Oh, those orbiting pups

My, my, how people are sticky. I recall another couple, an obsessed two…who orbited each other like milk-starved pups orbit the teats of their mother…that is to say very closely…although who was the pup and who was the mother there I certainly know not. However it is indeed the unfortunate case that human beings, such strange and awful creatures, just love love LOVE to orbit each other – obsessively, compulsively, non-stop and neverendingly – they just NEED to suck themselves into the gravity of another, into the field of someone stronger, or weaker, doesn’t matter…and suck the other in likewise…it is a great primeval and necessary dousing that occurs. The one douses the other and then the other douses the one – as if they both hadn’t had enough already. They eat each others’ skin cells, it’s disgusting. In my mind’s eye I am retching and groaning. Since my ear is so close to my mind’s eye, equally do I hear the retching and groaning, and it is all too thick and clear and loud.

They bathe in each others’ auras, each others’ milk, each others’ brains and juices. It is never enough. The imbibing of another, it’s exactly so that we never feel the jarring, smelling-salt stench of human aloneness, our most natural, unnatural, and perpetual of states and feelings. We are always and ever alone, but we drench & drown ourselves in the company of others to dissolve this Cyclopsean fact. It is one of our grand weaknesses, our grand pleasures, our great discoloured idiosyncratic tune. The creeping, chirping malaise which is this knowledge crawls, vermin-like, a centipede along the dark floors of our lives, and we walk heavily and noisily but without looking down, in an effort to stamp it to death without ever fully acknowledging its existence or the power – the preposterous power – it actually wields over us.

But why today such a crabby lady? Why not just be happy for the poor fuckers? Happy for the one you like anyway, tickled a rosy pink at the exaggeration, the tending-toward-delirium benders of that one and their new object of affection? You are witnessing the passion and the folly and the lopsided nature in which you would like to dip your fingers up to the knuckles this time – oh lordy! Up to the knuckles! Don’t go crazy now, sister. Keep your hat on.

So yes – it is the one thing…or another. Witnessing a sucking, an orbiting, a drenching, am I? Subsumage of personality one into the other? Abstract creation of malignant, hackneyed coupledom, of wholes becoming halves, of a wild impoverishing of individualities? Or instead, is it an enriching, a growing complexity, a developing symphony that I see? Suppose it depends on the asked…be ye cynic or optimist. Perhaps I don’t give anyone enough credit. Perhaps if my eyes were less dry at present, then perhaps I could see more clearly. Perhaps if I were blind.

Here we are…I feel as if I could write a novel just now. Give me some time alone (ha! alone!), shove grad school into the far away from here & now, shove morphological analysis up a monkey’s ass! Well, not that, since it’s sure to be spicy, like cayenne pepper, thus exceedingly painful for the monkey. I’m sorry monkey! You did not deserve. No man nor beast deserves such a thing, such a thing as spicy morphological analysis up the ass.

~ by kingzoko on June 12, 2012.

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