I know this already. So do you.
Posted on July 1, 2006
Filed Under Rant, love, music | Comments Off
standingonthebox, on 20 June 2006 wrote,
‘I’m not wondering how beautiful girls end up with assholes. That’s too easy, and I don’t have to wonder about it much. If you end up with an asshole on your arm — whether male or female — it’s because you’re flawed. I’m flawed, and I’ve had the occasional asshole on my arm. You get stuck with an asshole because you think very little of yourself. Or the sex is phenomenal. Or you’re after money or drugs. I know this already. So do you.
I’m wondering what’s there when all that you “see in him” is gone. When the whole alpha male act gets tired, and what you’re left with is a semi-literate manual laborer with poor work habits who’s just been told by the State of New York that he’s no longer permitted to drive on its roadways. What happens then? Is your love for such a person so unconditional that you’ll continue to sit and stroke the webbing between his fingers even though he’s just been metaphorically castrated by the judicial system?’
I can’t get the song Fistful of love by Antony and the Johnsons out of my head. It makes me sad but I listen to it again and again. He lives a different lifestyle to mine but the lyrics are very powerful. 15 years ago, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of my happiness but I wonder if history is repeating itself?
I was lying in my bed last night staring
At a ceiling full of stars
When it suddenly hit me
I just have to let you know how I feel
We live together in a photograph of time
I look into your eyes
And the seas open up to me
I tell you I love you
And I always will
And I know you can’t tell me
I know you can’t tell me
So I’m left to pick up
The hints, the little symbols of your devotion
So I’m left to pick up
The hints, the little symbols of your devotion
And I feel your fists
And I know it’s out of love
And I feel the whip
And I know it’s out of love
And I feel your burning eyes burning holes
Straight through my heart
It’s out of love
It’s out of loveI accept and I collect upon my body
The memories of your devotion
I accept and I collect upon by body
The memories of your devotionAnd I feel your fists
And I know it’s out of love
And I feel the whip
And I know it’s out of love
And I feel your burning eyes burning holes
Straight through my heart
It’s out of love, ooh hoo
It’s out of loveGive me a little bit serious love
Give me a little full love
Be full of love
Fists, fists, fists full of love…
I should point out that physical violence does not apply to any of my relationships. What catches my attention, in addition to the music, is:
So I’m left to pick up
The hints, the little symbols of your devotion
So I’m left to pick up
The hints, the little symbols of your devotion
How sad is that? I’m like a dog sniffing around a tree on Griffith Avenue*, wondering if it’s a good tree to ‘mark’ with my scent, when there’s another 50 trees ahead just as good? Why this tree?
*Close to where I live, Griffith Avenue is an old Victorian avenue that is approx 2 miles long and lined by mature trees. It’s quite a nice cycle.
