THE ENGAGEMENT
So I'm sure I've inititiated some cognitive dissonance out there for folks who have known me for a long time. I can picture one or two people scratching thier heads and saying, "Can he be serious? Or is this some sort of social statement?"
I'm serious. Also, it may be some sort of social statement.
For years I eschewed the idea of marriage. It seemed an unneccessary arrangement entered into half-blind by most people; all too frequently resulting in shit like heartache and financial insolvency. A good solid coke habit, I reasoned, would probably turn out better. Or a self-administered lobotomy. (Which, by the way, are the same thing, really.) I figured marriage was looked at one (or both of) two ways: Either it was a social contract issued by a society that I had nothing in common with and whose institutions mean very little to me; and/or it was a religious contract and, as you are all aware, religious contracts are not high on my list of priorities.
So why this socio-religious institution? Why now?
I've settled into relationships in the past. They were fulfilling in a certain sense since I wasn't looking for permanence. This is not to say they lacked depth or passion or love. But they were ephemeral, fleeting things and most of the time I realised this going in.
The thing is, when you're not looking for permanence, you start courting the transient, seeking it out. Probably because if you know at the outset that it won't last, it will hurt less coming out the other side. This is precisely what happened in my last relationship. We talked about marriage in a half-hearted, jokey way but we always said that there was no such thing as forever. "It's a word designed to give hope to a hopeless culture," I said.
So coming out of that relationship I felt good--that is to say I felt like I'd been made a better person for my involvement in it and like I'd salvaged a real friendship for knowing when it was over. I felt ready to take on the world. There was no protracted period of healing, no fear of getting hurt again. And it is in this mindset that, as chance would have it (if you believe in chaos or unbound freewill which, let's face it, are far from certainties), I happened to meet what may very well be the only girl with whom permanence seems possible.
The component lacking in all my past relationships that kept them momentary was understanding. An understanding of who I am, why I believe (or don't believe) as I do. An understanding of what is most important to me and why. A respect for the deepest foundations of my character.
Stephanie seems to understand. She doesn't always agree, but she gets it.
All that being said, I am practical about this. Because I have accepted so many temporary relationships as temporary, I go into this with eyes wide open. I know what kind of work will be neccessary to make permanence happen. I know it won't always be easy and fun.
But I suspect it'll be worth it.
LITERATURE
In other news, it seems that I'm starting to feel a bit writerly again. I'm getting small story ideas and my fingers seem to be moving over the keyboard with a modicum of grace and ability once more. I'm not sure when I'll be able to tackle a novel again. With something like three failed manuscripts in various drawers I may just be a little gun-shy. However, Broken Pencil has a short story contest coming up. Perhaps if I submit something I will find the old confidence--and should I gain any recognition for it, all the better.
I've also found that engaging in reading material of the sort which I would normally decline has helped. Genre fiction, pulp paperbacks and such. Not that I'm rushing to write the next horror novel you'll find on a rack in an airport and forget after your flight--but reading those types of books is an interesting experiment that seems to be exercising my creative muscle.
Another helpful factor seems to be my place of residence. Maybe it's because artists tend to be shit-poor most of the time, but I seem to be reading quite a few manuscripts by aspiring writers (not to mention listening to songs by aspiring songwriters and critiquing the fruits of other sundry artistic pursuits) since I moved to Taylor Ave. Some of them are really good. Some of them are really, really bad. But it helps to know that there are others out there pushing thier way through the muck and slime of anonymity.
OTHER
The amp I have been using has been returned to its rightful owner. I'm hoping to borrow one for a while to continue writing/recording some music.
My landlord is a jerk-ass. Though, I don't suppose that's news to anyone who has ever had a landlord.
Gwenyth has the energy of an atomic bomb and the discipline of a three-year-old. So I guess that's just about right.
George Carlin is, regretfully, still dead. Along with Johnny Cash, Bob Marley, Joe Strummer, Bill Hicks and a host of other erstwhile rebels. Dick Cheney is, somehow, still alive.
And so am I.
So I'm sure I've inititiated some cognitive dissonance out there for folks who have known me for a long time. I can picture one or two people scratching thier heads and saying, "Can he be serious? Or is this some sort of social statement?"
I'm serious. Also, it may be some sort of social statement.
For years I eschewed the idea of marriage. It seemed an unneccessary arrangement entered into half-blind by most people; all too frequently resulting in shit like heartache and financial insolvency. A good solid coke habit, I reasoned, would probably turn out better. Or a self-administered lobotomy. (Which, by the way, are the same thing, really.) I figured marriage was looked at one (or both of) two ways: Either it was a social contract issued by a society that I had nothing in common with and whose institutions mean very little to me; and/or it was a religious contract and, as you are all aware, religious contracts are not high on my list of priorities.
So why this socio-religious institution? Why now?
I've settled into relationships in the past. They were fulfilling in a certain sense since I wasn't looking for permanence. This is not to say they lacked depth or passion or love. But they were ephemeral, fleeting things and most of the time I realised this going in.
The thing is, when you're not looking for permanence, you start courting the transient, seeking it out. Probably because if you know at the outset that it won't last, it will hurt less coming out the other side. This is precisely what happened in my last relationship. We talked about marriage in a half-hearted, jokey way but we always said that there was no such thing as forever. "It's a word designed to give hope to a hopeless culture," I said.
So coming out of that relationship I felt good--that is to say I felt like I'd been made a better person for my involvement in it and like I'd salvaged a real friendship for knowing when it was over. I felt ready to take on the world. There was no protracted period of healing, no fear of getting hurt again. And it is in this mindset that, as chance would have it (if you believe in chaos or unbound freewill which, let's face it, are far from certainties), I happened to meet what may very well be the only girl with whom permanence seems possible.
The component lacking in all my past relationships that kept them momentary was understanding. An understanding of who I am, why I believe (or don't believe) as I do. An understanding of what is most important to me and why. A respect for the deepest foundations of my character.
Stephanie seems to understand. She doesn't always agree, but she gets it.
All that being said, I am practical about this. Because I have accepted so many temporary relationships as temporary, I go into this with eyes wide open. I know what kind of work will be neccessary to make permanence happen. I know it won't always be easy and fun.
But I suspect it'll be worth it.
LITERATURE
In other news, it seems that I'm starting to feel a bit writerly again. I'm getting small story ideas and my fingers seem to be moving over the keyboard with a modicum of grace and ability once more. I'm not sure when I'll be able to tackle a novel again. With something like three failed manuscripts in various drawers I may just be a little gun-shy. However, Broken Pencil has a short story contest coming up. Perhaps if I submit something I will find the old confidence--and should I gain any recognition for it, all the better.
I've also found that engaging in reading material of the sort which I would normally decline has helped. Genre fiction, pulp paperbacks and such. Not that I'm rushing to write the next horror novel you'll find on a rack in an airport and forget after your flight--but reading those types of books is an interesting experiment that seems to be exercising my creative muscle.
Another helpful factor seems to be my place of residence. Maybe it's because artists tend to be shit-poor most of the time, but I seem to be reading quite a few manuscripts by aspiring writers (not to mention listening to songs by aspiring songwriters and critiquing the fruits of other sundry artistic pursuits) since I moved to Taylor Ave. Some of them are really good. Some of them are really, really bad. But it helps to know that there are others out there pushing thier way through the muck and slime of anonymity.
OTHER
The amp I have been using has been returned to its rightful owner. I'm hoping to borrow one for a while to continue writing/recording some music.
My landlord is a jerk-ass. Though, I don't suppose that's news to anyone who has ever had a landlord.
Gwenyth has the energy of an atomic bomb and the discipline of a three-year-old. So I guess that's just about right.
George Carlin is, regretfully, still dead. Along with Johnny Cash, Bob Marley, Joe Strummer, Bill Hicks and a host of other erstwhile rebels. Dick Cheney is, somehow, still alive.
And so am I.
3 comments:
i will have joe search for the amp in the garage...
then you'll be ok.. ok?
OK.
Dick Cheney is still alive.
Insufferable.
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