Sunday, May 18, 2008

In love or in lust?

I hadn't planned to put this next one up so soon, but it seems time favors the blog. So, onward!

I was talking about how since I wasn't the kinda guy to engage in casual sex, and since more often than not, that was what people wanted, I was pretty lonesome. I looked for Love in all the wrong places - including (but not limited to): hippies, scenester girls, bro hos, librarians, otaku chicks, nerd sluts, divorcees, and of course, mainstream ladies.

In the end, the only thing that really "stayed the course" was this:

Sad, but true. Slowly, I became the stay-at-home on a weekend night kinda guy. It's easy to get rundown over time, especially when you know how simple it would be to make the swtich, become an asshole - and just fuck a bunch of chicks.

Seriously! What's my problem with indulging my inner-manslut? Answer: like the song says, "it's just the way that I am."

So, there I am, looking around in the dumpster for Love, and what do I find? (Besides trash.) I find:

Morbid? Yeah...but nonetheless, it's still true, too. We DO all die alone. It's a door everyone has to walk through, and it's only one person wide. Not that I'm saying I want to; just stating the obvious, in case you missed it. (Don't worry, it happens to us all sometimes.)

This was after failed relationship after failed relationship, after fucking impossibly failed relationship., And I began to get a little...


So crazy in fact, I think, honestly, that I forget the difference between Love&Lust.

What's Lust? Deep sexual need to jump the closest two-legged opposite genderized person and do the nasty like an 80s porn flick. Lust is different from Love because it's all about indulgence. Love isn't that self-centered (at least, not in that way). Lust doesn't care if the person you're making out with was the one you intended, if the passion you're feeling isn't just a rush of blood, or if either of you will remember anything about this past the present tense.

I've gone around a lot, especially lately, looking at fine young ladies, dressed down and said to myself, "DAAAAAAAAMN! I want me some of that." (Accent optional.) On a long enough time line, everybody can get confused over something they said they were sure enough about. And on my timeline, I think I forget - in the God-given joke of being unable to manage a brain and a penis at the same time - that I want Love...even at the cost of losing my Lust.

Yes, I said it! I'll forgo fucking just because I think this whole Love thing might be better. In the long run, I hope I'm right (because right now it always seems like I'm not.)

Maybe I should get a meantime susbtitute? Something to keep me occupied...

...Could work. Ya think?

Th-th-that's all folks! Think about some of this business, yeah? Maybe give me your dear-sweet opinion. Share your scars so I can avoid getting more of my own. That goes double for you ladies. I know you're thinking, "sweet guy! I would never let something like this happen to him." But when the dance floor clears for the night, stop and notice who's got arms wrapped around another, and who's just wrapping around themself. I've been the latter long enough to know the difference, and why.

But you know what? "To hell with more. I want better." - Ray Bradbury.

Fucking A.

1 footnotes:

Anonymous said...

A meantime substitute?

Looks like I better bake a batch of snickerdoodles, ASAP.