Do you think you would draw me out in person? Are you afraid I would draw you out? You have all the tools, my writing gives away the keys to my soul, my words, my ideas, my passions. You are saved, mercifully, the agony of small talk which never closes in on the target, small talk born and bred of normalcy and stereotypes. Small talk embarasses me, fills me with pain and loathing at the hidden assumptions, the attempts to define and pigeonhole. Ideas excite me, thoughts new and old, thoughts of others who think, however so, about their lives.
Do you think about your life often? About life? About love? What is it, this mythologised cipher? Is it just a lie? Not in the trite sense of an untruth, but more of a betrayal - our shallow stories and mistaken folklores pull us further and further from where our hearts can be found, and bury us in the agonies of unlivable legends.
Love. Hell, what about just spending time with people you like, growing with them wherever it works, appreciating them for who they are, not who you hope they are?
What about just getting together with a kindred or stimulating spirit for a weekend of touching, talking, with no boundaries or definitions save what comes to seem naturally? My ideal date - a weekend together. You know if you like someone after that much time with them. You know if you can talk, no pretense or defense will outrun that kind of intimacy. Physical intimacy is optional, of course, but recommended.
8/14/00 - 5 PM
© Huw Powell