Holiday cheer from the quintessential grumps? Guess rabid pessimism can't compete with the human longings to experience joy after all.
From the the waiter himself
And then the the crazy teacher-man
And oh-my-effing-shutyomouth.. ms. V?
I'm getting positively verklempt.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Love is NOT simple
Okay, for anyone that happens upon this, and doesn't use StumbleUpon, forget I said that name, and never search for that site, or install the tool bar. If you weren't addicted to the Internet before, you will be then.
I just ran across this using StumbleUpon.
The Love Movie
Now, I want to believe this, I really do. I want to think that any problem in the world that I encounter can be simply solved by being a really friggin nice dude, paying all the attention I can to others that I love, and ignoring all else.
But Love is not simple. That's like saying fixing a 747 at 30,000 feet with duct-tape and some paper clips while screaming passengers are begging you to make it all right again... is easy.
If love was so damn easy, no one would sympathise with you over being hurt by someone, because it never would have happened to them. For that matter, it wouldn't have happened to you either.
If love was so easy, you'd never get the urge to install a key-logger on your lovers computer to see if they're cheating, even though the idea repulses you on several levels.
If love was easy, men and women wouldn't be tearing their children's hearts out with their words, their divorces, their vices, and their ego's, and sometimes their fists.
If love was easy, no on would ever be afraid to say it. I mean say it, just say it, say it, say it sayit, you loverherjustsayit!!!
Love means something, and it is therefore something implicitly NOT easy. Words have been unable to fully describe the feeling for eons, and will probably never get it right. The only words that work imply inference to the reader of what love cannot possibly be described as or molded into, or how it can't be given over to a two-bit headline description.
The video does get one thing right, love is an action, not a feeling. Something as huge, important, awe-inspiring, and vast as the concept of love cannot possibly exist in only the vacuum of one's soul. It imbues the body, it sabotages the tounge, it make feet run, and hands hold, and children laugh, and lovers kiss, and gives wings to the hurting, it breaks bonds, it builds bridges, it creates new life, it spans the ages, it is the single most sought after substance in the universe.... but words don't work, do they?
Whatever love is, it is not simple.
I just ran across this using StumbleUpon.
The Love Movie
Now, I want to believe this, I really do. I want to think that any problem in the world that I encounter can be simply solved by being a really friggin nice dude, paying all the attention I can to others that I love, and ignoring all else.
But Love is not simple. That's like saying fixing a 747 at 30,000 feet with duct-tape and some paper clips while screaming passengers are begging you to make it all right again... is easy.
If love was so damn easy, no one would sympathise with you over being hurt by someone, because it never would have happened to them. For that matter, it wouldn't have happened to you either.
If love was so easy, you'd never get the urge to install a key-logger on your lovers computer to see if they're cheating, even though the idea repulses you on several levels.
If love was easy, men and women wouldn't be tearing their children's hearts out with their words, their divorces, their vices, and their ego's, and sometimes their fists.
If love was easy, no on would ever be afraid to say it. I mean say it, just say it, say it, say it sayit, you loverherjustsayit!!!
Love means something, and it is therefore something implicitly NOT easy. Words have been unable to fully describe the feeling for eons, and will probably never get it right. The only words that work imply inference to the reader of what love cannot possibly be described as or molded into, or how it can't be given over to a two-bit headline description.
The video does get one thing right, love is an action, not a feeling. Something as huge, important, awe-inspiring, and vast as the concept of love cannot possibly exist in only the vacuum of one's soul. It imbues the body, it sabotages the tounge, it make feet run, and hands hold, and children laugh, and lovers kiss, and gives wings to the hurting, it breaks bonds, it builds bridges, it creates new life, it spans the ages, it is the single most sought after substance in the universe.... but words don't work, do they?
Whatever love is, it is not simple.
It's all gone awry.
You ever get to that point?
You know, THAT point. Where you just can sit there and stand the silence in your head anymore. Or worse, the silence all around. Even when people are speaking to you nothing is said, ntothing real and true, nothing with substance.
Everything seems to be building to something else lately. Boiling over with potential but never reaching the rim of my self, never slipping past that tiny barrier of air that would let my inner world clash with my external world. I can just imagine it, the stuff of my life spilling over the sides of a too-large pot that has been on the burner for far too long, the contents sizzling in the exposure to the flame.
I'm not really sure what all that meant, maybe deep down I feel like life is over-cooking me just so that it can eat me one day, when I'm nice and tender and all the good parts have burned to the bottom of the pot.
Let me back up, or go forward, doesn't matter. I get in these moods. No, not the "oh my god, I'm a whiney little twit and I'm going to kill myself!" moods. It's just that I get in a place in my head whe the connections dont go outside. I operate in the world on instinct and habit, barely noticing the external, barely caring that I can't keep track of it anymore, barely registering when people talk directly to me, if I were to notice at all.
I think it has to do with something I never really noticed about my childhood. No, daddy did not beat me, and my mother loved me (we'll get to them later, nobody's perfect). I've been talking off and on to my parents and older siblings about how I was as a child, and how I wasn't. I was spacey, I didn't talk till I was over three years old, and then only if I had to. I never really cared about playing with other kids. I was cut off from the world of the living, and living in it.
I started ruminating on this strange position that I was, and somehow still am in, because of my son, who is scarily like myself. I sometimes weep for the pain that he will go through if he take the same path I did.
Let me back up again, or maybe it's sideways this time. If you get lost, it's okay, so am I.
I'm almost 30, I've done so much and so little with my life that it's alternately scary and amazing at once. Mix and match all four of those adjectives and see what you come up with. I have a family of three children. I'm (somehow) still married. I have a decent job that bears little to no personal satisfaction or sense of purpose. I never have any money, but I'm not sure I really want it (the super-ego lies).
You know, THAT point. Where you just can sit there and stand the silence in your head anymore. Or worse, the silence all around. Even when people are speaking to you nothing is said, ntothing real and true, nothing with substance.
Everything seems to be building to something else lately. Boiling over with potential but never reaching the rim of my self, never slipping past that tiny barrier of air that would let my inner world clash with my external world. I can just imagine it, the stuff of my life spilling over the sides of a too-large pot that has been on the burner for far too long, the contents sizzling in the exposure to the flame.
I'm not really sure what all that meant, maybe deep down I feel like life is over-cooking me just so that it can eat me one day, when I'm nice and tender and all the good parts have burned to the bottom of the pot.
Let me back up, or go forward, doesn't matter. I get in these moods. No, not the "oh my god, I'm a whiney little twit and I'm going to kill myself!" moods. It's just that I get in a place in my head whe the connections dont go outside. I operate in the world on instinct and habit, barely noticing the external, barely caring that I can't keep track of it anymore, barely registering when people talk directly to me, if I were to notice at all.
I think it has to do with something I never really noticed about my childhood. No, daddy did not beat me, and my mother loved me (we'll get to them later, nobody's perfect). I've been talking off and on to my parents and older siblings about how I was as a child, and how I wasn't. I was spacey, I didn't talk till I was over three years old, and then only if I had to. I never really cared about playing with other kids. I was cut off from the world of the living, and living in it.
I started ruminating on this strange position that I was, and somehow still am in, because of my son, who is scarily like myself. I sometimes weep for the pain that he will go through if he take the same path I did.
Let me back up again, or maybe it's sideways this time. If you get lost, it's okay, so am I.
I'm almost 30, I've done so much and so little with my life that it's alternately scary and amazing at once. Mix and match all four of those adjectives and see what you come up with. I have a family of three children. I'm (somehow) still married. I have a decent job that bears little to no personal satisfaction or sense of purpose. I never have any money, but I'm not sure I really want it (the super-ego lies).
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