Pretty Boys Are ... Poisonous?
I guess there's a reason why I don't feel free ... or as free as I'd like ... to write about Clarity. Or my
Clarity. Which by virtue of the subject matter amounts to pretty much the same. If I can't approach it from
a distance - there's just nothing I could write ... about. Nothing at least that I might feel comfortable
So, I've read Megan Fox' poems. And it is ... maybe so, maybe not, oddly not the first instance of me
encountering something in this world that would contradict my sensitivities concerning Love. Or however to
say that ... maybe it's an inescapable truth that we may only experience it through the deulusions of our
own wishful thinking.
And so ... I say ... I guess ... why not ... lean into it? I mean, fully! Not like ...
the mortal human condition compels us ... you ... to?
Well, it's a short read and it doesn't fail to deliver on the promise of being a fucked up fairy tale.
There's that "Meme" that comes to mind. That scene from one of the Hobbit movies in which Gollum tries to
grasp the answer to that one of Bilbo's riddles.
As ... a personal reaction.
And I don't know, in the end, whether or not to feel sorry for her, or happy, or what?
I'm curious to google her history to find some context clues - but that's neither here nor there.
And I've talked to people like ... her, I'd think ... before. Some more, other's less - and beyond the
one of each it isn't clear to me whom else I might count unto them. And as you might know or understand
or guess ... I'm torn. On the one side I feel superior as I'm literally in a position from which I'm looking
down on other people's miseries - and on the other my life is vapidly empty. Full stop.
So - maybe what I understand to be my Clarity is just me sharing in the emotions of those lost souls -
applying my inability of sharing in their pain and agony as a band-aid; Leaving only the goods to then flow
back and keep the whole thing going.
I keep wondering that.
But I don't believe it.
And if it would matter - I don't think I could change a thing. Which is awkwardly in tune with the whole ...
I don't even know what label to bestow upon it. Kink?
But to be fair ... I think I can sense it. Echoes ... faint ... silent ... distant ... of what it means to
suffer. Of wanting to get out. Of being lost. Lost in a world that doesn't seem to feature a safe harbor for
those targeted by Lust.
My Sisters? Kindred Spirits? Children??
Where, in as far as man has taken reign of this world, nourished by the victories of their disrespect,
drunken from the cup of iniquities - nothing is good beyond the purpose it might serve. As however majestic
a great grand old tree might be; It's made of wood - and wood is good when ... burned or cut into pieces.
And I endorse that analogy ... as for myself. To yield to ... forces that be ... to be chastised and set
straight to fit into my role. A role ... that comes with sacrifices - sacrifices spent on a dark trade.
But ... well ... sure you'd know about the But!
Further ... I do happen to be gay. Or Sapphic. So when it comes to Love, at least, I guess I might be fortunate.
Not that it ever worked out for me. Whatever it is ... a man or a woman, wicked or just, not to make any
assumptions, it is my impression that we generally tend to hope for the best in spite of what's being offered
in contradiction. Therein emotions spin up their own logic, their own world; Utterly detached of what reason
you might try to comprehend them with. And to not leave this be entirely bleak - that reasoning only helps once
it carries experiences to the heart that might compete with whatever plague is festering there.
So I would hope - get lost in my dreams and in turn end up hoping even more. Eventually I managed to make a cut;
Being lucky that nobody would hold on asking me to stay; Again and again ... until I once again found myself
entangled in the webs of my desires. Hope. Some of you might know the story (already) ... and yet, though old
news it might be, at long last I had there convinced myself that outside of this Love, only a dark void would
be left waiting for me.
And having evidently not been a subject of desire - that's what I had to face; And thus I "fell". Into
darkness. Into the void.
And there may be some confusion about what to make of terms such as 'Darkness' or 'Light' ... 'Void' or
'Substance'. Or even 'Chaos' and 'Order'. There are many ways to use them for different things - taking either
one as the good. And so I'm convinced that 'giving up' ... into 'resignation' ... for instance, doesn't take
everyone into the same darkness. Nor does fighting and making an effort take everyone into the same light.
But ... I'm convinced that this void that people fear to fall into ... that is where we should aspire to be.
I don't know if I should connect that to dreams in which we try to move towards some light or something but
the more we try the further we fall behind. It ... is a bit like that though. I'm convinced.
It makes sense! Perfectly so! What we know of, what is familiar to us - these are substance. Substance we can
hold on to. Values we may believe in. Fertile Soil for our Hopes and Dreams. And what awaits us in the void
isn't literally the absolute absence of anything. Just an absence of ... certain things. Things that might make
up our entire horizon, sphere of beliefs, islands of comfort ... these things.
And we may discover a new horizon. A new sphere of beliefs. Islands of comfort. Found in the unknown. The
unknown that cannot take root within our conscious, outside of fancy or curiosity or accident or whatever.
And therefore ... it cannot fight for our heart.
It is then ... as the story of Kosti proclaims. On the one side there is Eshem. She makes an effort of Luring
people into her den. Commands servants to drag prey into her temple. And on the other side is Wisdom. Maybe the
only thing Eshem ... actively fights against. Wisdom is beautiful, but ... not like Eshem. She's different. And
also, unlike Eshem, not ... actively out there. Wisdom needs to be sought.
But what am I trying to say here? "Silly me!" - such things have never worked out. Some of the things I utter
seem to work just like Laxative. You know ... the whole going in one ear and coming out the other ... type deal.
Like if words were compared to food. Like Jesus and the Bread.
I would think that there's just something Hypnotic about Eshem. Why else would people so easily fall for her?
And those that don't, for as far as that tale is concerned, have a hard time distinguishing reason from nonsense
I guess I can't stop myself from getting preachy because that's basically or literally why I'm here. And
regardless of how much I'd like to believe that it's reserved for pretty ladies, being not heard or disliked
for what you say ... isn't a gendered issue. I guess it's more about ... trying to go beyond the superficial.
Yea ... that'll take a bit to sink in.
And I guess I had some more to say, but my mind just blanksed ... so