Anyone can make love complicated, that’s easy. As everyone who’s been around love knows knows a romantic kiss can out burn and outlast a lifetime of monotone sex. And although its true nobody ever really wants to break a heart or have their heart broken, yet here we lay slain and all alone in this goddam Garden of Eden wondering where all of life’s shit seems to come from. It appears the only way we can be true to ourselves and still be happy is to lie to everyone else.
You’re a woman, and/or sometimes a monster and you’ve made us so goddam complicated that you hate yourself every moment as you’re doing it, yet you cannot stop yourself. I’m a man and/or an asshole and thought as long as our kisses caught fire and the sex was great that all we needed to be happy was each other, what a ditz and sucker punch this turned out to be. Now here we both are wondering where all our unused love will go. Will it collect in an earthly cauldron of suspended animation waiting to be used by some youngsters who believe blindly they found the one and only real true love like we did? Do they think they will be the first couple to ever find the answer to loneliness since the great love between Romeo and Juliette? Do they assume the rest of us never really found our true love just because it simply didn’t work out like we had hoped it would? Should we be so brazen as to tell the youngsters that love is like a pan of boiling water, how it gets hotter and hotter until it comes to a full boil then slowly dissipates into the thin air of rising steam. Anyone who has lived through the tortures of love like we have, who have bled with the best of young lovers, whose eyes cried dark blue in color while falling into the midnight hours watching as their heart leapt from the balcony along with their hopes and dreams into that decaying defeat of eventuality. Those of us who have heart wounds mounted like some brilliant chess medal pinched under the delicate skin of hurt. We understand we are one of them, one of us! “Loves forsaken ones”.
We shall not tell young lovers for it would only inspire them to retaliate and mount a monumental word battle of words of vulgarity against us. No we must let these young lovers find their own way to their own failings. And oh yes! You and I who have lived on the battlefields wear love comes to die, we know they will fail, that the first cut will be the deepest because they never imagine that the other person there in love with will want them to give up half of whom they spent a lifetime to become. And then they will find that their other half is also in desperate need of repair. Is it any wonder that it’s easier to fall out of love than it is to fall into love? Truthfully I think splitting atoms is easier than splitting up with our first love. Because love requires calluses to succeed. It has to learn endurance, pain, agony, defeat, confusions and even some form of therapeutic self-confessions. We have to learn how to plant the greenest of jealousies into the caverns and back doors of our dirty little seething unconsciousness. Love must climb out of its deepest pretend hole and mount all these things then fuck the shit out of each of them. Then and only then when pretend is bent over the truth, can it be forced up from the heart and pumped into the caverns of our brain. Then and only then is when we stop the torrential rains and learn how to allow love to succeed, how to swim through the exhausting floods of disenchantment, swim against the tides of our own self-illusions and grandeur. We must learn to flip over in the storm and learn how to float without a fight as the rain pelts our dignity, we must learn letting go against the current is the right thing to do, to let it take us without a struggle. I think it’s kind of similar to cold cream being poured into scolding hot coffee, somehow the cream doesn’t spoil as it hits the hot coffee, and even though we don’t understand it, we don’t need to understand it, all we need to know is it doesn’t. Love, love needs its calluses to succeed, like the old proverbs associated with wine, it needs to breath to come to its full body of flavor. I don’t have any idea why wine which has no nostrils needs air to breathe, but just like love it just does, and I don’t need to understand it. All I have to do is drink the wine get drunk and be happy. That’s love.
And so now here we are again with our second advance on new forces in an attempt to conquer love, this time we are protected with the armor of amour as we once again venture into the strange unknown, on to battlefields to joust for the love that our heart must have. But this time, the second time, we are much more prepared for the lies, the deceptions, and all the masquerading that love has waiting for us. We are more prepared to battle against the pretty peacocks in pretty garbs of illusions.
In this world of mistaken identities we must know before the attack starts who we are battling, that the battle is worth waging and that in the end there will be no decisive victor, only those who are brave enough to endure and stand on the battlefield and fight with honor until our blood is spilled and we pay the price for eternal mating. We must be sure that he battle will be fought on neutral ground and with as little deception as humanly possible. Love will either gathers us up for whom we are, or will spat us out finding us unpalatable and impossible to swallow. Swallow all the crap we’ve slung at each other. Love will spat us out and once again scar the heart and scar the soul of those who it finds unworthy. In all this we must remember and be aware that we learn from our mistakes in everything but love, so beware heart full of blood, be aware that even with seasoning on the raw meat of our love still requires an acquired taste. The meat of love cannot be devoured without first being cut. The juices will flow and we will be devoured, but if love is true we will be regurgitated and invited to the king’s ball. And for the young who believe their love cannot and will not break or fail, I say to you open your eyes and see how full the well of love has become. Know that the waters that fill the well is full of virgin tears just like your own, and with a taste every bit as salty. Be aware heart full of blood, be prepared to be cut seared and seasoned. Prepare yourself for endurance, for the deception, for the truth about lies. The cuts that stain and signify the horrors associated with your first “true quest for love”. Beware of such a pain that you have never even dreamed of nor are prepared for.
Be aware that love can only be as truthful as you and your mate are willing to be with each other. Know that love does not fall from the heavens but rather resides and rises nearer the fires of hell. This is where the meat of love gets its sultry flavors and the barbeque skin marks find the backsides of new lovers’ skin. It’s what eventually make the meat tougher like a callus. You will try and find the perfect temperature between truth and resilience but it doesn’t exist. Learning how to allow the slow sizzle of the heart to bake rather than turning up the flame of love to burn faster will only cause it to burn and become inedible. So young ones go ahead and fire up the “Barbie”, open and breathe her airy wine, and if you end up drunk and passed out and all alone on the couch of mornings, thank your lucky stars that you got away easy this time, and that today there will be no battle, no war of attrition, no sobbing heart to contend with, just that cold and empty loneliness surrounding your aching hangover and the empty wine bottle. Ask anyone who’s been in love for decades and they will confirm that love is a war always waged but never won, the battlefield always leaves some blood behind, the barrels that fire the bullets of love are always shot hot but kill you cold. But during those few moments where white sheets of surrendering fly from each other hands, in these precious moments of willingness does the heart takes higher flight than any heavens known to this earth. Where the tears from the well are returned to the eyes to cry in happiness as payment for the long struggle and endurance you have contended with while slaying all the other foes to gain entrance to this very moment. Even if its short lived or maybe even fleeting it’s also exhilarating and a worthwhile endeavor while it last. In this war of attrition we learn that one does not have to be a victor to win the grandest of prizes, only a participant in this battle. Although you might be thinking of saving yourself from all this agony, you cannot. Love decide who will fight, who will develop thick enough calluses to endure its wrath, and who will give their life away for the cause. Today we play this game of love in the hope of reaching the human pinnacle of our own smooth existence. We battle for the freedom to be linked to another slave of love. To endure the agony of rejections, to kowtow down on one knee for the right to endure decades of togetherness. We chose to fight for what generations before us fought for because we have the right to. You may decide you don’t want to fight for love but that matters not, if love decides it wants you then love wants you and you will do battle. Oh heart full of blood, prepare yourself for this honor to do battle. For the future comes to you and those hearts without calluses will surly perish.
But those who choose to fight fair and with truth against their opponent will find that the light of love is blinding and can cleanse and clean your wounds and soul alike. Go now and fight for your right to fall into love.
The Fallen One’s