return.

Emotions

Love is of course an emotion. I was a big fan of Leo Buscaglia growing up for a number of reasons. He used to host various television shows and series on the topic of love as well as published a number of books on the subject which I read. Buscaglia described love as a ‘learned’ emotion and discouraged people from using terms such as ‘falling in’ and ‘out’ of love. In fact, he often went on to describe most if not all emotions as being ‘learned behaviors’ and I share this way of thinking.

Consider this. Our minds are rather complex mechanisms that process various stimuli and information on a number of different levels. As we go through our lives our minds create concepts to allow us to sort through the various individual and combined sensory data that our various sensory organs collect for us. For more complex combinations of multiple concepts, our minds will create an amalgam as a new concept. For example when we see a fist sized white leather ball with red stitching we think ‘baseball‘ rather than ‘fist sized white leather ball with red stitching‘.

In our early years we are taught many concepts before we can attach words to those concepts and many of these concepts are the fundamental building blocks on which the rest of our lives will act out. Various schools of psychology place a great deal of emphasis on this early development as key factors in the formation of our personalities and traits. Many of our concepts for emotions are formed at this time in the manner of the way a foundation is formed under a house, and we build upon those concepts over our lives.  But how often do we stop to look at what that foundation is actually made of?

Emotions themselves are learned behaviors and responses, often quite complex combinations of multiple multiple sensory data that relates to either past experiences (concept formation) or to notions we have formed through our process of learning (fantasy scenarios).  If you are told over and over and over again that Love is a magical feeling and is some kind of mystical state of bliss, if you hear or see many stories told in books and movies about fantasy love scenarios that make you feel good (remind you of past experiences or fantasies) you will incorporate those into your fuzzy-wuzzy feel good conceptualization of ‘love’.

Then when you meet someone who’s behaviors and interactions inspires enough of those many many combined concepts that helped you build your notion of love combined with your own excitement, or apprehension, nervousness, shyness, sexual arousal or other factors – woah, it feels like those concepts your brain pieced together over the years! This must be love!!!

You so want love to be ‘magical’, like you have been told over and over and over again, that you don’t stop to realize you have been hyperventilating and your adrenaline is spiking as you are trying to work up the nerve to ask that cute girl for a kiss.  You conform to your concept and believe it to be ‘real’ magic.

Love is a Concept

When in fact you step back and look at all the various factors of what you both believe and think are parts of what love actually ‘is’, if you are honest enough with yourself and thorough enough in the integrity of your reduction of the concept as you know it, you will find that in fact it is based on real factors.  Factors that are for the most part based on things that you consider of benefit to you, but in some cases that you were either convinced were something they aren’t or that may even be irrational in nature.

So if love is just another amalgam of multiple concepts, then you can not only rationally approach the concept but you can strive to both control it and seek to maximize it.  As an ethical egoist, my suggestion of course is to optimize it rationally to your maximum benefit.

So is Love really Un-Conditional?

As I described above, most people that describe love as unconditional ‘seek’ out that form of love.  i.e. they desire it.  They place as a condition, the pre-requisite that the person they seek shares their (flawed) view on what love is.  And upon doing so, they do so by way of selfish reasoning!  The sad part is, that means they are half way there – but they never quite make it the rest of the way.

The truth is that none of us would really ‘want’ a ‘selfless’ love or for someone to love us ‘unconditionally’. For someone to do so absolutely without condition it would mean they gain no individual benefit from doing what is considered ‘loving behavior’ whatsoever.  Just stop and think what this really means:

  • They are not with you because they ‘want’ to be with you, but out of a sense of duty to their concept of what ‘love’ is.
  • They don’t do things for you because they desire you to be happy, but because they feel obliged to do it.
  • They cannot have any pre-conceived notions at all of what ‘they’ think is right or even what ‘you’ think is right. For you to ‘want’ is just as ‘conditional’ as for them

Does it sound a bit robotic?  A tad idiotic?  It’s being mutual slaves out of obligation to self-sacrifice. It makes you ponder that the ultimate ‘unconditional love’ is a suicide pact.  Who wants that?

As for me, I ‘want’ a selfish lover. And I seek to be a selfish lover. When I am with someone, I desire someone that I ‘want’ to be with and take great ‘joy’ in being with them – and them with me.  I selfishly crave a partner that greedily craves my company. I willfully desire to offer of myself to them in exchange for their offering of themselves to me.  I want them to be happy, because it brings me joy for them to be that way. And I fully expect them to meet my pre-condition of seeing love the same way.

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The ObjectOpus

Be sure to check out this and my other works of fiction on the new multi-contributor objectivist fiction showcase:
The ObjectOpus


A man awoke early
determined and assuredly
upon the annual election day,
He looked quite dearly
upon casting his vote yearly
to be sure he had his say.

He hopped in his car
but he didn’t get far
before he ran into trouble,
The engine did choke
and blew out lots of smoke
so he went to the shop on the double.

“I need my car fixed
and please make it quick”
he told the mechanic in haste.
“But time and money are tight,
so if you just might
please sir, my money and time don’t waste.”

The car was pulled in
so the shop could begin
to return the engine to rally.
The mechanic worked fast
until finally at last
he returned from the shop with the tally.

“The plugs were near shot
and engine ran hot,
but I fixed you all up in a jiffy.
But mind you I saved
the money you craved
and made ‘er all brand new and spiffy.

By spraying the coil
and filtering your oil
through some rags I had in the back.
It may sound a bit funny,
but I saved you some money
to help get you right back on track.”

The man pondered the smarts
of not replacing the parts,
but was in a hurry to take part in the election.
So he settled his bill
and had a slight thrill
as he headed back in the poll site’s direction.

He’d made barely a block,
when the engine did knock
requiring his turning around.
So he told the mechanic
with just a slight panic
of this new found troublesome sound.

“I know you’re in a hurry,
so please don’t you worry,
I think I have just the right trick.
I’d noticed the air-filter
appeared slightly off kilter
so I’ll blow it out for you right quick!”

The grease monkey went to it,
then said “that should do it”
and accepted more cash as largess,
A compressed air blast
through the filter fast
with no parts replaced in the process.

But the man was contented,
he thought the guy was just splendid
for saving such time and money.
So off he went again,
until at the next bend
the car resumed acting quite funny.

So back to the shop,
without making a stop,
and the car once again was inspected.
This time the technician
spared no time for suspicion
telling shop hands to do as directed.

They did work and toil,
till all covered with oil
when at last the car was ready for leaving.
Their efforts looked sincere
over belt, hose and gear
to suggest no act of deceiving.

The record was long
of what seemed to go wrong
that the shop had set forth to put right,
“We sprayed down the wires,
put air in the tires
and checked that every bolt was on tight.

The hoses were cleaned,
the belt drums machined,
the radiator fluid was topped.
The list barely finished,
of all they replenished
before their labors had stopped.

Every repair they attempted
in the back was preempted.
Not a single thing found replacement.
Instead they just fudged,
not an old part had budged
from it’s original state of debasement.

Alas he paid once again,
before he began
one more trip to the election station.
Again came the knock
before making a block
this time accompanied with vibration.

‘The time left is waning’
thought the man now complaining
as the engine continued to spout.
So he continued to drive on,
despite the commotion
fearing his time would run out.

Barely making it there,
with time just to spare
he limped into a parking place.
His car loudly wheezed
as the exhaust system sneezed
and the engine finally died in disgrace.

Now you might not believe,
but I would not deceive
when I tell you this last point of concern.
Though it might sound redundant,
his vote was entirely incumbent,
I guess some people will just never learn!

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The ObjectOpus

Be sure to check out this and my other works of fiction on the new multi-contributor objectivist fiction showcase:
The ObjectOpus


Wouldn’t you know it?  I was minding my own business reading a book when she came in and sat down.  I got a feeling that something was up but continued reading and pretended not to notice.  She didn’t go out of her way to get my attention, but something was obviously on her mind.

Eventually, I casually put the book down and looked at her and smiled, but her expression didn’t change.  I held my smile through a pregnant pause but after a few more moments I ventured into dangerous territory by asking nonchalantly, “What’s up?”

She let out a muted sigh and said simply, “Oh nothing.” She sighed again and said not so much to me but to the room in general, “I just have a lot on my mind.”

I had a feeling I hadn’t yet dodged the bullet, but I reached over and gave her a re-assuring squeeze on the wrist, smiling again and pretended to resume reading my book.

A few more seconds went by and she dropped her stare off into the room and I could perceive that she was again looking at me.  Then she hit me with it.

“Why do you love me?”

I knew she was not the type to be insecure, and all of us can probably use some reminders from time to time, but wow!  What a trap question!  She wasn’t the sort to set traps for me either, so she must have been amidst some heady thoughts to lay that one at my feet.

I set the book down and thought for a second.  She also wasn’t the type to be satisfied with a bunch of trite, small examples such as comments on her looks or specifics about her personality.  She would be looking for something more profound.  I decided to quote from Ayn Rand, knowing she’d be familiar with both the quote and the sentiment.

“[Love is a] response to [one’s] highest values in the person of another”

She recognized the citation immediately but wasn’t satisfied. “Yes, I understand that much.  And I agree, but I don’t mean in someone else’s words.  Why do ‘you‘ love ‘me‘?”

Ugh, again bullet not dodged.  I scrambled through thoughts and possible words but decided to stick with that sentiment.  “Because you represent the kind of person I would like to spend my time with.  And frankly, because I seem to be the type of person you like to spend time with.”

“So,” she pondered a moment, “you’re saying that a big part of why you love me is because I love you?”

“Well, that’s part of it, yes.  I wouldn’t much want to spend a lot of time around someone that didn’t feel about me as I did them.”

She nodded to herself and again stared off into space.  I knew she wasn’t quite yet satisfied so I too stared off across the room in thought.  Then I saw the picture and a thought hit me.

“There!!!!” I exclaimed, standing up and pointing at the same time.  I did it so suddenly, it startled her in my doing so.

“What?” she said snapping out of her thoughts looking around frantically.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, but there is a great example.”  I pointed to the picture.  She looked at the picture then again at me with a puzzled look.  “Do you remember what I said when I took that picture?”

“Of course, you said it reminded you of me,” she answered.

“But what did I say just before that?  Do you remember?”  She thought a moment but couldn’t seem to recall.  “First I pondered about the guys in the boat.  I said ‘they have no idea how they are framed right now – the clouds, the birds, the setting moon.  Sure they might see and revel in their own thoughts as to each, but they have no perception as to how we see them – all of them together – here from the beach.  Picture perfect.‘”  She nodded remembering.  “Then I mused that ‘had we been here but five minutes later we would have never seen it or gotten the picture.‘  Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.  You always are a philosophical sap.”  Considering the current situation I thought to myself ‘And you aren’t?’ but decided it would be best not to say it.

“Don’t you see?” I asked imploringly.  “It was our perspective on the beach that let us see them that way.  Well that’s how I see you all the time.  It reminds me of you because of where I stand in relation to you. Because of the things we share in common and because of the ways I understand (and appreciate) how you are different. I see you the same way I see that boat and those clouds and that moon – all together, picture perfect!”

She lit up for a moment delighted at that though and she even showed the hint of a blush.  But I could still see the gears churning in her head.  She sat back again in the chair rolling something over before resuming.

“But…. if I had come along five minutes later – or you – you might not have seen me that way and we might not be together?”

“I’m not saying that, but who knows?  We could speculate all day long.” I said, knowing that I’d just lost a lot of the ground I had just gained.

“So it’s a Minchin thing isn’t it?” she said looking right at me, but I could detect a slight twinkle in her eye now.  This all wasn’t necessarily a test, she was just interested in hearing my responses.  I wasn’t fully off the hook, but at least some of her motivation for the questions was mischievous – outside of simply looking for reassurances.

I decided to play dumb.  “Minchin?” I asked.

“You know, that song you like by Tim Minchin.  ‘If I didn’t have you, I really think that I would have somebody else’?”

I knew what she meant but was playing along now.  We’d discussed that song before, and although she didn’t appreciate it as much as I did, I was satisfied she at least understood it.

“It’s more complicated than that.  Remember, he also says in that song that ‘the connection is strengthened, the affection grows over time’.

She seemed to be mulling those things over.  I thought I caught a faint hint of a smile, almost as a sign of ‘you’re doing better than a I thought you might‘ with that faint glimmer in her eye, but I wasn’t quite sure.  So I walked over to the picture.

“OK, imagine – for example – that I happened upon this sailboat with my camera.  And I liked taking pictures of sailboats with my camera and of seascapes with birds and moonlight or sunsets.  Then along comes this boat.  And it just so happens that this boat likes to have it’s  picture taken.  As luck would have it the boat crosses under the moon catching my attention.  Serendipity!  And I just happen to have my camera. Blind luck!   And the boat sees me taking it’s picture and comes to shore to see what I took.  Correlation!  And the boat likes the picture, and I like the picture.  Mutual satisfaction!  So rather than my going back home and the boat sailing off to sea, we decide to stay together a while, the boat sailing along the shore, me walking along taking it’s picture, both of us enjoying the pictures I take (of the boat sailing on the sea).  We’re both doing what we want to do and enjoy doing, but for our mutual benefits and changing our plans to that end.”  I was rambling now and got a bit sidetracked, but she wasn’t giving me any indicators that she was getting the point I was making.

She just stared a moment at the picture then pondered out loud, “Then, you think at some point I’ll just sail off and leave you on the shore when I get bored of having my picture taken?  Is that it?”

Now she was being outright mischievous.  She was satisfied a while ago and probably only wanted to see me squirm a little, but now she was just looking to see what other tidbits of ‘great wisdom’ on the subject of ‘us‘ and ‘love‘ she could squeeze out through sheer brutal teasing.

“Now!  I did not say that!  Sticking with the analogy – you like the ‘pictures‘ I take of you.  Besides, I could always go home with my camera too you know!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she said, grinning and standing up to come along side me to look at the picture.

I looked at her, my eyes now full of the passion I feel for her.  “It’s not just that you are here with me, but that you have been here with me and I’m reasonably secure that if I continue to treat you with respect and affection (and vice versa) you will be here (and I with you) for the unforeseeable future.”

“You damn well better treat me with respect… and affection!” she said still half-teasing and kissed me on the cheek.  Then she added, “You really see me like that all the time?” first looking at the picture then looking up into my eyes.

“Yes.” I said.

“Well, sticking with your metaphor then… thank you for taking my picture.” she said, her eyes now full of love.

“Thank you for staying near shore,” I responded.

be sure to check out some of my other ‘romantic fiction‘ shorts:

A Beautiful Kind of Plain

Coffee and a Kiss

Here I am, This is All You Get!

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It was a random act of kindness with no specific target intended.
She made a point to say “thank you” and “you made my day,” but in saying so she made mine.
Upon reflection I must admit that though the act bore no pre-determined recipient, it was on behalf of one such as her for which it was undertaken.

Somewhere amidst the conversation she showed me her smile once or twice.
It conveyed with it such possibilities. Be any of them eventually realized or be they just my imagining, it made for delightful thoughts to ponder.

Oh moment of infatuation you do vex me so.
Your rich aroma I now breath deeply to fill my very being.
It’s exhilaration is a source of such sweet intoxication!
I shall sip from it throughout the day.

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Life is Good

… it’s 5:48 in the morning on October first.  You woke up at an ungodly hour and could barely wipe the sleep from your eyes, trudged to the car with the gear you set aside the night before, drive 45 minutes only stopping for gas and coffee then walk another 20 minutes down into the swamp.  You’ve had a good 15 minutes to wait because you got out there way too early and now your good and rested.  The mist is just becoming visible curling out of the tangles in the swamp brush before you as the eastern skyline is just starting to glow with the coming of day.
Then you hear it!  That first ‘snap’ of a twig!  Your muscles involuntarily want to twitch but  you don’t want to move a muscle.  All you move is your eyes to look down at your bow and tighten your fingers on the string.  You know you are about to get the best cardio workout you have had all year without moving a millimeter!

… you have just spent 3 weeks including brainstorming, the initial scribbles on a napkin at lunch and a whole slew of cross referencing online and in books.  You’ve put in at least 8 hours a day including weekends.  Manipulating graphics, building style sheets, populating databases but mostly hacking away at code.  The last line is done and you execute the code – and there is nothing but a smattering of small errors left to fix!

… you turn off the highway and downshift with your foot, pulling off onto an unpopulated road running down through the trees bursting with fall colors, winding this way and that along a crystal smooth lake. You flair the throttle with your right hand and a small group of cranes lights off the water and starts to fly along side you matching your speed, their wingtips just touching the water as they struggle to gain altitude.  Somewhere off on the opposite shore you see a fish rise.  You throw your head back and just feel the wind blowing across your face under the edge of your helmet visor.

… you’re dozing off to sleep after killing the last mosquito in the tent.  The fire, down to just embers outside let’s out an occasional crackle and ever behind it is the sound of the river, just feet away from your head, trickling by.  You hear a trout rise upstream as an owl hoots somewhere off in the distance.  No sounds of cars can be heard as you’re half tempted to get out of the sleeping bag and grab the flyrod to see if the rise marks the start of a bug hatch.  You spy the a million flickering dots of light through the netting at the top of the tent dome as a falling star shoots by.

… it’s drawing near the end of the fourth set and the crowd has had enough of adult beverages to start to let their hair down.  The shouts for “Lenyrd Skynard” by the career drunk in the back corner have finally faded away as you stop to let the crowd fall to a dull hush before letting out a long and loud:
“Weee-eeeeee-eeeellllllll………..”
You wait a few more seconds to let the anticipation build.  You notice a cute girl that has been giving you the eye on and off all night long is now standing in the middle of the dance floor in front of you with wanting eyes.  You try to imagine just how dangerous that short little skirt is going to be for her when you see how ‘low’ she can go in the middle of the song.
You draw in a deep breath already feeling the adrenaline rushing to your head with the rhythm that is about to ensue.  You give the girl a coy smile that bears with it the hint of a wink and let out the words:  “….you know you make me want to SHOUT!!” and the band picks up right on queue.

… you’re turning the big diesel tri-plex for the second to last turn on a 300 yard stretch of fairway.  You again start to notice your escort squadron of sleek swallows doing dive bombs around the mower decks and follow one with your eyes. He draws your attention upward again to the deep blue sky with just a few puffy clouds.  You feel the warmth of the sun on your face and try to fight back a sneeze as the wind puffs up a cloud of clipping dust from the spinning blades below you.
As you complete the turn you see your past hours work stretching out before you – 900 feet of long, straight lines of freshly hewn grass alternating between light and dark as the sun reflects off the fronts and backs of the blades of grass laid down by the rollers.

… it’s another mundane Alterac Valley as you press the button to summon your Dreadsteed and hit auto-run, turning down below the bridge that leads out the back way from Dun Baldar.  As you ride over the small rise through the valley under the bridge, you see not one, not two but three Tauren Shamans trying to sneak into Alliance territory with a Blood Elf Paladin healer pulling up the rear.
The first shaman is ahead of the group so you hit him square in the face with a Death Coil before throwing a stack of DoTs on him and running straight into the other two.  A quick Howl of Terror and now they are screaming in fear as well – DoT, DoT, DoT, DoT and a regular ‘Fear‘ cast on the Paladin to keep him from refreshing their waning health as the DoTs tick it away.
At that point it’s a race, you learn two Shamans are Enhancement – can’t let them get close!  Throwing a Netherweave Net on one to keep him at bay, you re-Fear the other – I’ll deal with him later.  DAMN, the Pali is coming back spamming (casting over and over) Flash Heals.  The third shaman turns out to be Elemental – a caster. A Curse of Tongues on him will slow him down and a Sacrifice of the Voidwalker will help suck up some damage.  Back and forth, round and round, DoT DoT DoT, Fear, Curse, DoT, fire all of your Cooldowns one-by-one as needed, use the Healthstone or a Healing Potion, DoT, Fear, DoT.
They manage to get you down once, but not before you get two of them.  The other two mend their wounds while waiting for the others to Resurrect and come back from the Graveyard to re-Buff.  But not before you’ve come back over the ridge and resume the whole affair.  Round and round.  You manage to get three this time, but the Pali manages to flash a heal on the last one before the BELF bastard too succombs to your wrath of curses, DoTs and fears.
Repeat one more time.  One Enhancement Shaman down bing-bang-boom – he was still eating when you returned and went down like a squishy!   The next one is already coming up the hill and will soon be upon you!  The Net is off CD, root him and run to confront the third.  The Pali is still running back from the graveyard somewhere – NO HEALS FOR YOU!   Soon there is two down.  The net wares off so time to confront the third. ” He’s mine!  He has no hope!”
He ultimately falls to the snow just as the Paladin finally arrives over the hill.  You turn around to face him but he bubbles and runs away like only a pussy Paladin can do.  Time to type the emote for ‘/bye’  as your little pink haired smurf like Gnome Warlock says in her girlish little voice:
“So Long!  It’s been quite an experience!”
PWNED!!!!  I didn’t name her “Little Miss Dangerous” (lilmissd) for nothing!

… when your team is behind with 139 left to score and the last guy up on the opposition manages to set up a 16 ‘out’.  It’s your turn up and you check the chart but you don’t like the recommendation.  You probably won’t be able to nail a triple on your first dart anyway.  You throw for 19 figuring if you nail the fat at least you drop it to an even number with the second highest odd zone on the board.  Triple 19!!! no way!
You stop to do the math quick in your head.  You want to end up on 32 if you can help it.  Best double-outs in the game, descending powers of 2.  But … oh crap 82 sans 32 is 50.  Double bullseye?  Bunghole??  You’ve been choking the bull all night long!  The easy fix would be to throw a 20 and hope for a triple then try – ugh, double 11???  Members of your team are throwing out various combination suggestions, but then Terry walks up behind you and whispers “go bull,  you can do it!” You reset your foot on the line, and go through one, two, three wind-ups.  Stop again to look down, one, two – look down again.  You stiffen your frame.  The noise and smoke and clanking bottles in the bar seems to fade away to a dull hiss as you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. You throw – BUNGHOLE.  Wooo hoo, but Crap!!!!  Now the pressure is on.  But I’ve been nailing the 16 zone all night.  I don’t even hesitate – before the cheering has even begun to rise, I wind up and toss while I’m still in the zone – I feel it – I’m hot.  I don’t even look.  I know it’s home!  Game over man!

(to be continued)

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The ObjectOpus

Be sure to check out this and my other works of fiction on the new multi-contributor objectivist fiction showcase:
The ObjectOpus


When she’s around the stars become brighter,
A bird somewhere sings her name in song.
She makes me see the world as magic,
And my heart wants to sing along…

I paused briefly from writing to look at her across the room.  She was busy with something, I smiled and went back to writing.  My glance must have caught her eye for I could see her looking up at me now.  My heart was all warm with the thoughts going through my head.  To write the words.  ‘what a romantic fool am I?’ I thought to myself, sure that she would be pleased.

“AHEM”

I turned to look and she had most certainly stopped whatever she was doing and was looking right at me now.  ‘She must see the love in my eyes, yet somehow she does not look pleased,’ I thought.

“You’re doing it again aren’t  you?”

She slid her chair closer but didn’t try to look at the paper.  She saw the confused look in my face.  And her disappointed look faded just a little as she smiled.  But a smile of sweet pity like one might expect from someone finding a lost puppy.

“Is it a song?  Or perhaps a poem?” she asked.

My beaming lovestruck look must have faded a touch at my being ‘discovered’.  “A poem.” I stammered.

“mmm hmm,” she said silently almost as if to herself.  “And by the look on your face I’d guess it’s a poem about rainbows and dancing fairies, braiding my hair and following me down streets of gold?”

I must have blushed, but she had seen through me before I could even speak a word.  She leaned forward to look at the paper now and I felt like a wounded child.

“Oh dear one,” she said looking up and cupped my cheek.  “Don’t be sad and please don’t be hurt.  It’s just not what I desire from you.”

She pushed her chair back a bit and crossed her arms and looked up briefly as she searched for what to say next.  Then just as suddenly as the whole affair began she stood up and threw her arms out to her sides.

“Take a good long look at me!  Look me up and down.”  I obeyed and she must have caught at least the slightest glint in my eye even through my scolded stance. “See, that’s what I’m talking about.  Now… how can I make you understand this…”  She looked up again crossing her one arm across her chest and tapped at her chin with the hand of the other, “… without wounding you further,” then she continued as though to herself but as much for my benefit, “than you already think you are that is.”

She resumed her arms out again, “This will have to work I guess.  Look me over again.  Look me all over.”  Pausing again, she asked “Do you not like what you see?”

“I very much like what I see.” I answered without hesitation.

“Very well, then tell me – is there anything about me  you don’t like?  Be honest now, there must be something.  You need not tell me what it is, a simple yes or no will suffice.”

I held my tongue and she repeated.  “Oh come now, I’m not trying to trick you with this question.  I want you to be honest.  Think not just of how you see me in this moment, as you venture to write that poem.  Think of me in totality.  There is no doubt some thing, perhaps many things, that bother you in some way?  Yes? No?”

“Well, of course, I guess?” I answered hesitantly.

“You guess?”

I sighed.  “Of course there is, but…”

“Hold that thought,” she cut me off before I could qualify that statement. “I will be curious to know where you are going with it but first to my point.  But – no doubt you were about to say that there are many many things you like about me.”

“Exactly!” I said proudly.

“Do any of them involve stars actually glowing brighter?” she asked in earnest.

The question caught me completely off guard.  I didn’t know quite what to say but she continued.  “And have you ever really heard a bird singing my name?”

She put a hand aside my head now and started to stroke my hair.  Without even realizing I was saying it I whispered softly, “It’s things like that I like.”

“What’s that?” she inquired putting a hand under my chin to raised my down turned eyes up to her.  “Oh poor love, you think I am angry with you.  No no no, please hear me out.  Yes, it’s things like this that you like.  Stay with me here, I have a point to this.”

She pulled her hand away from my hair stroking my cheek as she stepped back to her arms out position as before, again saying,  “Take a good long look at me up and down.  Here I am, this is all you get! No magic fairies, no power over the stars, no mystical influence over the vocabulary of singing birds.”

Now I was just staring at her completely perplexed not quite knowing where she was going with this.

“Don’t you see?  You look at me with the eyes of a mystified romanticist like this, and you imagine me holding all these powers over heaven and earth and bestowed with all sorts of abilities that no woman can possibly have.  And…”

She drew in a long deep breath.  “And if you imagine me enough times that way, how will you ever expect me to live up to the image your ‘heart’ has created for you?  All I will be able to do is to disappoint you when I don’t live up to the dreams you weave about me!”

“I love you for how it makes me feel when ‘your’ voice speaks my name,” she continued.  “Because there is no one at present I would rather hear saying it.  I love you for the way you look at me when I smile.  I dearly hope that look is not due to you holding some notion that my smile can cure cancer.  I hope that is simply because you love to see me smile.”

“I do!” I answered.

“I’m glad for it!” she replied, “So then why don’t you write of that?  Or of how my hand feels when I stroke your hair?  I don’t want you to love me for what you wish me to be or what you imagine me to be.  I want you to love me for who and what I am.”

With that she stroked my hair again and picked up the pencil that I had unknowingly dropped the first time she touched my head.  I must have lit up at her touch because she smiled even more.  I understood.

She kissed my forehead and walked back across to her seat to resume her work. I scratched across my previous words on the page and began writing again:

The touch of her hand makes my worries seem lighter,
She makes me want to sing the words of a good song.
She shares the world with me through her eyes,
And she stands by me even when I do wrong…

I glanced up at her again.   She didn’t turn her head this time, but even so, she somehow read right through me.  I could just make out the glint of a smile from around her flowing hair.

“I love you! Now keep writing you fool.  I do so want to read it when you are done.” she said almost laughing.  So I resumed my work in earnest – and with realistic honesty this time.

(I was inspired to write this fictional romantic moment after a daydreaming session.  I was pondering the notion of what kind of a person I might be wanting to spend my time with and getting in a sappy romantic mood imagining me writing a love poem for the kind of a girl I would care about.  When my own daydream surprised me when the girl I imagined interrupted my foolish fantasy-making on the paper to bring me back down to reality to make me realize that what I want to love is someone ‘real’ for ‘real’ reasons.)

be sure to check out some of my other ‘romantic fiction‘ shorts:

A Beautiful Kind of Plain

Coffee and a Kiss

Love, Photography and Sailboats *** NEW!!! ***

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(a necessary free association rant)

There’s a hole in my wall – ahh crap
I worked so hard to build it but now,
there’s a whole in my wall!!!

Stuffs oozing out.
I can’t keep it in…
it’s making such a mess.

I built it over time.
It was made to keep stuff in.
But now there’s a hole in my wall,
OH woes, oh noes!

You asked me to break it down.
Did I make this hole?
Jeesh, I made this hole.
There’s a hole in my wall,
and now I just have to deal with it.

But yet I don’t want to fix it,
but still it makes such a mess!
“That’s what you built it for!”
I think to myself.

Maybe if I pretend it’s not there…
ahh my feet are getting messy,
stuffs spilling out all over.
But it’s kinda squishy between my toes.
(that feels weird – but a good kind of weird)

There’s a hole in  my wall,
“it should be fixed,”
or so says my defensive mind.
But could I?  Should I?

There’s a hole in my wall,
but it’s letting light in.
Things forgotten, things new.
Wondrous things.

There’s a hole in my wall
and some day I won’t care.
Another side may fall and draw my attentions away,
to a new demolisher – a new vanquisher.
a new hero.

Someday I may even forget
that there was a hole in my wall,
that I built a wall at all,
that such a thing even existed or was once necessary.

There’s a hole in my wall,
and now you know it’s there.
It will be patched up with time (or left behind)
but it will always be a weak spot – wall or no wall.

You know it’s there.
Please don’t abuse it.
Never be afraid to use it,
to find your way back in –

but only if you need it (and only when I don’t)….

Perhaps, someday…

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The ObjectOpus

Be sure to check out this and my other works of fiction on the new multi-contributor objectivist fiction showcase:
The ObjectOpus

 


(inspired by a dream I had two nights ago – written for no one in particular, that is unless you happened to have the same dream….)

 

“How do I look dear?” she asks sincere.

A poem simultaneously pops in my head:

Not too flashy, not to bold,
not quite vulgar, but not too old.
Not all that proper, but not carefree.
If you want my opinion it’s “just right” to me.

No – not a fashion model, you’re not a movie star.
For you to be gorgeous,  you don’t have to go that far.
Others do as they will, no matter how high they set the bar,
In my eyes you are perfect, just the way you are!

Just look at me, I’m no adonis.
Not Carey Grant or John Wayne.
The fact you chose ‘me’, to be honest,
I find difficult to explain.

It’s what’s inside you that I find stunning,
finding words to convey it would be in vane.
The pure simple truth of it, to me –
You are the most beautiful kind of plain!

I say simply, “You look quite plain my love,” and she smiles and gives me a kiss. Where some may find such a compliment droll, she knows from me it is highest praise.

(yes, I think there is such a thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to physical attractiveness and the process of augmenting it or trying to achieve it.  And yes, I see ‘too attractive’ as a ‘bad’ thing.  Truth be told, ‘my’ dreamgirl is kind of plain)

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Did you know I want to love you?
Did you know I try to hate you?
Did you know I can’t seem to do either right?

Do you know I can’t sleep?
Do you know I’m sad? Have been sad?
Do you know I miss you? Even when you are there?

Will you ever know how I tried?
Will you ever see past how I failed?
Will I ever get it right?

Can I be what someone wants?
Can I say what needs to be said?
Could I just once find out what that is?

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(The following few posts are some things I dug out of my storage bin – things that I wrote down when I was a wee sprite way back in high school – ugh – 20 some odd years ago!
This piece in particular, in case it isn’t obvious, was written after I had bought a couple of bibles, visited a couple of churches and was pretty much left with an overall feeling of dissatisfaction for the whole journey of exploration. Needless to say, that was when I first started to acknowledge my being agnostic/atheistic)

Questions
Troubles of my mind when no one cares
Questions we ask when no one listens.
Do we but ask ourselves to no avail?

We ask of When…
… time gives no answer
We ask of Where…
… but we are still lost.
We ask who…
… no one presents their admission.
We ask why…
… no reason is given
Then we are left only to ask what?
(and there is no explanation)

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