Recent Posts: day3of
After losing a voice and a touch to my friend’s suicide And after losing another friend’s dignity because I failed to save it for him I think of even more outrageous losses people suffer like — say from terrorist attacks… … Continue reading
I was back together with my boyfriend for a while. Things were rocky, but I loved him very much. For almost two months, we didn’t see each other, but I still believed our love was true. I can’t bear to give details, and I apologize if this is boring. This past week, I felt my hope for a future with him was becoming much more happy and proving true– until this afternoon, when I discovered he had a profile on Match.com, and was online the very moment I found it.
Now what I feel more than anything else, is that I probably do not like the person he actually is. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude about this emotion. It feels very complicated. He is extremely charming. I think he is the first man I’ve ever known to whom I might willingly entirely submit. I don’t think I could do “tough love” with him if his vices ever called for it–for he is simply too adorable.
So, I’m thinking I should be grateful to God if this relationship can end this way.
Oh, by the way, I didn’t discover his single’s account while hunting for singles myself. I just happened over to his facebook profile for the first time in a while and saw that he had “liked” Matchdotcom. So I bit. I did a bogus profile for the privilege of doing a free search. (I thought y’all might be curious about that.)
Now that I’ve told you all more or less what’s been going on in my meager soul all these weeks, I want to share something with you, two things actually. These are two poems I wrote for him, one yesterday and one the day before. I do believe that you people will be able to appreciate my efforts much more than he ever would. As always, please any strangers out there, please don’t steal my work. I am actually proud of it. In a way, it’s all I have to show for my own life.
The first poem had not been titled yet, but I like titles. So here’s the poem and the first publication of its title below:
Come, My Darling. Let me Gently Explain,
(by Vicki Jones)
Love floats like heart-shaped swans
Wandering across dappled years
Enclosed by limitless pleasured reflections
Eyes to eyes, with eyes closed
It is why the pond glows at sunset
Others can learn from its silhouette
The true form of love has two sides
Two, my darling, only two.
He really liked that one. He looked at my eyes when he asked me if I “really” wrote it. Anyway, and here’s the other one… originally titled “To My Soulmate”, but, now simply “Soul Mate” as follows:
(By: Vicki Jones)
I’m not mad at Hammond Morris who wrote the article for “the Onion” which I pressed in my last post. It’s a great article. I couldn’t laugh because I have a headache, and I’m also feeling so paranoid about the state of the world in general–that I’ve lost my sense of humor.
Just didn’t want y’all to think I never had a sense of humor to lose. I wonder though–will satire ever lose its good humor once it’s completely lost all chances of provoking change in our society?
I am mad.
Make of that statement what you will.
Mad at WordPress, for ONE THING. I should be able to easily make a post and designate a category under which the post will be filed on my blog–and not be made to feel like an idiot because I can’t seem to press the right buttons (though my finger hits the correct, unique button on my computer EVERY TIME I “click”) to get to the illusive user interface at which it is possible to do this at the time of posting, thereby avoiding an otherwise unavoidable “edit” simply to put the post in a category. Yup. I’m mad —- WHAT’S MORE, it’s not my job to try to redesign anything, and EVEN IF I GO TO THE TROUBLE to see that this issue gets corrected by some appropriate “techy”, the resolution will have only served to reinforce the already hard to ignore most-certainly false notion that my efforts might give me some kind of satisfaction in the arena of “real life”. No—I can only—I must only make note of magic steps, vital to posting here, and leave the sadistic technicalities to those making their bucks on my time at any given moment.
I’m mad about other THINGS WHICH EXIST IN THE REAL WORLD as well, but I’m now mentally drained from what all I just said. The absurdities of this world will quickly drain your will to fight if ever you call them out!
Ok, Vicki. What you do, is go to dashboard. Go to posts. Go to “all posts” and then to “create new”.
On a related matter–about my computer keyboard…why does there have to continue to be some button my fingers can accidently stumble upon, if I’m tired and clumsy, which will obliterate whatever was so important to me that I would be typing it while I was so tired and clumsy? NEVERMIND ABOUT THAT THOUGH; my computer, like my body is all I’ve got in their respective worlds.
ONE LAST THING BEFORE I GIVE UP:
Here’s a couple of links to stuff I find deeply disturbing, if not of themselves, but for the reality of which they are part and for which I feel I owe no apology, having no power and little consent.
I’d like to offer my thanks to PandoDaily for being interesting and keeping me abreast of all kinds of information as I pray and mentally fight to extend my pitiful life into the Age of Information.
My Traveling Photographer friends might be interested in Wikipedia’s latest project which they promote on this page. This Painting is by George Bellows. I remember seeing his “Stag Night at Sharkey’s” my family’s Encyclopedia as a child, and thinking–in my child thoughts–that Bellows was truly immortal because he was presently introducing himself to me at that moment through his painting. Van Gogh had that immortal spirit, but I like Bellows better. At least tonight.
I don’t know how it happens to me. What can you do when you feel abandoned? I can’t talk about what I’m talking about. Earlier this year, I wrote of fighting the negativity. I still want to fight it. I’m scared. I don’t know what I have to do to get my mind right today. This is so unfortunate. And I can’t write about it, although I can think of nothing else.
I’ve found a passage from Shakespeare to help express how horrible I feel. From “Othello”, it helps me feel less alone in my insanity. I must believe I am justified in my derangement, unlike poor Othello: “It is not words that shake me thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips–Is’t possible?–Confess–handkerchief!–O devil!”
Are the negative thoughts lies–or given the state of my spirit, is it the positive ones?
What sort of woman stays committed to a man for three years before waking up to the lucid nightmare that he is at best a child-man, at worst a de-man– exhibiting irresistible charm every day of his life–unless, of course, he perceives wavering devotion?
You wanna know what’s right about someone breaking your heart–that is, early in the game? He doesn’t want to do it. And broken hearts heal healthier and stronger than ever.
Never run from a heart breaker. He is an angel in disguise. Shake his hand and sulk away. Run from the one who wants to mentor you, or just can’t resist you, who says things like, “What is it with us?” The one who acts as if you may help him solve some life mystery—he IS the mystery. What’s worse is he leaves you little clues about yourself that are maddeningly hard to follow.